I met my My Very Worst Roommate, Tina, at work. We both worked at a restaurant together and she seemed cool. Turns out she lived very far from the restaurant and needed a place to stay. I lived only a few blocks away and offered to rent her my living room (we live in an expensive city where this is common). She saw it, happily agreed, then moved in.

At first, things were great. We got really close and became good friends. I ignored the fact that she wouldn’t bathe too often and sometimes smelled. I don’t know what I was thinking, that should have been a warning sign. She also always kept the room a mess and never helped me clean common areas. I had to beg her for a week to clean the kitchen and bathroom, which I had been cleaning all along, then got tired of waiting and just left the bathroom for her to clean, which she finally did after a week.

One day we decided to take a roadtrip together, and that’s when things went downhill. I guess the 12 hours of driving really got to her, and she started snapping at me for no reason. Throughout our trip, we only did what she wanted to do. She didn’t care that I had never been to that part of the country before (she used to live there) and barely took me sightseeing. It was my vacation, too. We got into a big argument on the last night of our trip. On the way back, we barely spoke. She was only 19 and a pretty bad driver, so when she stopped really short on the way home I screamed, thinking we would hit something. She told me, “I swear to God, if you scream like that again…” When we got closer to home, she became super agitated with the traffic and again took it out on me by giving me an attitude.

When we got home we went our separate ways. The next day I had to work, and she came to the restaurant to hang out. She apologized to me for her bad behavior, and we hugged it out. All seemed well. The day after that, we were scheduled to work together. At our preshift meeting, the manager was talking about something random. He turned to Tina to ask her a completely neutral subject (something like what her favorite dish was at the restaurant) and she snapped. She gave him a nasty look and stormed off. We were all baffled. The rest of the shift, she kept shooting me nasty looks and talking with a girl who didn’t like me. They kept looking my way and laughing. Real mature. This continued throughout the whole shift.

I got out earlier than her and ran home to cry. I texted her not to sleep at my apartment tonight. She came to pick up a night bag to stay at a friend’s house. When I asked her what her problem was she said she didn’t want to be rude (too late) and say what it was, then stormed out. She never agreed to talk it out with me and ended up moving out after that.

She did leave me a parting gift, though- a room full of trash and her body odor! The floor seemed to be her garbage can(though thank God there was at least no food on it) and I found everything from bank statements to condom wrappers on the floor. She also left anything she didn’t want for me to get rid of, including a futon stained with food and something that looked like a bodily fluid (I’l give you a hint- it was white).

Falling on hard times, my husband and I thought getting a roommate would ease our financial stress. We posted an ad on Craigslist, finding two guys who desperately needed a house (living in their car), and worked long hours.

The first month was perfect because we barely talked and they were both respectful and gone most of the day. The second was pure chaos. We quickly noticed they never cleaned their bathroom or room and left (our) dishes nasty in the sink until I cleaned them. Soon fed up, I asked them to start cleaning after themselves. Instead they never used them again (in front of us). They also started bringing girls into our home every day doubling the people in our household and singling out my husband and me. Trying to be nice we ignored it, but it got hard to ignore when we couldn’t even be in our own living room, kitchen or bathroom without someone there.

They also tripled both our water and electric bill and completely walked all over us. They started running our w/d every day and night and taking three showers each daily. Also completely ran our internet so we couldn’t even watch one movie. Again, we asked them to be more courteous, that I was pregnant and my husband worked thirteen hours a day, and we deserved both to sleep and a warm shower.

We paid double the rent and all the utilities and let them still use our stuff. Every time we had a discussion they nodded and said they were wrong and it would never happen again, it always continued. It got to the point where their lamp even burned holes straight through the shade. If I ever left the house the had many people cooking and the w/d was running and every light in the house was on. Eventually we said they had to use the l mat, that we could no longer afford it with a baby coming and again they just begged us and said it would change, we refused.

They always said they appreciated our honesty and we didn’t just avoid them and blow up because that’s happened in the past (not surprised). The best part is the pretended they didn’t know where stuff was when we were home even though I’ve seen them steal many times (even checked other drawers in front of us bahaha!) They never once bought their own products and used everything of our they were “entitled” to and acted like the nicest people you’d ever meet. Our three months are almost up finally and we see this moral as you can really never know people until you live with them and even then they could be acting.

When I was young, I shared a house with a few friends. Our worst roommate was a drifter named Todd. He was bone thin and had hair like Jesus. He carried all of his belongings in a bulky backpack. Except for his bongo drums, which he kept tied around his neck with a leather thong. Because he didn’t have a job, he had nothing better to do than get stoned, put on a Yes album, and invite other drifters over for a drum circle. They played the stereo at full volume so they could hear it over the drums. The windows shuddered, the floor vibrated and the room stank of a dozen homeless men. They had drug-induced stamina and could play all night.

Todd was obsessed with the zodiac and mentioned it as often as possible. It was the lens through which he viewed every social interaction, from meeting a woman at a bar to purchasing a soda at Kwik Mart, to having a conversation about paying a little rent once in awhile. The first time he met me, he asked my birthday. When I answered, he sneered, “I hate Libras.” From that moment forward, he viewed me with eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Todd enjoyed dropping acid in the morning. When everyone else was getting ready for work or enjoying a cup of coffee, he’d sit on the living room floor, listlessly petting his bongo drum with his mouth hanging open. During one such trip, my roommate and I made the mistake of trying to speak to him about a housekeeping matter (late bill). He cried that we were sending off bad vibes and insisted that he could see our black, nasty auras swirling all around the room. He pulled frantically at his Jesus hair and said, “Uh oh. Now you’ve done it. I am having a bad trip.” He backed away from us, his dilated eyes shining with terror. “Get away from me, Libra!” He diverted all conversations about rent and utilities in this manner.

Todd was always gone, in one way or another, when conversations about money were afoot. But when a meal was prepared, he could sense it from miles away. He would skulk around the sidelines of the kitchen, rubbing his stomach and discussing his acute case of munchies. If I didn’t offer him a plate, he sulked and complained that Libras were bastards.

Todd also had plenty of homeless, damaged friends that he invited to live in the house. There was a leering, thick-necked giant with a bald head and a foot long beard. He thought I was cute and told me with stories that were geared to impress. For example, he told me that he had acquired some rohypnol (aka the date rape drug) and had gone downtown to the bars. After a few hours of drinking, he got bored and tried to get high off of the rohypnol. He dosed himself, blacked out immediately, and woke up the next morning in a municipal flowerbed. I could only be thankful that he was too dull-witted to follow through with his horrible plan. Because I couldn’t really get away from him, I told him he was a jackass and went upstairs to bed. Later, he scared the crap out of me by breaking into my room and trying to cuddle with my unconscious body.

There was also a young hippie who had a wolf for a pet. Of course he named her Luna. Luna was not a domesticated animal. She was lanky, she was clever, and she had a set of razor sharp fangs set in a jawbone as long as my forearm. She put up with being walked on a hemp leash and tied to a park bench, but Luna was only biding her time. The wolf and her owner started squatting at our house on invitation from Todd. “Why do you have this animal?” I asked. “You don’t even have a home! How are you going to take care of her? Can’t you tell she thinks you’re an asshole and wants to eat you?” Todd rose up, his eyes dilated, his hair swishing around, his skinny finger poking in my face. “How dare you talk to one of my friends like that,” he screamed. “You are so close-minded!” A few days later, he banned Luna from the house himself because she had taken a nice acrid wolf piss on his backpack.

Another awful Todd friend was a popular downtown begger. He could always be found sitting on a bench downtown, strumming random chords and taking handouts. He had a rough mane of red hair, a bushy beard, and a heavy leather jacket. Todd invited him to the house, and he soon became a regular. This one also thought I was cute and would not accept no for an answer. After a particularly frightening encounter with him, I fled the house. For days, I either slept in a booth at the restaurant where I worked or at my boyfriend’s place because I was scared to go home.

At last, I was able to talk to my other roommates. We voted to ban the creep from our house. Todd thought this was highly unfair. He discredited me, saying that I had probably given his friend mixed signals since that was a classic Libra trait. It was all I could do not to strangle him and smash his bongo drums over his head. It was not long after this incident that we jettisoned Todd. He had never paid rent or utilities, and his bongos wore on everybody’s nerves. Nobody cared for his choice of company. I saw him a few summers ago. It had been a decade since we lived together. I was rummaging through a bin of nails in front of a hardware store when he approached me. His Jesus hair was shorter, but his face was unmistakable. He looked at me hard, but he didn’t remember me. “You have great legs,” he said. “I’m a Libra,” I replied.

In first year university, I was paired up with three other girls.
While two were decent, if not a little messy, Mel was a disaster. She
never seemed to have any class or work, and spent most her time
tanning, drinking, partying loudly, watching “Bewitched” on her computer
in the common room, shopping for discount Juicy Couture, eating
McDonalds, playing Britney Spear’s “Womanizer” ad nauseum, and being a
general laze-about.

She never did the dishes, but instead would stash
her dirty cutlery in her room, depriving the other housemates of
dishes and glasses. Her blankets, shoes, hair accesories, hair balls
etc would be left scattered around the common room. Her own bedroom was an
utter disaster, and she would often bring over loud, drunken friends
at odd hours.

She left, mid-semester, to go on a trip to Florida and
returned with a Chihuahua puppy. Our apartment had a strict no pets
policy, and the other roommates were a little appalled she would bring
home a pet without telling anyone. The dog was untrained, scared
stupid by loud noises and she would use our dishes to feed it kibble,
not washing the smell of oily dog food off before dumping them off in
the sink for us to clean.

When we confronted her about the dog and the
lack of responsibilities on her part, she had a fit and said we didn’t
get her, that her dogs were the only creatures who truly loved and
understood her, and her awful childhood left her with such a void in
her life only a bug-eyed Chihuahua could fill it. Also, she wanted to
leave the school so the dog was a ploy to get kicked out of residence
without having to break her contract and pay a fine, although she (and
by she, I mean her parents) would have to pay a fee for having the dog
in the first place. Luckily by second semester she was gone and a nice
french girl had replaced her.

Soon after I moved into a townhouse with My Very Worst Roommate , ‘Rose’ took a second job at a nearby restaurant for some extra money. Her new coworkers were into drugs and Rose had always been keen to fit in. Things went downhill pretty quickly from what had promised to be a good situation.

Because our house was very close to the restaurant, it became the favored post-shift hangout for she and her coworkers, as many were too messed up on drugs or alcohol to drive home. That’s not my thing AT ALL, but they weren’t terribly disruptive and I would rather they hung out at our house for a while than drive intoxicated, so I let them be. Then our house stopped being a sober-up crash pad and developed into the after-party that kept  ’Lisa’ (our third roommate) and me  up on weekday nights. I woke up in the morning to the smell of weed and sex noises. Two of her friends were having sex on our couch at 6 a.m. I had to shout at them from the stairwell that I was coming downstairs and they needed to pull themselves together. They weren’t even ashamed, and were even nervy enough to mock me for being rude and jealous.

Soon after Rose attempted to send one of her ‘sick’ (too drunk/high to function at work) male coworkers to our house. Lisa and I told her we wouldn’t open the door for this intoxicated stranger when she wasn’t here to watch him. We argued about it for a while, with her getting angrier at us for not caving, and then finally saying ‘Fine, next time I’ll just give him the key!’ I told her that she absolutely would not, and had to stop myself from adding that I wouldn’t hesitate to call the police. After that, I left most of the discussions with her to Lisa because my temper had grown too short.

Not long after, I woke up on a Thursday morning to find a random guy on our couch. It was still early, so I figured the guy would clear out soon enough. I was wrong – when I finished doing schoolwork and went back downstairs at 4 p.m., he was still asleep on the couch. Rose was gone. Lisa came home around that time, and while we were talking about what to do with him, the guy woke up, turned the TV on, and wandered into the kitchen to look for food! He nodded a casual ‘hey’ at us and made way for the fridge. When I asked him, “Are you aware it’s 4 p.m. and you’re in someone else’s house? Do you think that’s OK?” he just shrugged. We immediately kicked him out. When Lisa told her that she absolutely couldn’t leave anyone unattended in the house and had to explain to her friends that our hospitality had a 10 a.m. expiration, she laughed it off, saying ‘That wouldn’t bother me if it was one of your friends,’ which is both patently untrue and completely irrelevant. Lisa and I were livid, but everything we said to Rose rolled off her back or poked her into a rage that made living with her miserable, so we let a lot of things go.

We shared a bathroom and she was a stickler for cleanliness, which was fine. What was odd, though, was her refusal to allow anything on the countertops – even the handsoap. If I left so much as a hairbrush on the counter, I would come home to find it flung into my room. What she left, however, was completely acceptable – she’d fix herself up before going out and leave her things everywhere. If I so much as moved something, she would flip and accuse me of using her expensive toiletries. It got to the point where she took EVERYTHING of hers out of the bathroom and kept it in her room. She was hypocritical like this about everything – would flip over a smudge of flour I’d missed wiping down the counters, but leave the remains of an explosion fossilizing in the microwave for three weeks; lose it over someone leaving a dish in the sink for more than twenty minutes, but spill a glass of milk on the carpet and not clean it up before she left for the weekend, leaving our house reeking while Lisa and I ripped everything apart tried to figure out what smelled so terrible.

Rose’s paranoia that we were stealing her things got worse. She accused me of stealing her hairspray and Keurig coffee cups and demanded I replace them. I don’t drink coffee and had only used her hairspray once or twice (always with her permission) and wasn’t going to replace them – I offered her $5 for my limited use of the hairspray, thinking that would placate her. She called me a thief and a liar and again demanded I replace the things I ‘took’. I think she no longer had the money to finance expensive habits like $25 cans of hairspray and Keurig cups, especially when all her money seemed to be going to drugs, and was trying to wring them out of me. She’d been fired from her day job for showing up clearly messed up on something, and now the ‘extra money’ from waiting tables was her only income. I withdrew my $5 best offer.

The final straw was rent. Lisa approached Rose for her share of the rent and was told she wouldn’t have it until the end of the weekend, and would just deliver it herself and pay the late charge. Two weeks later there’s a notice in our mailbox, we have seven days to pay up or get out. Lisa and I panicked, tried to get a hold of Rose to see what had happened to her rent. Somehow Rose turned it around to Lisa and I being ‘disrespectful’ to her. She threatened to move out, we called her bluff and told her she was welcome to. As a parting gift she left the taps in the house on while Lisa and I were out to run up our water bill.

When one of my housemates had to move interstate, my remaining housemate had a close friend, Bill, who was keen to take his place. I had my reservations, as his tight-arse reputation preceded him. But he seemed preferable to an unknown.

Upon moving in, a number of minor incidents began unfolding, including:

- A complete adversity to cleaning, leading to a stink cloud encompassing his bedroom so thick you could do backstroke through it.

- Rotating between a total of two meals when it was his turn to cook.

- Mysterious white stains found on the couch following a night out (no, he did not have company).

- Leaving a 1kg block of cheese in direct 35°C sunlight for an entire day, which was returned to the fridge for consumption.

- After said block of cheese ended up in his bed overnight to teach him a lesson, the same block found its way back in the fridge the following morning, seemingly ready for consumption once more.

Enough to make you shake your head and laugh, but things you tend to expect having shared with various housemates in the past. This all escalated however when the other housemate moved out, and we found a new fun and attractive girl to move in.

I often found myself waking in the middle of the night to her yelling at him to get out of her room, after he’d crawled into her bed while she was asleep. As creepy and unfair as this was for her, this paled in comparison to the day the household was abruptly disbanded. One Sunday, Bill returned home at about 6 a.m. following a drug fueled bender at a music festival.

That Monday night, we returned home from work to find Bill on the couch having spent the day at home by himself, behaving as though nothing other than his almighty hangover was amiss. Until our new housemate went to her room to find belongings knocked about, picture frames smashed with shattered glass over the floor, her underwear draw strewn across the room and her covers pulled back with a load of white sticky mess sprayed across her mattress. One messed up individual.

My Very Worst Roommate, was a guy I will call P. I moved to Singapore and needed someone to help pay expenses on a good apartment. I was in the middle of a difficult divorce and one of the only conditions I made to P when he moved in was, “No hookers or drugs, this house is my sanctuary, it’s where my son comes and I need the house to be safe.” I should note that prostitution is not illegal in Singapore. P had moved to Singapore on the pretext of working for a big cable channel. It turned out that he didn’t have any work at all. He wasn’t missing rent, but he was looking awfully worried and I was concerned about missing rent if he didn’t find work. I made a call and got him a job on oil rigs making good money.  He started the job and I headed to China the following week.

I was in China when I got a call from our condo manager at 3 a.m. The manager was furious. “Mr Smith, why are you throwing things out of your 11th story window? You will hit someone! You will get in trouble.” I told him I was in China, and he should call the police because there was nothing I could do. Five minutes later I get a call from my maid. She said, “Sir, P wants me to come and let him into the apartment, what should I do?” Not having any idea of what was going on, I told her I suppose she should but, I could not figure out how P could be locked out – the door needed the key to be turned from the outside to lock it. I texted P and said, “Mate, I don’t know what you’re doing but throwing shit out the window is illegal in Singapore” and decided to ignore the problem.

I get back a week later from China to face a shit storm of trouble. The stuff that had been thrown out was obviously destroyed, but had also damaged the lower ground unit patio roofs – to the tune of $40,000!

Not only that, but there was a lot of stuff missing from the flat including all the chess pieces from my set, a beautiful brass compass and presents from the under the Christmas tree. P would not own up to what had happened and it was only with the help of the security guards and police that I worked out what might have happened.

He had brought a hooker home, probably to celebrate his first paycheck – we saw her coming in on the CCTV tapes. She wasn’t a she though – even I could tell that on the tapes. I assume some sort of dispute over payment or the hooker’s gender had broken out. She had forced P out of the apartment, locked the door and proceeded to trash the place. To give him due credit, he cleaned up a lot of the mess, but tell tale signs were there. He paid for the damages and managed to get off the criminal charges (the cops confirmed he blamed a girl for the damage, but could not provide her name.) When he was locked out and called the maid, she later confirmed to me that when she helped him get back in, he had gone in and there was yelling but he had refused to let her in.

P still works in the oil and gas industry – he’s called the “Chess Master” by all who know this story.

My very worst roommate was once my best friend, but things quickly changed when we moved into a group house and I discovered some rather disgusting habits. I met N freshman year and we became fast friends. We lived next door to each other in the dorms sophomore year.  Although we went to a celebrated party school, she began doing some hardcore drugs that I wasn’t into.  But we remained good friends and we signed on for a group house with a couple other close friends for our junior year. The day I moved in over the summer before fall quarter began, I noticed that she was very upset. She admitted that she had stolen some money from her last roommate, who I knew very well and was friends with. At first I thought no big deal, $20 or something, she’ll get over it.  Turns out that N had taken her former roommate’s credit card and taken over $2,000 from an ATM over the course of one quarter.  The police questioned her and she ratted out some dealers on campus in order to not receive any jail time. So now she had an irate former roommate and local drug dealers on her bad side.

She had a job that summer at a local clothing boutique. She would often come home and give me “presents” like shirts or little knick-knacks.  I was naive enough to think she was just getting a discount or they had extra merchandise. Turns out she had been stealing from them for months and eventually got fired. I would only find out about this months later when I also found out that she got arrested at a grocery store for stealing cigarettes.  So even though she was a rampant thief and was lying to me, I thought she was just going through a rough patch and would get back on track.  Even after she got kicked out of school for blatantly plagiarizing a paper for a psychology class, I figured that she would either re-enroll or wait a year and go somewhere else. I still had faith in her and wanted to be her friend.

She paid rent, but almost never had money for bills (which were minimal as there were five of us sharing a three bedroom house).  Yet she always had plenty of weed, coke and ecstasy — the latter of the two were becoming an increasing habit and starting to scare me. She convinced me that she had it all under control. I was no angel myself and we often threw parties in the house.  We were all underage at the time so I didn’t feel I had the right to judge what she wanted to do to her body. Although the lack of paying bills was starting to get to all of us.

She was having sex with lots of random guys at this time, most of whom she met online and would have one night stands with, and never hear from again. She shared a bedroom with one of my roommates, J. They had a large living space, which they promised to use if they ever had overnight guests. On more than one occasion N would be in bed with some random guy having sex and J would flat out yell at them to get out. Sometimes she would, other times she would wait till J fell back asleep then continue entertaining her guests. One day she came home after being gone for two days with no contact with any of us on the arm of a much older man.  We were all 19 or 20, this guy had to be in his early 40′s. She claimed he was a friend of her dad’s from the Navy. At this time I was still giving her the benefit of the doubt so I believed her. But the last straw for both J and I was when we discovered this “friend of her dad’s” was actually some creepy dude she met online who would drive from two hours away where he lived, pick her up and take her to a motel, then leave her hundreds of dollars at a time. She quite literally had become a crack whore.

So the stealing, lying, not paying bills, drug binges and prostitution just became too much. We confronted her mother about these issues when she called asking where N was because she hadn’t heard from her in weeks. She then confronted us and accused us of telling our mutual friends about the whole stealing incident from her former roommate. We told her right then and there that she had a week to get out, get help and clean up her life. It was really hard to lose such a close friend, but having no self-esteem and an addictive personality turned her into a monster. She asked me to still be her friend and I said I would if she promised to get her life together. This was about 10 years ago. I just read in our hometown news that she was arrested as an accessory to armed robbery.

With the holidays right around the corner, we are in the giving mood! Submit your Very Worst Roommate stories between now and Jan. 1, 2012. The best Very Worst Roommate submission wins a $50 Amazon gift card. And don’t forget to tell your friends.

My Very Worst Roommate was actually 3 of them, which I’ll split into separate parts.
I’d left my boyfriend, and moved into a shared house, where a Spanish guy was living. Within a week of me moving in, a Polish woman and a Portuguese guy had moved into the other 2 rooms.
We’ll start with the Portuguese guy, C (let me preface by saying I have nothing against the Portuguese, my uncle is Portuguese and I think he’s one of the greatest guys I’ve ever met).
C was a little creepy, but polite enough. He’d always offer to share his food, which was kinda sweet. The problem was that he stank. I don’t mean in a “I can’t stand too close because you smell” kind of way. I mean that he’d get home, go straight up to his room, close the door behind him, and you could still smell him when you opened the front door because in less than half an hour the odour had leached throughout the whole house and rolled out when the door was opened. The landlord spoke to him on several occasions about showering daily and washing his clothes at least once a week, to no avail. When he moved out after only 1 month, the mattress had to be replaced, the carpet had to be torn up and replaced, even a wooden wardrobe had to be thrown out because the smell had permeated.

Part 2 of my MVWR tale, the Spanish guy, F. Was funny and nice to start with. He and the Polish girl, O, started dating, and things got a little weird when she decided it wasn’t working, but we didn’t realise how weird until just after C moved out. Suddenly we started finding piles of rubbish outside our rooms. F was going through the bins, and putting items we’d thrown out in front of our doors. One day he ran downstairs, flew outside, we heard banging, then he ran back inside, an empty toothpaste tube hit me in the head, and he ran upstairs. When confronted he insisted he hadn’t thrown it, and that I was imagining things. At 3am one morning I was woken by a crashing noise. F had decided he wanted the shelving unit we had in the bathroom, so carefully packed up his items, and picked up the unit, dumping everything else on the floor. He kept telling me he was going “to f*** me”, by which I assume he was getting the phrase wrong and missing the ‘up’ off the end, however he had started to scare O and myself, to the point that if he was home, we’d lock ourselves in one of our rooms. I was washing up one day and saw a stream of liquid past the window, looking up I realised he was urinating out of his bedroom window. In order to do this, he had cleared his desk off, climbed up and stood on tiptoes. The bathroom was next to his room.
O and I moved out shortly after. My story of her will follow.

MWVR number 3, O. O seemed normal enough to start with, we became friends, and rented a property together, along with my brother. She and I went on holiday, and I started to see a different side to her. In Greece she’d walk down the street shouting that the English are ignorant and the Greek are morons. A friendly doorman put his arms round our shoulders, and told us not to look at a cocktail menu, just to go inside. She flipped out and started screaming “How dare you speak to me in English! I don’t speak English! Don’t you touch me!” launching a 5 minute tirade, during which he tried to apologise, I apologised to him and tried to get her to leave, and he finally lost patience and told her she wasn’t going in. She then started screaming about how she would go wherever she wanted and he was tirade of expletives in English, Polish and Greek. I eventually pulled her away and the rest of the holiday carried on the same way. Once we got back she started shouting at my brother for smoking (she smoked as well, often inside the non-smoking house). She’d pick on things he’d done and complain he never did anything around the house (each week he and I cleaned the place top to bottom, and he always tidied up after himself, she never lifted a finger), and accused him of stealing a DVD (which was in Polish, he only speaks English). She eventually asked me to chose, her or my brother, and when I said I wasn’t turning my back on family she flipped out, trashed the Xmas tree, smashed some plates and glasses, and threw a bottle of red wine at the wall. Thankfully the tenancy ended two weeks later