OUT!!!
Okay guys, I can't take this new subletter anymore. This is going to be one of my most serious posts, as I'm really searching for a solution to kick this guy's ass OUT of my roommate's room before he removes anymore of my peace of mind living here. I don't give a shit if he has to live on the street, I want him out. Here's a blow by blow, as well as evaluations of his personality and my own proposed solutions so that you guys can judge whether I'm being too serious with the guy or whether he deserved it or not.
Friday, June 18, 2010
I got back to my townhouse in San Diego to find that my roommate Jon had found two people contending for his room after he'd posted an ad on Craigslist. Despite my warning him that that was the worst possible way to find subletters, he did it anyway for the quick solution. I eventually give the girl his room and give the guy my other roommate's, Phil's, room. Talking to the guy over the phone, I found that his voice was overly jittery and seemed like there was something off about his personality. That should've been my first hint. Meeting him in person solidified my suspicions. The overall weather of the day was mid 60s, low 70s, breezy, and partly cloudy. He was running a fever, sweating like a pig, talking a hundred words a minute, and had bloodshot eyes and some FOUL smell emanating from his skin. All he said was that he would pay everything in cash, as he "[doesn't] do checks". That should've been my second hint. I called my roommate and told him that this guy definitely seems odd, and that I didn't feel safe with him around. He just says to let him take the room for now and we could deal with him later. Phil never did like conflict. The second he hands me his cash, he starts badmouthing the lady who took the other room. He's never even met her, but is going off non-stop about women in general based on his own sheltered views. I tell him about her circumstances and that he should be more sensitive, but he brushes that aside and tries to kiss ass to me by saying I was "being a good guy" by giving her "a place to stay". That's not her circumstance at all. She needed a place from now on because she had school around here. Whatever, I tell myself, he'll only be here until August anyway; that was the agreement. I packed some last things to move out of my house and went back home to Arcadia.
Friday, June 25, 2010
I got back to San Diego around 11 at night after an awesome week at home, only to find the place a DUMP. All the cleaning I did to the kitchen floors, the bathroom, even the common room floor area--trashed. The Clorox-ing I did to the kitchen floor was reversed by the spills of processed ramen and spilled beer bottles that overflowed the recycle bin. The fresh garbage bag I placed into the large trash bin was nowhere to be found. In its place was more ramen, with the soup, processed rice, filthy microwave dinner trays with about 10% of the food and half of the sauces still in them, leaking, dripping beer cans which belonged to my original roommate Ryan, a X-Large pizza box from some cheap pizzeria in the neighborhood, and a bunch of my groceries, half eaten and thrown out as if the fucking perpetrator were a filthy seagull. Oh wait. Seagulls never leave waste behind.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
I wake up a little late to try to catch all of my subletters before they leave the house. Turns out the lady has class early in the morning, so she's already gone by the time I get up at 10. The subletter taking over Ryan's share of our room was doing the dishes after he cleaned up his portion of the mess from the living room. The only one left hanging around is Eric, the suspicious subletter of Phil's room who we've both figured to be a druggy, or at least a slacker. It soon becomes very, very clear to us that he does nothing with his life. He doesn't work, doesn't go to school, and leeches off Social Security as his source of "income". As I was planning to go apartment hunting that day, and I hate his guts already, I made my conversation with him as short as I could. I simply told him not to touch anything in the fridge that wasn't his, and to clean after himself in the kitchen. It also becomes clear now that he is the only one who had been using the kitchen, as I was home the whole week, and Jasmine, Jeff (original tenant) and Alex all eat out. While I'm figuring out my route for the day's apartment hunt, he comes up to my room and randomly comments on what he's seen on TV. Namely, how he thinks "Jennifer Love Hewitt's tits are awesome". "Yeah okay," I tell him, "I've got work to do. Don't you?" He just laughs it off with those hollow eyes of his. That's the defense mechanism I've seen in plenty of middle-aged lowlives. I just got a glimpse of the age when it starts. I leave the apartment, hardly waving him a goodbye, and slam the door behind me, but not before reminding him that he owes me a 6-pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade. That was supposed to be for my move-in celebration when I found a place in August with my friend Henry and his friends. The rest of that day I spent looking around and talking to leasing agents at about six, maybe seven or eight apartments (Just a plug, but we're signing at Trieste for anyone reading this in SD). I did all I could to waste time and stay out of the house until midnight, the usual time when I've noticed he goes to bed. This is about the time I noticed that I'm coming down with something, and I'm only beginning to realize today that it's probably related to being around that filthy slacker.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
This time, I slept in so that I could avoid talking to Eric at all costs. I also slept in so that I could recover a little from whatever lung issue I was developing. It didn't work. He woke up sweating bullets like he always did, only this time, he had that weird emanating smell again. It was something like pot and formaldehyde. Can anyone identify that for me? (I'd like to call the cops on his ass if that's at all possible) He tells me that someone is coming to the apartment to see the room in his crazy attempt to share it. It's clearly not big enough for that, probably 8' x 9' with furniture in the way. He also claimed that someone wanted to buy his car, but he never said in the ad that it didn't work. So now, not only is he probably high on something all the time and an unemployed slacker, he's also full of shit. Well, that's not really new. I got a phone call from my friend Henry to remind me that we were going apartment hunting, and left the house. I repeated the time-wasting thing, only this time I had to get whatever was creeping into my mind out of my system so that I could be ready for school.
Monday, June 28, 2010
I'm sick. At this point, I don't even question the fact that Eric is just watching morning television and cursing like a sailor at the screen while the house is completely empty. I think that's the only reason I woke up at 9--because I might have caught a cold... or whatever bacterium escaped Eric's filthy, treacherous environmental fleshbag of a "body" and found a safer, more vulnerable place to call home. Like recently-in-contact-with-hell Victor Tran. I avoid Eric's blabbering (literally cannot remember what he had to rant about that time) to the best of my ability while I brush my teeth and end up going to school with a headache. There I stayed until about 6, where I grabbed dinner with Phil and let him know about the terror that had taken over his room named Eric Badgley. By that point (two days ago), it hadn't gotten to the point where I wanted to kick him out. Rather, I was still going along with Phil's idea of tolerating it for the summer, and floating with the "good thing it's just another month" mentality. As soon as Phil drove me back, I got in my car and repeated tactics--left the apartment and hung out with friends until the annoying fucker passed out in Phil's room. I flat out REFUSE to call the room "his". I'm not getting as much reading done as I'd liked from my class thanks to this deliberate procrastination.
Tuesday, June 28, 2010
Yeah, that's right. Just the past day. I woke up at 8. First, to the sound of my alarm. But something sounded off about the alarm. It was a little... strange sounding. Well, I got up, and so did my current roommate. We both then realized it wasn't our alarms, but rather that Eric was downstairs, repeating the phrase "You're a fat ugly bitch, you fucking bitch!" for the duration of about two minutes. That one phrase, two minutes. What the hell? Alex just washed up and went to work, avoiding the mess altogether. But when I was shaving, he came up laughing, saying, "Did you hear me just now? HAHAH, I got issues with women man, I got issues with women. Serious ones. Hahahaaaa... Ah, those fucking women. Women just fuck around with the wrong crowds, like at SDSU, and then blame guys for their problems! It's--" that's when I tuned out and focused on not cutting my own throat open. Probably the roughest shaving job I'd ever done. I'm going to have to fix that later today (it's about 4AM right now). After I come back from class at about 5, he comes up to my room and rants about women, yet again. This time, he starts off with the one subletting Jon's room, who at this point, I have no problem with. "Yeah, what's her problem? She probably just thinks we're all out to pin the tail on the donkey, you know? She doesn't need to be paranoid because frankly, she's kind of a bitch." You're one to talk, I think. Somehow that transitions into immigrants, possibly because she's an international student from Italy. As much as I try to lecture him about how sensitive an issue illegal immigration is, and the fact that I'd done research on illegal immigration (the "terrible consequences" are really overhyped), he just contradicted himself. Every time I called him out on the things he did that he claimed were characteristic of immigrants, he would lose his composure and start babbling. This time I was able to see him sweat bullets with my own eyes, and I would've probably destroyed his resolve if I hadn't gotten a phone call for dinner. I gladly accepted my chance to leave the douchebag in his own filth and came back around 2:30AM just recently.
His personality overall:
If ever there were a heaven and hell, now would be the time I believe in it (guess where I think he's going?). It's as if this douchebag were sent up from Hell itself just to test me. He's a bigot in every way, bashing on Jews, Italians, Brits, "Mexicans" (all Hispanic and Latino/a groups, but not like he gave a shit to differentiate), African Americans, Native Americans, and even boldly taking a stab at Asians (before I shut him up about that one). He's extremely sexist and holds a hick perspective on gender in general, believing that men are somehow invincible to blame and that somehow, in his strange mind, the high STD rates in SDSU are the fault of "loose women". He doesn't work or go to school, and as far as I know, has shown only marginal interest in going back to school, scaring himself off with the all-too-easy excuse that "college is hard", when his only real alternative is to hang around on Jeff's couch and get drunk 24/7. His daily activities include watching TV on the couch Jeff brought for the townhouse, eating ramen when he's hungry, not washing the pots he uses to cook them in, and scaring off the people who come and look at the room "because they're scared". Well frankly, I don't blame a single person who sees that awesome room, then sees the opposite-of-awesome in every way person living in it, and expects themselves to live with him. He doesn't take care of anything in the house, despite signing a contract explicitly stating that I am going to take huge sums of money for him to fix any damages. He has never cleaned anything in any area that he has touched, including the living room, kitchen, and restroom. He's been living here since June 18, a good two weeks so far. Today, he gave me his father's phone number so that I could call and talk to him about getting the rest of that rent he owed me. The short conversation I had with his father showed me clearly what kind of person I was dealing with: Narcissistic, "faultless", and living with a sense of entitlement, because his father CLEARLY did not give a rat's ass as to his own son's under-the-table activities. This guy was being completely taken care of by "Daddy", despite his full-of-shit rants that he hated people who were raised that way (didn't convince me).
Proposed solutions:
1. Put my foot down and lay down the rules of the house. As of Monday, I typed up a quick draft of the rules and posted it on everyone's doors. It's only been a day so far, but there is very little convincing me not to kick this guy onto the street. He can die there, for all I care. He's turning me into someone who won't mind living with blood on his hands. I call it cold justice.
2. Kick him the fuck out. I need to find a way to tell him that I don't want him living here anymore, and that he needs to get out before something happens. As far as I know, Alex (subletter for my roommate) doesn't mind his presence, but I need to ask him personally what he thinks of Eric. Trouble is, his work schedule and my class schedule conflict. But there has got to be a reason why he's never around when Eric is... Anyway, none of my original housemates like him either, so we could always just use our power in numbers and coerce him out of the house. If he doesn't want to do that...
3. And I hate having to do this, but I could just bone out of the house. I don't have a plan for this, and I hope that it doesn't come to this. The Italian-Turk has become more tolerable, as she's a student too and mostly just stays in her room or at school, so I don't really notice her presence in the house at all.
So guys, I'm all for Plan 2: OUT with him. Any ideas? I'm serious this time; I want him out. I'm also going to follow this post up with a posting on Craigslist to warn all potential subletters that this guy's going to be out there and looking for a new place to call "crash" soon. He's showing me a much crueler side that I don't want to know about, but as of right now, I'm finding myself more and more capable of telling him to die in a ditch somewhere. Hopefully I don't get to the point where I make it happen.
Friday, June 18, 2010
I got back to my townhouse in San Diego to find that my roommate Jon had found two people contending for his room after he'd posted an ad on Craigslist. Despite my warning him that that was the worst possible way to find subletters, he did it anyway for the quick solution. I eventually give the girl his room and give the guy my other roommate's, Phil's, room. Talking to the guy over the phone, I found that his voice was overly jittery and seemed like there was something off about his personality. That should've been my first hint. Meeting him in person solidified my suspicions. The overall weather of the day was mid 60s, low 70s, breezy, and partly cloudy. He was running a fever, sweating like a pig, talking a hundred words a minute, and had bloodshot eyes and some FOUL smell emanating from his skin. All he said was that he would pay everything in cash, as he "[doesn't] do checks". That should've been my second hint. I called my roommate and told him that this guy definitely seems odd, and that I didn't feel safe with him around. He just says to let him take the room for now and we could deal with him later. Phil never did like conflict. The second he hands me his cash, he starts badmouthing the lady who took the other room. He's never even met her, but is going off non-stop about women in general based on his own sheltered views. I tell him about her circumstances and that he should be more sensitive, but he brushes that aside and tries to kiss ass to me by saying I was "being a good guy" by giving her "a place to stay". That's not her circumstance at all. She needed a place from now on because she had school around here. Whatever, I tell myself, he'll only be here until August anyway; that was the agreement. I packed some last things to move out of my house and went back home to Arcadia.
Friday, June 25, 2010
I got back to San Diego around 11 at night after an awesome week at home, only to find the place a DUMP. All the cleaning I did to the kitchen floors, the bathroom, even the common room floor area--trashed. The Clorox-ing I did to the kitchen floor was reversed by the spills of processed ramen and spilled beer bottles that overflowed the recycle bin. The fresh garbage bag I placed into the large trash bin was nowhere to be found. In its place was more ramen, with the soup, processed rice, filthy microwave dinner trays with about 10% of the food and half of the sauces still in them, leaking, dripping beer cans which belonged to my original roommate Ryan, a X-Large pizza box from some cheap pizzeria in the neighborhood, and a bunch of my groceries, half eaten and thrown out as if the fucking perpetrator were a filthy seagull. Oh wait. Seagulls never leave waste behind.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
I wake up a little late to try to catch all of my subletters before they leave the house. Turns out the lady has class early in the morning, so she's already gone by the time I get up at 10. The subletter taking over Ryan's share of our room was doing the dishes after he cleaned up his portion of the mess from the living room. The only one left hanging around is Eric, the suspicious subletter of Phil's room who we've both figured to be a druggy, or at least a slacker. It soon becomes very, very clear to us that he does nothing with his life. He doesn't work, doesn't go to school, and leeches off Social Security as his source of "income". As I was planning to go apartment hunting that day, and I hate his guts already, I made my conversation with him as short as I could. I simply told him not to touch anything in the fridge that wasn't his, and to clean after himself in the kitchen. It also becomes clear now that he is the only one who had been using the kitchen, as I was home the whole week, and Jasmine, Jeff (original tenant) and Alex all eat out. While I'm figuring out my route for the day's apartment hunt, he comes up to my room and randomly comments on what he's seen on TV. Namely, how he thinks "Jennifer Love Hewitt's tits are awesome". "Yeah okay," I tell him, "I've got work to do. Don't you?" He just laughs it off with those hollow eyes of his. That's the defense mechanism I've seen in plenty of middle-aged lowlives. I just got a glimpse of the age when it starts. I leave the apartment, hardly waving him a goodbye, and slam the door behind me, but not before reminding him that he owes me a 6-pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade. That was supposed to be for my move-in celebration when I found a place in August with my friend Henry and his friends. The rest of that day I spent looking around and talking to leasing agents at about six, maybe seven or eight apartments (Just a plug, but we're signing at Trieste for anyone reading this in SD). I did all I could to waste time and stay out of the house until midnight, the usual time when I've noticed he goes to bed. This is about the time I noticed that I'm coming down with something, and I'm only beginning to realize today that it's probably related to being around that filthy slacker.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
This time, I slept in so that I could avoid talking to Eric at all costs. I also slept in so that I could recover a little from whatever lung issue I was developing. It didn't work. He woke up sweating bullets like he always did, only this time, he had that weird emanating smell again. It was something like pot and formaldehyde. Can anyone identify that for me? (I'd like to call the cops on his ass if that's at all possible) He tells me that someone is coming to the apartment to see the room in his crazy attempt to share it. It's clearly not big enough for that, probably 8' x 9' with furniture in the way. He also claimed that someone wanted to buy his car, but he never said in the ad that it didn't work. So now, not only is he probably high on something all the time and an unemployed slacker, he's also full of shit. Well, that's not really new. I got a phone call from my friend Henry to remind me that we were going apartment hunting, and left the house. I repeated the time-wasting thing, only this time I had to get whatever was creeping into my mind out of my system so that I could be ready for school.
Monday, June 28, 2010
I'm sick. At this point, I don't even question the fact that Eric is just watching morning television and cursing like a sailor at the screen while the house is completely empty. I think that's the only reason I woke up at 9--because I might have caught a cold... or whatever bacterium escaped Eric's filthy, treacherous environmental fleshbag of a "body" and found a safer, more vulnerable place to call home. Like recently-in-contact-with-hell Victor Tran. I avoid Eric's blabbering (literally cannot remember what he had to rant about that time) to the best of my ability while I brush my teeth and end up going to school with a headache. There I stayed until about 6, where I grabbed dinner with Phil and let him know about the terror that had taken over his room named Eric Badgley. By that point (two days ago), it hadn't gotten to the point where I wanted to kick him out. Rather, I was still going along with Phil's idea of tolerating it for the summer, and floating with the "good thing it's just another month" mentality. As soon as Phil drove me back, I got in my car and repeated tactics--left the apartment and hung out with friends until the annoying fucker passed out in Phil's room. I flat out REFUSE to call the room "his". I'm not getting as much reading done as I'd liked from my class thanks to this deliberate procrastination.
Tuesday, June 28, 2010
Yeah, that's right. Just the past day. I woke up at 8. First, to the sound of my alarm. But something sounded off about the alarm. It was a little... strange sounding. Well, I got up, and so did my current roommate. We both then realized it wasn't our alarms, but rather that Eric was downstairs, repeating the phrase "You're a fat ugly bitch, you fucking bitch!" for the duration of about two minutes. That one phrase, two minutes. What the hell? Alex just washed up and went to work, avoiding the mess altogether. But when I was shaving, he came up laughing, saying, "Did you hear me just now? HAHAH, I got issues with women man, I got issues with women. Serious ones. Hahahaaaa... Ah, those fucking women. Women just fuck around with the wrong crowds, like at SDSU, and then blame guys for their problems! It's--" that's when I tuned out and focused on not cutting my own throat open. Probably the roughest shaving job I'd ever done. I'm going to have to fix that later today (it's about 4AM right now). After I come back from class at about 5, he comes up to my room and rants about women, yet again. This time, he starts off with the one subletting Jon's room, who at this point, I have no problem with. "Yeah, what's her problem? She probably just thinks we're all out to pin the tail on the donkey, you know? She doesn't need to be paranoid because frankly, she's kind of a bitch." You're one to talk, I think. Somehow that transitions into immigrants, possibly because she's an international student from Italy. As much as I try to lecture him about how sensitive an issue illegal immigration is, and the fact that I'd done research on illegal immigration (the "terrible consequences" are really overhyped), he just contradicted himself. Every time I called him out on the things he did that he claimed were characteristic of immigrants, he would lose his composure and start babbling. This time I was able to see him sweat bullets with my own eyes, and I would've probably destroyed his resolve if I hadn't gotten a phone call for dinner. I gladly accepted my chance to leave the douchebag in his own filth and came back around 2:30AM just recently.
His personality overall:
If ever there were a heaven and hell, now would be the time I believe in it (guess where I think he's going?). It's as if this douchebag were sent up from Hell itself just to test me. He's a bigot in every way, bashing on Jews, Italians, Brits, "Mexicans" (all Hispanic and Latino/a groups, but not like he gave a shit to differentiate), African Americans, Native Americans, and even boldly taking a stab at Asians (before I shut him up about that one). He's extremely sexist and holds a hick perspective on gender in general, believing that men are somehow invincible to blame and that somehow, in his strange mind, the high STD rates in SDSU are the fault of "loose women". He doesn't work or go to school, and as far as I know, has shown only marginal interest in going back to school, scaring himself off with the all-too-easy excuse that "college is hard", when his only real alternative is to hang around on Jeff's couch and get drunk 24/7. His daily activities include watching TV on the couch Jeff brought for the townhouse, eating ramen when he's hungry, not washing the pots he uses to cook them in, and scaring off the people who come and look at the room "because they're scared". Well frankly, I don't blame a single person who sees that awesome room, then sees the opposite-of-awesome in every way person living in it, and expects themselves to live with him. He doesn't take care of anything in the house, despite signing a contract explicitly stating that I am going to take huge sums of money for him to fix any damages. He has never cleaned anything in any area that he has touched, including the living room, kitchen, and restroom. He's been living here since June 18, a good two weeks so far. Today, he gave me his father's phone number so that I could call and talk to him about getting the rest of that rent he owed me. The short conversation I had with his father showed me clearly what kind of person I was dealing with: Narcissistic, "faultless", and living with a sense of entitlement, because his father CLEARLY did not give a rat's ass as to his own son's under-the-table activities. This guy was being completely taken care of by "Daddy", despite his full-of-shit rants that he hated people who were raised that way (didn't convince me).
Proposed solutions:
1. Put my foot down and lay down the rules of the house. As of Monday, I typed up a quick draft of the rules and posted it on everyone's doors. It's only been a day so far, but there is very little convincing me not to kick this guy onto the street. He can die there, for all I care. He's turning me into someone who won't mind living with blood on his hands. I call it cold justice.
2. Kick him the fuck out. I need to find a way to tell him that I don't want him living here anymore, and that he needs to get out before something happens. As far as I know, Alex (subletter for my roommate) doesn't mind his presence, but I need to ask him personally what he thinks of Eric. Trouble is, his work schedule and my class schedule conflict. But there has got to be a reason why he's never around when Eric is... Anyway, none of my original housemates like him either, so we could always just use our power in numbers and coerce him out of the house. If he doesn't want to do that...
3. And I hate having to do this, but I could just bone out of the house. I don't have a plan for this, and I hope that it doesn't come to this. The Italian-Turk has become more tolerable, as she's a student too and mostly just stays in her room or at school, so I don't really notice her presence in the house at all.
So guys, I'm all for Plan 2: OUT with him. Any ideas? I'm serious this time; I want him out. I'm also going to follow this post up with a posting on Craigslist to warn all potential subletters that this guy's going to be out there and looking for a new place to call "crash" soon. He's showing me a much crueler side that I don't want to know about, but as of right now, I'm finding myself more and more capable of telling him to die in a ditch somewhere. Hopefully I don't get to the point where I make it happen.