We had a charming chinese postgradwho stopped being charming as soon as he moved in.
We decided he must have been suffering from an obsessive-compulsive disorder.
He would only leave the house by the backdoor and only enter via the frontdoor, regardless of which was nearer or more convenient.
He objected to people using rooms for other than their 'designated use'. Quite what that meant I still don't know, but he objected to people eating in the living room and to people NOT eating in the dining room.
He wouldn't enter the kitchen if someone else was in there, even if, as happened one time, his dinner was gently burning on the stove. He then freaked out because I'd touched the pan with his dinner in it.
He would play loud music late at night to 'punish us' for talking in the hall.
The final straw came when I came down to the kitchen to find most of the contents of the bin all over the floor with a note on the table accusing people of putting rubbish in HIS bin, which he wasn't responsible for. He'd placed a shopping bag on the back of the door and designated it his own personal bin without actually telling anyone.
We used to put all sorts of horrible cack in the bag just so he'd have to scoop it out again... but finally realised we'd descended ot his level and asked him to leave.
It's wierd looking back on it that we didn't chuck him out earlier - but the descent into madness was pretty gradual. By the time we noticed, we were actually quite scared of him as he was so completely unfathomable.
When he left, he threw away all his bed clothes, his duvet, trainers, all the cases from his CDs, his crockery and his cooking stuff - filling the wheelie bin with stuff.
We ended up taking it all to a charity shop.
(We decided he must have been suffering from an obsessive-compulsive disorder.
He would only leave the house by the backdoor and only enter via the frontdoor, regardless of which was nearer or more convenient.
He objected to people using rooms for other than their 'designated use'. Quite what that meant I still don't know, but he objected to people eating in the living room and to people NOT eating in the dining room.
He wouldn't enter the kitchen if someone else was in there, even if, as happened one time, his dinner was gently burning on the stove. He then freaked out because I'd touched the pan with his dinner in it.
He would play loud music late at night to 'punish us' for talking in the hall.
The final straw came when I came down to the kitchen to find most of the contents of the bin all over the floor with a note on the table accusing people of putting rubbish in HIS bin, which he wasn't responsible for. He'd placed a shopping bag on the back of the door and designated it his own personal bin without actually telling anyone.
We used to put all sorts of horrible cack in the bag just so he'd have to scoop it out again... but finally realised we'd descended ot his level and asked him to leave.
It's wierd looking back on it that we didn't chuck him out earlier - but the descent into madness was pretty gradual. By the time we noticed, we were actually quite scared of him as he was so completely unfathomable.
When he left, he threw away all his bed clothes, his duvet, trainers, all the cases from his CDs, his crockery and his cooking stuff - filling the wheelie bin with stuff.
We ended up taking it all to a charity shop.
chthonic,
Mon 17 Nov 2003, 15:03,
archived)
we had bin related flatmate problems.We lived in a four bedroomed flat, but there were only 3 of us, so we had to have odd people in the 4th room. One guy refused to empty the bin, coz most of the rubbish in it wasn't his. We tried topoint out that we weren't one single entity, and that most of the rubbish wasn't mine, and most of it wasn't actually any single persons - but he refused to believe us.
(,
Mon 17 Nov 2003, 15:08,
archived)
ExactlyI think this is where his bin thing stemmed from - we were pretty lazy at emptying the damn thing anyway, but the shouting and arguing came about because we put rubbish in his bin.
As with all the problems, they were things he'd decided upon but not told anyone else about.
I once asked how his PhD was going and he stopped, sighed, turned around and stared at me. Then he very slowly said, "That. Is. None. Of. Your. Business."
Nice chap.
(As with all the problems, they were things he'd decided upon but not told anyone else about.
I once asked how his PhD was going and he stopped, sighed, turned around and stared at me. Then he very slowly said, "That. Is. None. Of. Your. Business."
Nice chap.
chthonic,
Mon 17 Nov 2003, 15:23,
archived)
more bin problemsI currently live in a small apartment complex. There is a huge communal dumpster and several communal recycling bins in the parking lot. My apartment is all of fifty feet away from aforementioned receptacles (sp?), and yet my roommates insist on leaving bags of trash and/or recycling on our front porch for two to three days at a time. Honestly, if the dumpster were any closer it would be in our front yard. It's not exactly invigorating excercise to walk all the way to the dumpster with a full bin liner in your hand.
At night, the feral cats come. They chew the bin liners open or rummage through the bags of recycleables, looking for tasty tidbits to snack on. When they find the half-eaten tins of cat food that Lord Spoiled Prince Kitty (not mine, obviously) turns his nose up at, they dig in, the motion of their eating pushing the tins across the concrete porch makes these wierd scraping/chewing noises. It's not all that bad, especially when I convince myself I don't have to clean it up, but when you wake at 2am to hear a metal scraping sound on right outside your window it can be quite scary.
Now the little bastards have taken to appearing on our porch during the daytime. They look at me inquisitively, as if to say "Well? Where's the food, bitch?" Have they no shame?! And even after the rubbish has been desecrated by the local cats, my roommates will still leave it out another day or two. I guess rubbish, like wine, has to fully mature.
(,
Thu 20 Nov 2003, 21:15,
archived)
At night, the feral cats come. They chew the bin liners open or rummage through the bags of recycleables, looking for tasty tidbits to snack on. When they find the half-eaten tins of cat food that Lord Spoiled Prince Kitty (not mine, obviously) turns his nose up at, they dig in, the motion of their eating pushing the tins across the concrete porch makes these wierd scraping/chewing noises. It's not all that bad, especially when I convince myself I don't have to clean it up, but when you wake at 2am to hear a metal scraping sound on right outside your window it can be quite scary.
Now the little bastards have taken to appearing on our porch during the daytime. They look at me inquisitively, as if to say "Well? Where's the food, bitch?" Have they no shame?! And even after the rubbish has been desecrated by the local cats, my roommates will still leave it out another day or two. I guess rubbish, like wine, has to fully mature.
I thoroughly enjoythe use of the word "rubbish." It's such a nice word for such a nasty item.
(,
Sun 23 Nov 2003, 7:41,
archived)
Worst housemate ......I had was a huge bloke called John. When we interviewed him (landlord chaired it and everything - very odd) he seemed like a nice bloke, bit of a rugger bugger but no-ones perfect. He mentioned that he sometimes worked from home and had the odd friend over, no problem as others in the house did the same.
About a week after he moved in we discovered he was stone deaf, worked as a salesman for a job and shouted for England. He had a landline installed in his bedroom and carried two mobiles about. He'd get up about 6.00am every morning, we knew this as from three floors down I could tell which TV channel he was watching - the horrible, horrible bastard! Every bloody weekday. He'd then proceed to shout into his various phones until the small hours.
To make matters worse I'd come home sometimes for lunch to find him and a few 'business colleagues' cooking up my fucking dinner after their meetings. This progressed to him getting keys cut for his business partners who'd randomly turn up to check for faxes and not at all to watch cable all day at our expense while they dreamed up get rich quick schemes.
He'd frequently hold dinner parties which he forgot to tell us about, the whole lounge would be packed with the most appaling hooray henrys bleating on about farms and the like
Everyone in the house naturally hated him and although we told him to bugger off he didn't budge. I moved out soon after I understand that once the landlord actually picked up his answer phone messages from us he fucked him off out of it in no uncertain terms.
Ok rant over.
(,
Mon 17 Nov 2003, 15:36,
archived)
About a week after he moved in we discovered he was stone deaf, worked as a salesman for a job and shouted for England. He had a landline installed in his bedroom and carried two mobiles about. He'd get up about 6.00am every morning, we knew this as from three floors down I could tell which TV channel he was watching - the horrible, horrible bastard! Every bloody weekday. He'd then proceed to shout into his various phones until the small hours.
To make matters worse I'd come home sometimes for lunch to find him and a few 'business colleagues' cooking up my fucking dinner after their meetings. This progressed to him getting keys cut for his business partners who'd randomly turn up to check for faxes and not at all to watch cable all day at our expense while they dreamed up get rich quick schemes.
He'd frequently hold dinner parties which he forgot to tell us about, the whole lounge would be packed with the most appaling hooray henrys bleating on about farms and the like
Everyone in the house naturally hated him and although we told him to bugger off he didn't budge. I moved out soon after I understand that once the landlord actually picked up his answer phone messages from us he fucked him off out of it in no uncertain terms.
Ok rant over.
I dunnohe would never set foot in there if people were in there, much like the kitchen.
Seeing as we were always in there (the biggest, nicest room in the house - upstairs with a huge bay window looking south over Cambridge) he probably never went in there at all.
(Seeing as we were always in there (the biggest, nicest room in the house - upstairs with a huge bay window looking south over Cambridge) he probably never went in there at all.
chthonic,
Mon 17 Nov 2003, 16:47,
archived)