Strangers In The House

In my second year of university, I moved into a stereotypical student house: 8 occupants (6 guys, 1 girl other than me), all of whom were stoners and seemed to despise cleaning up after themselves. Although this house was full of that special breed of stories that are only funny after you’ve long moved out, one in particular takes the cake.

I was in my room going to bed one night when I heard girls giggling and running around the house. This was not at all unusual in our house, so I went to sleep. At about 2 a.m., I heard someone pounding on the front door. When I went to answer, I saw two police officers.

“Where is she?” one officer yelled. When I said I didn’t know what they were talking about, they told me not to play games and tell them the truth. I said, “I was just asleep and I don’t know what’s going on, but I did hear some girls come in earlier and go downstairs.” While one officer went downstairs, the other stood upstairs questioning me, asking how old I was, who the girls were with, how old he was. When I told the officer my roommate was 21 or 22. To she she responded: “These girls are 15 years old!”

It turns out my roommate met these drunk girls at a bus stop and invited them over to our house. One of them drunk-dialed her parents. I’m not entirely clear on what happened next, but somehow her parents got our address and called the police.

The worst part? After the police and the minors left, I said to my roommate, “Perhaps the lesson here is not to bring home random 15-year-old girls we meet at the bus stop.” His response was to laugh it off.