After my tumultuous house-hunting experiences of 2006, I wasn't surprised that I would have to move again this year... I just wasn't expecting to do so, so soon. All for the best, really, as I feel I've dodged a bullet, by escaping a flatmate edging precariously close to total meltdown.
I sublet a room from Shelley [a suitable nom de blog] in December. I looked past the preposterous first name, and my gut-feeling that his passive personality might present as an issue, later on. But by mid-January, I sensed that things just weren't right. I will tolerate a lot as a flatmate, having lived with a sex worker for several years, and, frankly, not caring. There is only one deal-breaker for me, and that is when a flatmate is noisy and interrupts my sleep. And that, in this case, was the beginning of the end.
Shelley didn't think much of returning home at 3am one Tuesday morning in mid-January, with a friend, to continue a raucous drinking session long after most late-license bars had closed. Shelley never "brought the party home" again (with one notable exception, soon to be detailed), but his nocturnal excursions were frequent, and frequently troubling. I implemented a policy of wearing ear plugs, if I retired to bed before he was home. But Shelley had a remarkable ability to make the most noise from the most inane action, like getting up in the middle of the night to pee. By the end, I was wearing ear plugs every night.
There were other things that bothered me... like how he would cook something in the microwave, then forget about, leaving it in their overnight... until he remembered the next day, when he would pop that rotting plate into the fridge to eat later on. And then there was his annoying habit of leaving dirty plates in the sink. This is a common bugbear in houseshares, but made all the more frustrating in this situation because we have a dishwasher. Somehow Shelley managed to get the plates to the kitchen and into the sink, but it was too much effort to put them in the dishwasher directly below it. These plates, containing food in various states of decay, would sit there overnight, or until the next evening, before being moved to the dishwasher... without being scraped first. You can imagine my horror, one morning, when I discovered the rotting smell in the kitchen to be coming from the drain tray in the dishwasher... filled with a variety of kidney beans that had been sitting there since, quite possibly, time began. Disgusting. And because those plates weren't scraped, there was always food matter turning up on at least half the crockery and cutlery after each wash. The irony of the story, is that when our relationship entered a state of friction, it was he who accused me of not maintaining a sufficiently high standard of cleanliness.
So did I take issue with his failings as a flatmate? Actually no. I accepted his shortcomings of my standards as being just him, and was prepared to accept it as part of the give-and-take necessary for a successful flatshare. I was also determined to not cut-and-run so soon after moving so frequently in 2006. Of course, Shelley was blind to my consideration and tolerance. The beginning of the end was when he decided to hold his birthday party, at the flat, on a Saturday afternoon and evening until very late... and decided against telling me when. Of course, he did tell me he was going to have a party, but without consulting me again regarding the specific date and time, he sent out the invitations. I received mine along with 40 other invited guests. I thought that to be a little rude. When I mentioned my annoyance, as politely as possible in passing, Shelley took great umbrage, telling me that he was "not going to ask permission". I tried to explain the difference between "being considerate" and "asking permission" but as hard as I tried, the distinction was lost on Shelley.
From that point forward, the relationship drastically deterioriated. Some days later, in a mature display of point-scoring, Shelley launched into the aforementioned attack on my efforts (or lack) to keep the house clean. Admittedly, I didn't clean the house as often as he, but I suspect that has more to do with the differences in our "clean" thresholds, viz he is obsessive-compulsive and I am not. I got a little scared when he defended his position by describing the house as "so dusty, there is dust everywhere"... as I surveyed the room that was curiously absent of any noticeable dust.
When you think about it, living with someone you don't know is a mad decision. And the repetition with which we do it, without regard for the nightmare experiences that have transpired, might even be observed as a sign of insanity. However, I have my reasons for sharing, first and foremost so I can travel more regularly... but there are times when I wonder if it's all worth it!
