Roommates- Proof the Apocalypse is Coming

I am poor. There are probably many other adjective I could use to define myself, but poor seems like the best one so far.  It’s the one defining characteristic that decides and informs a majority of my choices, so by extension, it should be the one that I should use when introducing myself.  Unfortunately polite society necessitates that I don’t use this for my introductions, so I often am forced to use less accurate words to explain who I am, like cat lover, hiker, swimmer or maybe sympathetic watcher of the news. While none of these adjectives are actually true in regards to me personally, they probably apply to less bitter and angry individuals. Now being poor is nothing to be ashamed of, it can force you to become a creative cheapskate, can introduce you to a whole realm of online dating to supplement your meager diet, and can give new meaning to “all day pass” or “all you can eat”. But one thing that it does invariably require is the addition of roommates into your living situations. And if there’s one thing I will never enjoy it’s the forcible placing of people I will never care about into my personal space by a landlord that constantly forgets to fix my bathtub drain.

Now living with roommates doesn’t necessarily have to be all bad, some people have even told me that they enjoy the random strangers they are usually forced to share a toilet and a refrigerator with. I, on the other hand, have not. I could name one hundred traditional roommate complaints that might compel me to look up “how to make chloroform at home” or “how often do toasters fall into bathtubs accidentally” but my reasons for hatred of women in their mid-twenties is less than traditional. Some people I’ve talked to might even say it falls into the ‘wtf is wrong with you’ category. Some might say “Why don’t you just grow up and stop hating people for stupid reasons, you went to college for goodness sake”. And to those people I say nothing, because that was usually our last conversation because now I hate them. You see, the one thing that fills me with burning hatred for literally anyone is when your roommates do not scrub the sink after washing their nasty dishes.

I don’t and will never understand these monsters. If you dish is full of crusty oatmeal, why would I ever want to touch it with my bare hands? If you spill milk or sour cream or any range of dairy products in the sink that I have been blessed with, why would you not simply rinse the sink out quickly before it curdles and leaves me with no question on what awaits me in hell? You know why? Because you are monster. You are one of the harbingers of the apocalypse and you are going to bring this world to ash and ruin (probably).  You knowingly put nasty ass food in my sink. MY SINK. The sink that I wash my hands with, my dishes in, and those vegetables that one time. You put your revolting old food in my sink and did not make sure it actually went down the drain, like the animal you are. I cannot handle that. I have standards and those standards include a giant metal bucket that I wash my food in be wiped down like once a day BECAUSE I’M A CLASSY WOMAN DAMNIT.

What am I supposed to do with all the dried junk on the side of my sink? Clean it myself?! My family did not walk across the plains of the Midwest Oregon Trail style for me to scrape dried potato out of a sink. I did not go to college and graduate only to deal with this shit. You’re a grown ass woman. You can pick up a sponge and wipe down a piece of metal that you covered in your nasty ass food.

So dear roommate of mine, until I pay off my student debt and get a job that can afford me a one bed/bath apartment, wipe the freaking sink down or else I will throw my brand new toaster in your bathtub.

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