On the Move

In grad school, my first roommate refused to pay rent and left me holding the lease on our apartment, a lease that I couldn’t afford on my own. When I tried to collect, she filed for a restraining order in which she claimed I was a stalker and tried to sexually molest her. With my credit trashed, my only option was to move into the dorms. I shared a room with three other guys, including a basketball player who had a habit of leaving his toenail clippings on the coffee table and a guy from Eastern Europe who had no concept of bathing or deodorant.

One of the other guys decided to start his own home-based business during the course of the semester — the cultivation and sale of marijuana.  Now I could really care less about people’s own personal marijuana use, but the stream of sketchy characters that my roommate’s new venture brought in and out of my apartment at all hours (not to mention the disappearance of my stuff) was too much. I felt I had no choice but to tell the RA what was going on, which resulted in him getting busted by the cops.

After that, I had to move overnight.  My newest roommate was a quiet guy who kept to himself and I thought finally the nightmare was over.  But, only one week later, the cops showed up at my door yet again. The new guy was also being arrested — for abusing his girlfriend.