Roberto Lewis found the following written in blood on a dirty bedsheet when he moved into his dorm room this semester. The previous occupant apparently had left it behind. I hate my roommate. I relate the following so that one might know of the horrors that lie in wait when one signs a housing contract. Take heed. To protect my roommate’s identity and ensure the safety of his loved ones, he will henceforth be affectionately referred to as “Shithead- Shithead Kim.”
He is about six foot something, and as skinny as a rake. His acne makes him appear as though somebody blasted him with shotgun pellets. He never showers. I’ve seen him grab a towel and head for the shower once in three and half months. When he gets off of the phone, and I pick it up, I CAN SMELL HIM ON THE PHONE. I don’t think he’s changed his sheets yet.
He doesn’t talk to me, or, for that matter, to anyone else who isn’t Korean.
Towards the beginning of the year, when I was still interested in forming some sort of friendship, I would ask if he was going to any of the activities. He would lift his greasy, unwashed, acne-ridden head up from under that creepy fluorescent desk lamp of his, roll his eyes, and whine, “Oh, pleeease.” As if I was asking him to donate semen samples or something. What a prick.
He spends twenty or thirty minutes doing his hair in the morning. Not washing it, mind you- just rubbing this oil stuff in it, combing it, and blow drying it. I hate it when he blow dries his hair, because I’m always afraid a thousand white little microscopic parasites are being blown up into the air and are landing in my glass of water. I don’t understand why he spends so much time on his hair; he’s got no one to impress.
On to phone messages. My other roommate’s phone messages might look like this:
Dad called – call back before 9:00
Joe called re: rush mtg.
But Shithead’s message would read:
Reverend Yi called. Will pick you up at the usual time.
Not that I have anything against Reverend Yi, or the Presbyterians, but are you trying to tell me that he spends twenty to thirty minutes in the morning doing his hair for THIS GUY?
Shithead has an assortment of annoying habits, such as singing along to his recorded religious hymns. Loudly. And in a variety of languages. He likes to erase the answering machine without telling anyone and rerecord it completely in Korean, in case one of his non-English speaking relatives call. Never mind the fact that he is sharing the phone and answering machine with two other people.
So when people call for Mike or me, they think they have the wrong number and hang up. Also, when they call for Shithead and he isn’t there, but I am, they attempt to communicate without fluency, much less ability, in the English language. As a result, the conversation goes something like this:
WHAT I HEAR: Oh, hello. May I speak to Shithead Kim?
ME: Sorry, Shithead’s not here.
RELATIVE: Oh…yes…May I speak to Shithead Kim.
ME: Shithead isn’t here.
RELATIVE: Mmm hmmm…Shithead Kim?
ME:(getting slightly frustrated) No, you don’t understand. Shithead is not here.
RELATIVE: Hmm…Oh…yes…May I speak to Shithead Kim?
ME (extremely angry): SHITHEAD IS NOT HERE!!!
ME: Ah, fuck it. (CLICK)
And so it is every time they call.
I am living with Satan himself. My sins have caught up with me. He is still loose. He could be anywhere right now, perhaps even planning to move in with YOU! Be warned.