Revisiting Roommates: Redneck Roommate Soap Opera- Episode 02: Toilet Papering the Chapel
Very few people can measure events that have transpired in their life by a quick review of the national news media archives. Though I can attest, it's very surreal when it does happen...
The day I was diagnosed with bacterial Pneumonia was Wednesday, October 29, 2003. I was part of the U-Mart opening crew, so round about 6am I was walking the mile to campus for my shift. My boss, Lupita, took one look at me and sent me to Campus Health. It was another hour before Campus Health opened, so I sat outside on a red brick wall outside marinating in my melancholy. When I was finally triaged, I discovered that my brain was boiling at a balmy 106°F. They gave me Tylenol and sent me for chest X-Rays right away. I remember being proscribed azithromycin (AKA- a Z-Pak) and it cost me a whole pay-cheque ($180) to fill the prescription.
Back in those days, one of my cheques went to my rent, and the other went to utilities and food, so this was an expensive, albeit necessary, doctor visit. I had no flex in my budget-- even the bank of dad was closed as he'd been laid off in September. So, I was pressed for cash. I went back to work after the appointment, but before my prescription had been filled to tell my boss I had to fill the prescription.
Only a couple hours had transpired, but there was much excitement at work. Isaiah Fox, the starting center for the University of Arizona men’s basketball team, had been caught shoplifting by my co-worker Gloria. She’d witnessed the ball player stealing a bagel, cream-cheese, and a Hershey’s Milk Chocolate candy bar ( https://wc.arizona.edu/papers/97/50/01_1.html ) and Lupita was hell-bent on charging him with the petty theft. (He was eventually convicted: https://www.espn.co.uk/mens-college-basketball/news/story?id=1785904)
By the time I’d filled my Z-Pak and come back to work, the place was bustling with mid-morning customers. Norberta, one of the full-time cashiers, caught a young girl shoplifting a couple oranges. Spanish was not her native language, and she was having difficulty translating her witness statement into English. Since I’d helped her out a time or two before-one of those times, I remember pulling her aside after a rush to make sure she annunciated the T in “peanuts” when saying “I love the peanuts!”-I was tasked with helping her write her statement. I could tell my boss was trying to give me easy tasks so I could make some money to recuperate the medical costs. But, in the end, when people for the next shift start arriving and they had plenty of staff, I was told to go home and rest or I’d be fired. So, I did.
In life, there are those moments where I’ve felt as if I’m drowning, and wave after wave buffets against me, pushing me closer to the shoals as I’ve struggled to stay afloat to no avail. Eventually the storm finally comes to a head, and the struggle has consumed me-forcing me to stop fighting to control the things I cannot, and let the wave of acceptance wash me clear. This was one of those moments, and it was a godsend. I got so many homework extensions. I was able to miss classes with mandatory attendance. Most importantly, I was able to rest and recuperate.
One evening, resting at home with my roommates, there was an unexpected knock at the front door. Marie was the first to reach the portal, but her short stature prevented her from being able to look through the peep hole, so she calls out instead, “Who is it?”
“It’s Dave,” answered a man’s voice.
Neither Marie, Heather, or myself knew anyone named Dave, but before anyone could stop her, Marie had opened the door to mystery-man Dave. Luckily, we did not end up on a True Crime special. Dave was a sweet, old homeless guy who happened to be looking for candles. Marie was happy to fleece some candles from the house and pass them, along with a book of matches, to the friendly transient who just happened to be passing by, knocking on random doors.
During my recovery (I believe this was Thursday evening), I decided to monitor my temperature more closely. It was raining as I climbed into my ’84 ‘vette (Chevette, not Corvette) and drove the handful of miles to the nearest Target where I picked up a thermometer and some other items. On the drive home, I turned north onto Campbell from Broadway when I heard a loud crack, followed by a ping, before a black hole of crumbling shrapnel formed in the passenger side window as it shattered into hundreds of pieces before my eyes. The car plodded forward bleeding drops of glass onto the river of black, as I vacillated between self pity and anguish.
By the time I made it back home to the duplex, I’d put myself together well enough to ask Marie for a trash bag and tape. Here’s where I have to give her credit-for as many problems as she caused - like the time she was making sushi and broke the garbage disposal by cramming it full of rice; or the time she woke up at 7am on a weekend to vacuum and clean while listening to "I Miss You" by Blink 182 on repeat for hours; or the time she gave my couch, which I’d loaned to her to sleep on ‘till she bought a bed, to a boy she liked who didn’t have one; or even the time she let the neighbor’s cat, Jake, into the duplex and he ate my beta fish and spilled dirty fish water on the coffee table which sopped up the dirty fish water smell and I had to buy the orange clean polish to get the stench out-she was a very compassionate person who really was willing to help in any capacity when asked. Marie, in the rain, helped me clean up the broken glass and water-proof the window so my car would stay dry. She also helped wake me up when the police finally arrived to take my statement for a police report because, on closer inspection, it appeared as though a BB-Gun pellet had broken the window.
By this point, Marie and Heather were completely at odds with one another. Marie had the larger bedroom in the 3-bedroom duplex, and she’d been complaining about not having enough money. Heather had picked up on Marie’s inability to say “no”, and had convinced Marie to swap rooms to reduce Marie’s rent contributions. Marie didn’t want to swap rooms, but went along with it anyway. Marie spent less time at home, having integrated herself with Fawn Montoya, a notorious member of our church congregation.
Fawn had a habit of adopting and reforming people who lacked social skills (not surprising since her day job was teaching college athletes on scholarship how to read). She was very tongue-in-cheek and somewhat bitter about being single, but she was a beacon to those looking for comradery and friends. Because Marie liked me, she convinced Fawn to invite me over for the “Pimpin’ Poetry Party”-whereupon attendees were required to dress as a pimp and then guests were to pair up and write poems about each other. These were then read aloud and awarded with a coffeehouse clap of finger snaps. Fawn even collected the poems, typed them, and brought a booklet for each participant. I have to admit, it was quite fun-probably the most fun I’d had in a good, long while. So, that was how I ended up sitting on Fawn’s side of the chapel, armed with a blanket and a nearly exhausted roll of industrial toilet paper I’d nicked from the bathroom at the Harvill Building to use as tissues.
I was still recovering from the Pneumonia. The runny nose and cough lingered for several months despite the antibiotic having taken care of the infection. But, I think I just wanted to get out of the house… and so, even though I’d skipped the other two meetings, I arrived to church in time to attend Sacrament service. This particular meeting was a Fast and Testimony meeting (the first Sunday of the month), and congregants were invited to briefly speak at the pulpit if they so desired. It was always the same people who would deign to talk, and so it’d become a game with Fawn and her friends, to play “Testimony Bingo”-an irreverent and slightly inappropriate church game that got us to actually listen to the speakers. Fawn would provide a blank bingo card, and participants would fill their card with names of persons they thought might get up and speak. As the meeting progressed, the names were marked.
I reached for my roll of tissues, tearing off a piece and blowing my nose into it. Several rows behind me I could hear the chortles and whispers of the eager gamers awaiting the first brave speaker. For me, eavesdropping on these hushed tones was just as entertaining as playing a round of “Testimony Bingo”. So, I wiled away the meeting, wrapped in my white, knit blanket. Though, at one point during the services, I tore a tissue from my roll of paper and knocked it off the pew. The sturdy thing proceeded to roll four rows behind me, stopping at Fawn’s group. I was momentarily mortified when I reached for the tail of paper to try to pull it back towards me, only to have it slip away like a snake. A barrage of giggles ensued. My tissue was gone.
At the end of the meeting, Fawn approached me and handed over the toilet paper with a wry smile and a quip, “I didn’t think you had it in you to toilet paper the chapel.”
Next Time:
Redneck Roommate Soap Opera- Episode 03: DND and OCD
The day I was diagnosed with bacterial Pneumonia was Wednesday, October 29, 2003. I was part of the U-Mart opening crew, so round about 6am I was walking the mile to campus for my shift. My boss, Lupita, took one look at me and sent me to Campus Health. It was another hour before Campus Health opened, so I sat outside on a red brick wall outside marinating in my melancholy. When I was finally triaged, I discovered that my brain was boiling at a balmy 106°F. They gave me Tylenol and sent me for chest X-Rays right away. I remember being proscribed azithromycin (AKA- a Z-Pak) and it cost me a whole pay-cheque ($180) to fill the prescription.
Back in those days, one of my cheques went to my rent, and the other went to utilities and food, so this was an expensive, albeit necessary, doctor visit. I had no flex in my budget-- even the bank of dad was closed as he'd been laid off in September. So, I was pressed for cash. I went back to work after the appointment, but before my prescription had been filled to tell my boss I had to fill the prescription.
Only a couple hours had transpired, but there was much excitement at work. Isaiah Fox, the starting center for the University of Arizona men’s basketball team, had been caught shoplifting by my co-worker Gloria. She’d witnessed the ball player stealing a bagel, cream-cheese, and a Hershey’s Milk Chocolate candy bar ( https://wc.arizona.edu/papers/97/50/01_1.html ) and Lupita was hell-bent on charging him with the petty theft. (He was eventually convicted: https://www.espn.co.uk/mens-college-basketball/news/story?id=1785904)
By the time I’d filled my Z-Pak and come back to work, the place was bustling with mid-morning customers. Norberta, one of the full-time cashiers, caught a young girl shoplifting a couple oranges. Spanish was not her native language, and she was having difficulty translating her witness statement into English. Since I’d helped her out a time or two before-one of those times, I remember pulling her aside after a rush to make sure she annunciated the T in “peanuts” when saying “I love the peanuts!”-I was tasked with helping her write her statement. I could tell my boss was trying to give me easy tasks so I could make some money to recuperate the medical costs. But, in the end, when people for the next shift start arriving and they had plenty of staff, I was told to go home and rest or I’d be fired. So, I did.
In life, there are those moments where I’ve felt as if I’m drowning, and wave after wave buffets against me, pushing me closer to the shoals as I’ve struggled to stay afloat to no avail. Eventually the storm finally comes to a head, and the struggle has consumed me-forcing me to stop fighting to control the things I cannot, and let the wave of acceptance wash me clear. This was one of those moments, and it was a godsend. I got so many homework extensions. I was able to miss classes with mandatory attendance. Most importantly, I was able to rest and recuperate.
One evening, resting at home with my roommates, there was an unexpected knock at the front door. Marie was the first to reach the portal, but her short stature prevented her from being able to look through the peep hole, so she calls out instead, “Who is it?”
“It’s Dave,” answered a man’s voice.
Neither Marie, Heather, or myself knew anyone named Dave, but before anyone could stop her, Marie had opened the door to mystery-man Dave. Luckily, we did not end up on a True Crime special. Dave was a sweet, old homeless guy who happened to be looking for candles. Marie was happy to fleece some candles from the house and pass them, along with a book of matches, to the friendly transient who just happened to be passing by, knocking on random doors.
During my recovery (I believe this was Thursday evening), I decided to monitor my temperature more closely. It was raining as I climbed into my ’84 ‘vette (Chevette, not Corvette) and drove the handful of miles to the nearest Target where I picked up a thermometer and some other items. On the drive home, I turned north onto Campbell from Broadway when I heard a loud crack, followed by a ping, before a black hole of crumbling shrapnel formed in the passenger side window as it shattered into hundreds of pieces before my eyes. The car plodded forward bleeding drops of glass onto the river of black, as I vacillated between self pity and anguish.
By the time I made it back home to the duplex, I’d put myself together well enough to ask Marie for a trash bag and tape. Here’s where I have to give her credit-for as many problems as she caused - like the time she was making sushi and broke the garbage disposal by cramming it full of rice; or the time she woke up at 7am on a weekend to vacuum and clean while listening to "I Miss You" by Blink 182 on repeat for hours; or the time she gave my couch, which I’d loaned to her to sleep on ‘till she bought a bed, to a boy she liked who didn’t have one; or even the time she let the neighbor’s cat, Jake, into the duplex and he ate my beta fish and spilled dirty fish water on the coffee table which sopped up the dirty fish water smell and I had to buy the orange clean polish to get the stench out-she was a very compassionate person who really was willing to help in any capacity when asked. Marie, in the rain, helped me clean up the broken glass and water-proof the window so my car would stay dry. She also helped wake me up when the police finally arrived to take my statement for a police report because, on closer inspection, it appeared as though a BB-Gun pellet had broken the window.
By this point, Marie and Heather were completely at odds with one another. Marie had the larger bedroom in the 3-bedroom duplex, and she’d been complaining about not having enough money. Heather had picked up on Marie’s inability to say “no”, and had convinced Marie to swap rooms to reduce Marie’s rent contributions. Marie didn’t want to swap rooms, but went along with it anyway. Marie spent less time at home, having integrated herself with Fawn Montoya, a notorious member of our church congregation.
Fawn had a habit of adopting and reforming people who lacked social skills (not surprising since her day job was teaching college athletes on scholarship how to read). She was very tongue-in-cheek and somewhat bitter about being single, but she was a beacon to those looking for comradery and friends. Because Marie liked me, she convinced Fawn to invite me over for the “Pimpin’ Poetry Party”-whereupon attendees were required to dress as a pimp and then guests were to pair up and write poems about each other. These were then read aloud and awarded with a coffeehouse clap of finger snaps. Fawn even collected the poems, typed them, and brought a booklet for each participant. I have to admit, it was quite fun-probably the most fun I’d had in a good, long while. So, that was how I ended up sitting on Fawn’s side of the chapel, armed with a blanket and a nearly exhausted roll of industrial toilet paper I’d nicked from the bathroom at the Harvill Building to use as tissues.
I was still recovering from the Pneumonia. The runny nose and cough lingered for several months despite the antibiotic having taken care of the infection. But, I think I just wanted to get out of the house… and so, even though I’d skipped the other two meetings, I arrived to church in time to attend Sacrament service. This particular meeting was a Fast and Testimony meeting (the first Sunday of the month), and congregants were invited to briefly speak at the pulpit if they so desired. It was always the same people who would deign to talk, and so it’d become a game with Fawn and her friends, to play “Testimony Bingo”-an irreverent and slightly inappropriate church game that got us to actually listen to the speakers. Fawn would provide a blank bingo card, and participants would fill their card with names of persons they thought might get up and speak. As the meeting progressed, the names were marked.
I reached for my roll of tissues, tearing off a piece and blowing my nose into it. Several rows behind me I could hear the chortles and whispers of the eager gamers awaiting the first brave speaker. For me, eavesdropping on these hushed tones was just as entertaining as playing a round of “Testimony Bingo”. So, I wiled away the meeting, wrapped in my white, knit blanket. Though, at one point during the services, I tore a tissue from my roll of paper and knocked it off the pew. The sturdy thing proceeded to roll four rows behind me, stopping at Fawn’s group. I was momentarily mortified when I reached for the tail of paper to try to pull it back towards me, only to have it slip away like a snake. A barrage of giggles ensued. My tissue was gone.
At the end of the meeting, Fawn approached me and handed over the toilet paper with a wry smile and a quip, “I didn’t think you had it in you to toilet paper the chapel.”
Next Time:
Redneck Roommate Soap Opera- Episode 03: DND and OCD