Flatmate from hell
I previously posted this as an answer to the Karma qotw, but this seems like an appropriate time for it to come back round as it were.

OK, so I'll get straight into it...

In 2002 I went to uni in Edinburgh. Initially I was quite anxious as it was quite a way from where I'm from (NW England) and I was the only one I knew going there, but it is a beautiful city and student life is great. Turns out anyway, that Edinburgh uni doesn't really present much of a cross section of Scotish society, being largely made up as it is of rich English people from Surrey eager to try out the snowy wastelands on Daddy's tab.

Cue the end of 1st year. My group of friends and I are choosing who lives with who as we move from halls to flats. My course is pretty intensive so 9 times out of 10 I would have to turn down any invitation for a night out/spliff/party. Hence, my name was not too high up on people's wishlist when it came to populating their soon-to-be uberparty-pad. So I got lumbered with 3 other guys. Now, two of these guys are fine, one (Joe - a rather wealthy Surrey boy) was unknown to me and, as you'll see, turned out to be a bit of a shit.

We got lucky with our flat. Super-close to the new Parliament and with 3 floors for 4 people, the rent was undervalued hugely because it was brand new and we were the first tenants. Everything was gleaming - it was worth £500k apparently. Not bad for £270pm each in Edinburgh. So we got everything signed and went to our prospective homes for summer to work etc. Except for J, who decided to hang around for summer and enjoy the festival. The last I see of him is when I leave for home having just put all my coursework, architecture models, computer stuff etc in my room and locking the bedroom door behind me.

About a month later, I'm heading up to Edinburgh with 2 friends. We decided to celebrate my birthday by having a week in the festival. Why not? I've already paid for the rent. On the train up I get a phone call from one of the other flatmates telling me he's moving out.

'What?!' says I, a tad surprised and concerned.
'It's the flat, man. It's fucked up. Joe's fucked it all up'. Says he.

It doesn't sound good. So I tell him I'll check it out for myself and not to tell Joe that I'm coming.

We arrive in Waverly, walk the short distance to the flat and get ready for what awaits us. The plan was set: go quietly straight up to my room on the top floor, leave our stuff then have a look around. Up we go. As I reach the top of the stairs I notice something different about my bedroom door. There seems to be only half of it left on the hinges, the rest splintered across the floor. Shit.

We go in to my room. There's three tussled but empty sleeping bags. I step on a used condom. I survey the room. My flatmate's description was accurate: it's fucked. The blinds have been torn and snapped off the wall. The en-suite (nice flat as I say) - brand new until now - was a tip. Piss everywhere. Smears of what I can only assume to be shit along the shower walls. The shower head is smashed and hanging like a New York payphone. I open my wardrobe. Coursework: crumpled into a ball. Architecture models: completely decimated. Computer: side has come off and one of my jumpers has be shoved inside it. On inspection the insides have been smashed. Time to see Joe.

We go down to the kitchen via the living room. The living room is off the kitchen with double doors, so it's pretty much one huge space. Walking in, we see about 10 sleeping bags and a mattress (we had no furniture at this stage). In the corner is a comatosed Joe half on the matress, half on the floor. His head being on the floor. We step over him and enter the kitchen.

What followed was the most breathtaking site I've ever seen (including goatse). Scattered amongst spilled beans and cans of beer were: 1 large pile of coke - the scale of which can only be described as 'Scarface', the remenants of about 50 lines, a bag of ketamine, 5 large bags of pills, 2 ounce-bags of weed, many discarded pieces of foil with burn marks (I presume crack/heroin). The fridge is ajar. It's full - to the point it won't close - of mushrooms. And there, in the middle of all this, is one used syringe.

I walk over to Joe to wake him up. His eyes are deep pink. His expression on seeing me standing over him was a lot like the 2 girls 1 cup monkey thing that was once on the front page. Imagine your expression if your dad walked in on you wanking over a picture of your mum. That's the kind of shock/shame/fear in his eyes right now. He stares at me. I stare at him. Finally he pipes up with, 'What the fuck are you doing in my flat?'.

Come again?

'Get out, man. This is my flat now. You can fuck off. Go find yourself another place to stay.'

This went on for a while. Me pointing out the obvious, him still tripping off his tits telling me to get out of his newly-conquered territory. I'll cut this bit down as this is getting long... Basically, I looked for another flat. Eventually, I realise I've got a good one as it is and shouldn't have to be spending my birthday flat hunting because he decided to fuck up our current flat. I decided I'd better get the landlords involved.

We met the next day outside the flat (we were staying at my mate's in the meantime). On the way we walked down Princes St. We saw something rather bizarre: some guy leaning forward off a traffic light post in the middle of the road (think Titanic, king of the world scene) staring at oncoming traffic as if wanting a fight. He then lets go and runs straight at the oncoming cars. Cue much beeping, running over bonnets, and narrowly avoiding a bus. All while half naked and screaming 'Wahoooooo!'. Wierd. But it is festival time.
Anyway, I explain everything to them. They were shocked but, to their credit understanding. They appreciated the honesty and the chance to save their expensive new property. We say thanks and stand back as they enter the flat...

Now, you know that scene from Ratatouille where the woman's ceiling falls down and about 10,000 rats come flooding out of the house. Yeah, like that but with Spanish and French people. Some half naked, some fully. All fucked up and running as if Robocop himself had just walked in. I've never seen so many bouncing dredlocks in all my life. After about 5 mins it's pretty quiet except for a shouting/whimpering exchange. Then, just as things look like they're coming to a close someone sprints past us heading for the flat, bumping us on the way:

'Wooohooooooooo!' The half naked guy pelts straight in ready to join the party. About 3 seconds later he comes running out again, minus the woohoo.

So yeah...he got kicked out, he lost many friends and fucked up his degree. The one stand out moment, though was when my friends and I were sitting in my bedroom window a few minutes later. I was enjoying the fact that I no longer had to face flat hunting at the worst time of the year or be homeless, while my mates were happy to be watching the spectacle. As Joe slinked away, pashmina-clad girlfriend in toe, he looked back and we all gave him a wave. The cunt.
( thiswasmyclone, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:15, 4 replies)

How did you manage
To not beat the living shit out of Joe?
( Cawl, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:34, closed)

That is an excellent question.
I suspect I would have. And I'm not a violent person, at all.
(julius, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 15:15, closed)

*click*
..for "minus the woo-hoo"
(drunkenfud, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 4:53, closed)

deja vu...
:P
Still a good read though.
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 18:35, closed)