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This is a question Housemates from hell

What was your worst flat share experience? Tell us, for we want to know.

(, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 18:22)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Luck getting through this one, but this idiot was a piece of work:
I think that psychologists tend to raise fucked up kids.

This is (mostly) sampled from e-mails I've sent out to folks who allow me to vent in their direction.
It starts two months into our stay in this house:

Not so much two men living here as a man and a boy.
I'm up late being pissed (yes, getting pissed, too) and taking measures like: everything I don't like seeing in the kitchen grocery bags he moved in with) goes into the nearest cupboard. He can unpack when he's ready to go root around for his stuff. This does not include the bathroom; things he uses every day are kept on the counter in plastic grocery bags, into which they are replaced after use.
I just tried shutting his bedroom door (again) to avoid the gaze of the thing that bubbles and gibbers in the center of the chaos (Azathoth: a friend of mine from years past, I suppose, though I don't care to do more than have a few drinks with it these days) only to find his good-clean-shirts are hung on the *outside* doorknob.
You may laugh now.
At least I have the excuse to abandon the pretention that two people will decorate the place; I may treat it as my own, but for the clothes actually strewn about the *living-room*, etc., etc..
I'm still pissed off: the next time I see him I need to ask him (quote) "Why do we knock on doors?"
My *kid* seems to think that it's to announce that he's coming in within the next two seconds. So this is how I wake up, halfway through my sleep cycle (hasn't happened in a couple of weeks, until around 10 am yesterday):
(two seconds elapse, my door opens)

Okay: Whothefuckelse?
And: Who is he trying not to disturb by whispering?
Robbie patiently explained to me yesterday how he didn't want his shirt to get wrinkled, so he had spread it on the back of the most substantial piece of furniture in the living-room. Which was my chair.
The day before, we had discussed him keeping his clothes in his bedroom.
I guess he was dissapointed to find his shirt wadded up and flung into the trash-heap that is his room.
I guess he thinks those little wire triangles the dry-cleaner leaves in his shirts are disposable one-use shape-holders.
What he thinks of the little tiny alcove of his room with the bare light-bulb and horizontal dowel is anybodies' guess.
I can't find the e-mail that covers our discussion as to the use of towel bars, of which there are two in our bathroom.
He tried using one for his towel, and one as his hamper.
Deprived of one of the bars he chose to use the curtain rod for his towel bar, then top of the bathroom door (this is day after day after day).
So I told him I need to not move his towel around every day of my life. So the next night he leaves, and it's on the toilet seat with his clothes. Then he scolds me for leaving a nasty message on his cellphone voice-mail. He didn't know that when I moved his stuff into his room, I spat on the towel a couple or three times.
This is five months into the drama, and it's nearly done. (present day):
Oy, what a week;
During the last seven days the phone service has been cancelled (phone was in R.'s name, electricity in mine), (Robbie ignored two letters from the phone company I didn't know about), I've been handed an eviction notice (I had no idea that he hadn't paid his half of the rent)(he huffed like the lady at our door was inconveniencing him, told her she should have called (maybe that was his Mom-- didn't look like her--) and wrote the check), and he's shown his propensity for sleeping on my couch in the livingroom (despite the fact that I've told him not to) because he has no bed (his bedroom looks like a flea market). This morning he said he should be allowed to sleep on the couch in his own house once in a while, and it's true that he only spends the night here once in a while...
What a fucking jerk.

It was an unusual effort to maintain our friendship, considering that I have no more in common with him than with any guy off the street, I just thought he was a positive, really together character, for some reason, and he had taken a liking to me, stopping by all the time to visit my (ex-) girlfriend and I.
Effort over.
(, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 3:55, Reply)
oh sweet family of mine
Oh what a beautiful day it is. The sun in shining, the air is clean and crisp and there is shit all over the bathroom floor. Little does my brother know that he was so drunk he shit all over the place and didn't even know it. FUCKING SICK!
(, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 2:59, Reply)
toilet matters.
My friend was very lucky that the only shared facility in her digs at college she suffered was the loo. Very unlucky in that the other occupants were an unknown number of Malaysian students going for the guiness book of records for room occupancy,who didn`t seem to know how to use it in any recognised normal way.

Almost every morning was started with "Fuck fuck fuck, fucking chinkies have pissed all over the floor again AND no Fucking paper!!" variants and speculation they were standing on the seat or pulling the toilet roll between their legs until they came to a dry bit. And so on.

After several months of "good morning" being replaced by similar , one morning there was a stunned silence and doubleglazed look, "You OK?".

She had taken off the empty cardboard to put a looroll on again,only to find DEEP TEETH MARKS in the wooden centre, and a pebbledashed loo and had an image both strange and funny she couldn`t get out of her mind, which I`m sure you now, like me, share too.

(Dont forget the cheap kung fu movie sound effects! )
(, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 2:44, Reply)
University seems to bring out the best in people...
In my third and final year at University myself and my girlfriend moved into a house where a 30 something year old sociology student already lived. Naively, we thought she would be a sensible, straightforward character, being at least 10 years older than us.... oh no. Apart from inviting back and sleeping with nearly every drunken, pilled up scally in Lincoln, she had a few minor mental problems too. We didn't want to ask her what they were, but a recycling box filled with empty diazepam and anti-depressant packaging every week was testament to the fact she was a tad off the rails. Combine this with her strange eating habits which meant she didn't crap for days, before eating half a packet of senacot to 'un-bung' her arse - leaving a titanic nutty shite in the loo every 4 to 5 days. As you can tell we were quite impressed.
After nearly a year of her mood swings, skanky friends and skankier arse, she finally snapped, stabbing herself in the leg while locked in the toilet with my favourite Le Crusier paring knife from the kitchen.
My girlfriend and I had to clean up the blood, and when she got back from hospital 'she' finally admitted that 'she' had a problem - NO SHIT! And I didn't even get my damn knife back.
(, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 2:18, Reply)
Life my arse
I moved in to a houseshare with an older lady student of photography. The first night went well, bottle of wine and studying her work, then she changed into Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. And took to playing Private Dancer by Tina Turner and Life by Des'ree on loop. I'm afraid of the dark, especially when I'm in a park?! I get frightened by a ghost rather have a piece of toast?! *I* get frightened living with THIS nutter. Friendless freak.
(, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 0:06, Reply)
I got off lightly.
Compared to the horror stories on here I had it easy. Wasn't fun at the time, mind you.
First bedsit.
Had the place to myself for about four months. Then three guys all move in at the same time. Relations initially friendly but deteriorate when I start getting grumpy at their habit of coming at 1am every single Friday and Saturday with their mates and sticking the stereo on full blast. Then despite the front room being full of papers, fagash and the odd crustie one of them took umbrage at my leaving my razor in my personal kitchen cupboard.
Finally I woke up one night to find them trying to stuff a clothesline pole through my window. They thought this was funny. I thought it would be funny to lock them out. The fun and games culminated in my waving a pickaxe handle under somebody's nose.
Second bedsit.
Much nicer except for the (Divorced) wifebeater that lived across the corridor and the couple who livened up Saturday with ferocious, doorslamming rows.

Apologies for wasting five minutes of your life that you will never get back.
(, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 0:01, Reply)
I'm stuck with two of the biggest cunts known to man. They keep nicking my food from the fridge, barging into my room, and telling me to 'turn the music down'.

Parents, eh?
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 21:47, Reply)
all very Pacific Heights
Years ago I rented a fairly nice upper floor flat in Belfast with 2 good friends of mine. After a while I began to notice that things would go missing - a packet of biscuits here, a carton of orange juice there, the fiver I left for the phone bill...

I finally decided to confront my mates tactfully. After the whole tiptoeing, softly-softly "now, we're all a bit broke" approach they just stared at me puzzled and said that they'd had stuff go missing too - a packet of sausages, yet more biscuits, half a bottle of whiskey. All a bit baffling.

My twenty-second birthday arrived and we threw a party and knowing it would be noisy we invited the downstairs neighbour, mainly so he couldn't complain about us. He came along, went a little bit psycho and blamed everyone for stealing his camera (why he had a camera with him was a mystery - he didn't know any of us), and then flounced off to his downstairs abode leaving some freaked out guests behind. I finally found his camera where he had stashed it behind a door. I went down to deliver it to him only to find him sitting in semi-darkness surrounded by photos of us coming and going from the house and snaps of our own deserted living room and bedrooms... Backtracking hastily and convinced I, a slightly-built young student lass, was about to be slaughtered nastily by someone even more certifiable than myself, I fled upstairs and relayed my tale of terror.

Our cunning plan was then to leave a bottle of laxative and acid-laced vodka on the dining room table, wait for it to disappear, and then change the locks. After that, no more bother. We did mention the experience to our landlord who laughed and said cheerily "yes girls, that wee lad's a bit strange". No shit.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 19:28, Reply)
My first ever "flatmate" Ox (Jesus) in staff digs at a scummy Northern Pontins. Upon moving in I went to splash my face with water (I was hot after lugging my gear in), lifted the blue towel that was covering the sink (I still remember that towel was blue) as soon as I touched the towel Ox mumbled from his stinking pit "no, leave the towel alone" but I had already seen why he desired the towel remain inplace. The sink was a 1 foot deep ball of writhing maggots, I swear some of the bastards had faces, This apocolyptic sight was soon covered with a good layer of my own vomit.
It turns out the dirty cnut had puked in there EIGHT weeks earlier and forgot to clean the thing out. Near the end of the season following months of us fighting it was ME who was kicked out and fired, due to him being a qualified sound tech something and me being an easily replacable barman (the half a brick I brained him with was irrelavent in the "tribunal" of course).
Oh yeah, Ox also used to masterbate openly in bed WHILE eating pizza, "the pizza grease is extra lube" as he charmingly put it.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 19:16, Reply)
Steve? Really?
My parents first met at a party, during the course of which my dad gave her his flat's address. Of course, since I'm here, mum went there to see him again. She knocked on his room door and was answered by my dad's roommate. "Is Steve there?" she asks, for Steve is my dad's name. "Steve who?"
"Steve Dromedary"
"Nah, doesn't live here" he lies. Fortunately dad ran into her in the street as she was leaving, w wee bit miffed. Apparently his roommate just didn't believe that a woman would come looking for my dad. I can see why, really.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 17:53, Reply)
this bloke Dave
he used to get his cock out every night and wank himself stupid all over everyone's food.

then he'd punch us, kick us, stab us and chop off our heads.

then he'd burn the whole house down.

and the whole house was made of solid shit.

I'm maybe exaggerating on the details, but the gist of what I'm saying is all true.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 17:46, Reply)
my jewish housemate..
threw away a bottle of expensive red wine i'd bought a couple of hours earlier, because it "hadn't been put in the fridge".

so i wiped all the door handles in the house with a pork-chop and tied it to her favourite dvd.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 17:44, Reply)
Quick one before the QOTW closes
While I was at uni in Leicester, I used to hang out at my friend Ben's flat to play computer games and smoke weed out of buckets. It was a typical lads' flat - pornography and wrestling stickers covered every surface, and on one occasion, me, after I'd fallen asleep on the sofa. There was another guy whose name I've thankfully forgotten, who used to live over the road, but because he didn't get on with his housemates he would spend most of his time at Ben's flat, to the extent that he brought over his own shampoo and conditioner and took showers there.

Ben and his housemates took it in turns to wank into his haircare products.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 17:20, Reply)
....dear god
Many years ago, I moved in with my best mate, the argentine bass player from his band and her husband MArk.. or "Gollum" as I would affectionately call him.

Highlights included:

My mates lack of personal hygene becoming evident when, I swear to god, we had to chase his fucking socks round the house.

Argentine Bass player walking into my room in order to ask me something when am stark bollock naked and stopping for a lngthy chat (I aint very shy).

Gollum picking a fight with me over my 'attempts at seducing his wife', and my throwing one of my swords at his head.

Gollum taking an overdose, claiming that it was the contents of our med' drawer in the kitchen (all that contained was Lemsip and Rennie's).

Me getting some plod mates around to sweep for drugs in the place, they found that Argentine Bass player and gollum were on smack.

Some local kids attacking me for something gollum did, my nearly getting arrested for walking into a crowd of the bastards with a sword.

My mate nearly setting the house on fire after passing out drunk while cooking himself pie and chips.


Though, I suppose am no picnic to live with either.... random birds back, nakedness, loud noisy shagging (and yes, wanking), and a cadbury's creme egg addiction.

tiz all good.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 17:04, Reply)
I wont really resort to murder.
I was being metaphorical.
Im getting a flat with my brother.
But thanks for the advice my fellow b3tans!!!!

your caring words touched me deeply.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 16:44, Reply)
Sleeping with the Enemy?
Ex Girlfriends??

That reminds me of something I repressed a long, long time ago!

Working all hours my goat-raping god sends
Having to listen to miserable fuckers moan about bank charges
Getting home to an empty house with no food

Studying (kinda')
Not working
Spending large sums of the money I earn on getting munted four nights a week
Letting other Lads shoot thier baws over my bed-clothes.

I swear I lay my head on a pillow one night, rolled on my side and there it is...

I should have taken some counciling for that one... Instead I just went and slept with a couple of (legal) teenagers!
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 16:39, Reply)
Sharing with ex. Seems that I could be called a housemate from hell, or at least she thought so.
For a while when we were still going out, I shared my ex's flat. It's just one bedroom in halls with one large bed, so I was in close proximity with her most the time.

I remember one morning I woke up and she was pissed off with me. I kept asking what's wrong and I got this story.
The night before while I was sleeping in her bed, I started talking and mumbling in my sleep. She then started having a conversation with my while I was asleep. She then asked me "Do you love me?" I simply told her "No." and then went back to sleep.
Oooops. Don't think she ever forgave me for that one.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 15:47, Reply)
FLUB (fat lazy useless bastard)
this is my first time so be gentle..

i once had a friend called colin, but he's better know in my circle of friends as FLUB or cunt features. he wasnt a best friend by any means, but seemed an ok kind of chap. he was having some trouble at home and needed a place to stay so i offered up my spare room on the condition that he paid rent or was prompt in getting the benefits folk to pay for it. and of course, paid his fair share of bills and food etc. never have i regretted a decision more in my entire life.

here are some of the things i had to put up with in the month that he stayed with me:
- chip papers and take away trays constantly littering the living room and kitchen as he was too lazy to cook for himself (he was about 19 stone too..)
- him taking AGES in the bathroom to get ready to go out etc. but he STILL smelt bad so god knows what he was doing in there.
- he ate all my good food so i sent him up to tescos to do some shopping to replace it. he came back with a jar of whelks, some frozen chips, squeezy mayonaise and a loaf of tesco value white bread. none of which i eat.
- constantly begging me for taxi fare as he was too fat to walk anywhere and thought he was too good for the bus or train even though he was skint. he never got any money out of me though.
- when he finally did get some money through from the benefits people he decided to spend it on taxis and clubbing with his mates and i didnt see a penny.
- used my pc and filled it up with porn dialers and spyware, somehow managed to find my hidden folder of rauncy pics and emailed them to all his friends. i nearly burnt it and bought a new one it was that bad.
- confessed he was in love with me after a week even though i already had a boyfriend and ignored him most of the time. he then proceeded to follow me pretty much everywhere i went, even on nights out with my friends. when confronted about it, he would just come up with some lame excuse that it was a coincidence or he needed to ask me something but my phone was switched off.. well duh, of course it is because the bugger wont stop texting or calling!

it got so bad that i eventually decided to go on holiday to the states for a while to escape him and told my friends that i wanted him gone by the time i got back, which he was, as they can be quite persuasive chaps. not seen nor heard from him since thank god.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 15:01, Reply)
A fridge too far
Usual story - second year at university, 7 guys living together, someone had to be the designated twat.

As well as not helping out round the house all year, and generally stinking the place out, he had a fixation with the army. An aspiring soldier, he was part of the OTC (office training corps) which meant he could be found frantically polishing his boots for several hours on an end, jogging round the streets in full commando gear and nourishing himself with some tasty army rations.

My hatred came to a point when, at the end of the year, me and 2 other housemates arrived back from a holiday, jetlagged and exhausted, to find that he hadn't done his bit in sorting the house out before we moved out. In order to keep our deposits we spent a frantic day cleaning and tidying up after him.

The only respite was when I discovered he had forgotten his prized mini fridge. Seconds later, the said fridge could be seen flying out of the second floor window to the concrete below, meeting it with what can only be described as impressive results.

This made me feel slightly better, but I still hate the bugger.
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 14:25, Reply)
moving house
we moved to a house in the west country , it was a little skanky we thought on viewing but it was cheap and I'd fancied the grand designs/sara beewhiningcoweeny challenge.
we got scabies in the first week.
when I pulled the wallpaper off-it was hanging loose-because they'd wallpapered over where the old man used to sleep and the 3ft circular blob of old man hair grease had defied the power of polycel.
there were handgun lock boxes in ALL bedrooms and where they'd had a dart board, (3bedrooms) y'could see the dart holes, the knife holes, the air pellet/bb holes and then finally: bullet holes...
hidden in the overgrown garden was a range of toilets, tin buckets, water tanks, baths etc all shot to shit with shotguns & handguns.
the bailiffs attempted to get cash from me for their debts, the postman tried to deliver registered letters for them/get us to sign.
and deliveries would be made: CD's books, fridges with the suggestion 'the *****ons will pick em up later'
dodgy geezers (loud exhausts, boom music and IQ supressors = baseball caps)would casually drop by for car parts and/or just a taste of speed?
occasionally (12 months + later) i'd find em scouting around outside at odd times day/night 'looking for things left behind...'
felt it prudent not to ask what.
tho' the range of dog skeletons was a surprise I could've happily missed as a 'life event' when planting a rose bush. it ended up 15ft wide of where i'd initially thought for it to go.
faintly wafty? oh yes indeedy

girth? choke a greyhound...
(, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 14:23, Reply)

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