Roommates from Hell

Not unlike most young adults there came a time when I began to chaff under, what my immature mind defined as, the yoke of parental domination. My rebellion occurred in the spring of 1980.

I was dating a girl who lived in Las Vegas, which posed the usual problems of distance, and longing. Because of our conflicting schedules we were only able to see each other once every three months or so. Hence we spent many hours on the phone. Since she was a full time student and I was employed full time the onus was on me to do the dialing. I did not mind being young and in love, but my mother flipped when she saw the phone bill. My portion was over two hundred dollars for one month. Needless to say despite my age my parents came down on me and came down hard. They banned me from making any long distance calls from home. To which I argued that since I was giving them the money for my share of the bill they were being completely unreasonable. My mother agreed with the point that I was willing to pay the bill but she felt it was ludicrous for me to waste what amounted to almost one quarter of my monthly salary on phone calls. She went to say that it would be cheaper for me to fly to Vegas twice a month rather than chat for hours on the phone. Of course being young, dumb and stubborn I would not see it her way. I informed her that she was the worse mother on the planet and that it was high time that I moved out on my own. I walked away from the argument and made my big plans for the move.

Most of my friends still lived at home and were neither ready nor willing to move away from their security blanket. I was the only foolish one. However, I did know to brothers who had recently moved to Monrovia from Washington to work for their brother. After discussing it with them they were willing to rent me their couch, as neither was willing to share their room. I readily agreed, as I was anxious to begin life on my own.

D and G were good guys and even better friends. Living with them was a party waiting to happen and I was always being exposed to something new. That being said they were the roommates from hell. If I had gone into this move with my eyes open I would have been on my knees before my mother begging for forgiveness and my room back. Instead I cut the cord and moved away.

My first tour of the apartment was a real eye opener. If the five rooms had been mysteriously transported to a war zone they would have fit right in. If a twister had blown through it could have only improved the place. Knowing that I was going to be living in the public portion of the apartment I realized that my work was cut out for me.

I began with the living room also known as my bedroom. There were what appeared to be a years worth of the Los Angeles Times scattered about in various piles. As I saw it I had two choices. I could leave the newspapers where they were by some shellac and pour it over the various piles creating a set of end tables and a coffee table. My second choice and the one I made was to spend several hours bagging the newsprint and hauling it down to the garbage.

Beneath the scattered papers were shoes, shirts, and dishes that had been lost in the clutter. Those were distributed to their proper location. In one corner I found an old planter with what once may have been a miniature palm. Amazingly enough though the leaves were brown and faded the stalk appeared to be clinging to life. The soil in the pot was covered by three inches of cigarette butts, beer caps and golf tees. I am happy to report that once the debris was removed, new soil added and regular waterings begun that palm actually returned to life. Now came the living rooms most difficult task. Cleaning the carpet. D and G worked at a tile factory and came home from work covered in clay. It appeared that the carpet had never been cleaned since they had moved in. It took me seven hours and five vacuum cleaner bags to remove all of the debris, but at least the room was now livable.

If the living room was bad the kitchen cried out for white suited toxic waste specialist to do their stuff. Apparently the brother owned silver ware and dinnerware plus a pan set but they did not own a sponge. Every dish, utensil and pan was dirty and pile in the sink. I felt like an archeologist as I worked my way through layers of debris. Colonies of life were disturbed and various bacteria's became homeless. Eventually, after hours of labor the sink was conquered and once again their plates were a location safe enough to eat off of. The freezer, one that required defrosting, was so frosted over one ice tray would fill all usable space. The refrigerator held several plastic bags containing what appeared to have once been lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers. Of course without scientific testing anyone could have sworn to that fact. There was also one Tupperware container that seemed to be seeing how many different colored molds could be cultivated in one dish. In actuality cleaning the refrigerator and freezer was the easiest task. Everything was thrown away. A blow dryer was used to melt the ice build up. The unit was unplugged fumigated, aired out and returned to service.

Tales from their bathroom have been know to bring the cleaning staff from local bars to their knees in fear of facing what once existed in that small but toxic room. In consideration for those with weak stomachs and vivid imaginations I will refrain from describing that room in any detail.

Living with D and G was a great learning experience for me even if I did feel somewhat Felix Ungerish by the time I moved on. Beginning my time away from home with the roommates from hell prepared me for life on my own and for that I will always be thankful.