It’s 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday and my housemate “Olaf” (my housemates name for purposes of this article) is sitting on the edge of the couch, unshaven, unkempt, and nearly undressed. All that is keeping him decent is a gritty loincloth which some would call a pair of boxers.
Roommates and housemates come in all different forms. Hopefully you have a good rapport with yours. If you lack one fear not, things could be worse, much worse.
“What are you doing up?” he greets me with.
“I had some errands I wanted to take care of,” I respond with while noting his continually deteriorating state. He merely shrugs, turns back to the TV, and hits the same jump in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City for the thousandth time in between bites of a peanut butter sandwich minus the jelly (too expensive).
I am writing this article in the hopes that some help can be found for Olaf. You see he and I have been drifting apart of late. At first it was fun and games, but now his lack of clothing coupled with overbearing stinginess has brought me to the breaking point.
Once he found out that townhouses have to pay utilities he went berserk. He ran to the circuit breaker and shut everything off. Jealously he guarded that box for over a week while the entire house went incommunicado. It was only the lure of a highly addictive video game that brought some level of sanity back to his life.
“I have 37 hidden packages!” he exclaims in the background as I write.His jangled nerves seem to be soothed by the sheer violence in Vice City. I smile as he chainsaws a policeman. Nice one. When he isn’t playing, he is constantly on everyone’s case about power consumption and his “1/5” of the house. The only food he owns at present is two eggs and a jar of peanut butter. Still, he thinks he needs more cabinet and refrigerator space for future “parcels.”
The funny thing is, he loves his Sodexho meal plan. The beefy meatballs and fatty mozzarella sticks are continually piled high on his tray. In my opinion, he has nothing in mind to fill the space he is endlessly fighting for. It’s just a pure power game.
“This milk is taking up too much room!” he snorted at me last night while hurling the fragile container at my face. It was messy to clean up, but I took it with good humor.
Of late, my robust figure has become rather skeleton-like. Olaf finds it enjoyable to go through every food product I have in order to find a “prize” inside. Then, he either eats the object in question or feeds it to his snake he calls “Snookums” (He has so much affection for that monster).
Please, someone help me! He must be stopped before it’s too late. I have written Amnesty International and they are working on finding funding for me so as to keep Olaf under-control. I just pray that he is entertained long enough by this ultra-violent video game.
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