When my old roommate moved in with her boyfriend this summer, I listed the room on Craigslist. I’d had great experiences with Craigslist before – some previous roommates had even become great friends of mine – so I didn’t hesitate. I had about 15 people come to view the place in 15 days, and all of them hesitated. I was asking quite a bit, and the space was small and intimate, much better for two people who already knew each other. I grew a bit desperate as the days narrowed, and even thought of lowering the rent, but then she found me.
She was overly excited about the apartment – just 22 and moving from Boston. She bought me a glass of wine and talked about how this would be just like the Friends apartment. I should’ve known then. Instead, desperation and fear clouding my judgement, I welcomed her in. She said she smoked but would keep it on our patio; I set up a little smoking area for her out there. She then asked if she could stay in the place for a weekend before she officially moved in. When she left at the end of the weekend, I saw my first mouse. Walking into the room she had inhabited for only three days, I saw that a magazine had become stuck to the floor because of her Chinese food sweet & sour sauce leaking... on the floor... where the bag of food STILL sat. I cleaned up and called the exterminator. I was a little annoyed but figured I could keep her messiness in control, as I don’t mind cleaning and had experience with some messy roommates in the past. I thought of the money and resolved to stay positive.
She moved in on a Wednesday, and called me while I was at the office. Apparently, even though she’d been there a weekend, she didn’t take measurements or even think of how her things would fit in the place. Her couch and furniture were HUGE. I had to run home in the middle of the day to meet her and the movers and try to figure out how to fit her things. Only half of her couch would fit (I had sold mine since she promised hers would fit), and she suggested that she take a chainsaw to the other half and throw the chunks out the window since it wouldn’t go back out the door. I looked at her in horror.
Buzz-sawed pieces of couch flying about my place?! I was glad I had come home. I convinced the movers to take the other half of the couch and return it to her storage unit.
Still, I tried to stay positive. She said that she needed my help moving her things in and getting organized. I’d never seen one person with so many things before, but I’m great at organizing and so together we went through her things and started to organize. Little did I realize it was a Sisyphean endeavor as she had a habit of making manic purchases. At one point we had 30 bags of gummy bears, a popsicle maker, two blenders, and six lamps. My entire apartment became clogged with her things. It was as if she was the Tazmanian Devil; every time I came home things of hers were scattered about the apartment in the craziest places: one shoe in the middle of the floor, a sock on top of the fridge, pens and hairclips everywhere. I did my best to corral her things and re-explained my two rules: keep the common areas clean, and no food in your bedroom (after all, the kitchen was three steps away). I really hate mice, naturally.
Then I started to notice large clumps of hair occupying the bathroom and drain. I realized they were her hair extensions, that she had put in every few weeks to cover her balding head. She was losing her hair. These extensions couldn’t hold onto her fine hair and so the fell...everywhere. I tried to contain my revulsion.
She spent an insane amount of money on the most ridiculous crap that took over our entire place (even though I gave her extra storage and even moved some of my things into storage), she was shedding and nastily dirty (I had to clean at least twice a week), and she continued to keep a huge amount of food in her room, including a stick of butter that had melted, candy bars, and open loaves of bread. She drank a ton of wine (I came home one day at noon to find she had already started drinking), claimed to ‘work from home’, and smoked in her room (she used one of my glasses to keep her hundreds of butts in). She was a chronic over-sharer (upon meeting a girl friend of mine for the first time,
before even introducing herself, she lifted up her shirt and showed her a bruise on her breast that she had sustained from a rather rough sex session).
Finally, after four weeks that felt like a YEAR, I told her perhaps she might want to relocate to a place that would be better suited for her things. I even found her an apartment that was close by and much bigger for only $100 more/month. She did NOT take this well. What happened over the next two weeks can only be described as a World War. It took years off my life and at least six months for me to fully recover: I suffered horrible stress-related breakouts unlike anything I had ever had until just recently.
The problem with New York is that it’s a renter’s town. This means, if someone has occupied your apartment for 30 days, they cannot be evicted (even if they’re not on the lease!) Of course, I didn’t learn this until day 31. She refused to leave and refused to pay rent – and there was nothing I could do. Over the coming weeks she became increasingly insane. There is no other word for it. She had her father harassing me via email – accusing me of a number of things, like stealing her medication from the mailbox (I called UPS, got the tracking number, called the pharmacy that had mailed it, and got proof that she had signed for the package herself). She accused me of stealing a lockbox containing some mystery contents, she told me she had passed the New York state realtors exam, yet knew shockingly little about her rights (including, thank
god, that she had the right to stay forever without paying, which I did NOT tell her). She sent me horribly mean texts day and night telling me she was going to sue me, telling me I was a crazy person, and a bunch of other mean things I’ve since – thankfully – forgotten. She would bang on my door in the middle of the night and yell things at me. She would take my food and throw it out, she took every single one of the forks and cups in the apartment. Crazy stuff. I ended up moving everything I still owned into my now locked bedroom. I realized I feared coming home and started spending the night at friends’ places. Believe me, the irony was not lost on me that I was the one paying rent and she was the one living there. The apartment became almost impossible to walk into, she moved a lot of her things into the living room so that it was completely unusable, and there were boxes scattered all over the main room.
She bought 16 pay-per-view movies in 6 minutes, so I changed the internet password. She completely flipped out and started throwing things and screaming so I called the police. While the police were at my apartment I asked them if it was OK for me to take my cable box back from her room as she was refusing to pay. They said yes, and watched me do it. I cannot describe how horrifying her room was to step into... her clothes and garbage covered the entire floor and bed, it was at least six inches high. It smelled horrible and there were used condoms everywhere. I took the cable box and locked it in my room, and called the cable company to change the password and warn them that I was the only one they should speak with. Luckily, the cable woman was totally sympathetic; apparently her daughter had an insane roommate as well, so she was super nice to me.
As the week dragged on, I met with lawyers, police officers, and the courts. Nothing could be done unless I said she had threatened physical violence. I looked through all the texts she had sent me over the weeks, none of which I had responded to. While she came close, she never expressly threatened me. The police officer I was talking to kept on saying, “
All you have to do is tell me she threatened you, and we will remove her.” I thought about all that I had been through, how exhausted I was, how pissed off I was that this stranger had completely overtaken my life, and I was seriously tempted. But, I didn’t want to be like her – a liar. And so I said no, and began the walk back to my apartment.
When I turned the key that night, I saw that she had finally moved out. All that was left was a huge pile of garbage and food, a hole in the living room door, and a smoke-filled room. I considered myself lucky, and began the process of cleaning up after her – for the last time.
*scorpio*
