A stranger with your door key

When I decided to move to a two bedroom apartment and face the reality of living with another person for the first time since college, there were many doubters. Most of these doubters had good reason to participate in said doubting because they bore witness to my numerous roommate fiascos in college.

When I went to college, I knew there was a possibility for disaster in moving in with a random roommate chosen by the Department of Residence Halls, but I also knew that that was what college was all about, that is, stepping outside the comfort zone and meeting new people from different walks of life. During the summer leading up to my freshmen year, I stalked the mailbox daily for a Department of Residence Halls envelope. I was anxious to hear what dorm I would be in and who my roommate would be. The day I got the letter, I immediately ripped it open, hoping for Eaton or Mahoney or Pearson. But no, I got Stanford. One of the towers with community bathrooms. And my roommate was from New York. Great. I stared at the letter for a few days, knowing I should dial the number for the stranger listed on the paper that I would soon be sharing a 10'x18' space with, but I procrastinated (a precursor to my entire college career). One afternoon while I was probably taking in Muscle Beach Party or some other equally intriguing Frankie and Annette movie, the phone rang. It was her. The stranger. We talked for a few minutes about our interests, but spent most of the conversation discussing who would bring what (such as the microwave, refrigerator, carpet, etc.)

I honestly had no idea what to expect.

I certainly did not expect someone who refused to wear a bra and would strip off her clothes freely in our room. Ordinarily, not a huge problem, except when I have company. Company that consists of my sister and HER BOYFRIEND. I did not expect someone who would come home from clubbing with stains from male bodily fluids on her dress. I did not expect someone who would routinely skip classes because she had to sleep in after spending an evening in the ER because her friend's stomach had to be pumped for fear of alcohol poisoning. I did not expect someone who would still be sleeping when I got home from classes at 4 pm. I did not expect someone who would allow her friends to sleep in MY BED until 4 pm when I got home from classes. I did not expect to have to come up with a plan to move her out of my room after only a month of residing in the 10'x18' cell. And I did not expect that ingenious plan to consist of taking apart an old bunny rabbit calendar and lining my side of the room with the happy fluffiness.

My second roommate was one I could handle, considering I had had approximately 15 years of practice living with her. For the semester that my sister and I were roommates, I think we had one fight. Quite an accomplishment for us.

My third roommate, well, she can be found here. And let me tell you, our room was darn cute with all that yellow and blue goodness. The mardis gras living room, not so much. That year, my problem was an apartment mate, not a roommate. And well, the apartment mate and I no longer communicate. So that worked out well.

My fourth roommate and I were extremely close friends. That is, until we roomed together. And once again, we no longer communicate. Let's just say that the night I found the on campus police knocking on my door because she thought I locked her out was the end of our friendship. Or maybe it was the day that she called in a meeting with the Resident Coordinator because she wanted her bed moved out from underneath my loft because she apparently couldn't sleep in that close proximity to me any more.

My fifth roommate (yes, that's five roommates in four years) was a freshman when I was a senior. I had been friends with her in high school and she was not quite as up to the task of living with a random stranger provided by Residence Halls as I had been as a freshman. Other than the inevitable annoyances of sharing a 10'x18' space with another human being, that year was fairly uneventful in the roommate department.

So you see, those doubters had good reason to doubt. That said, the last two weeks have been a roommate roller coaster.

No, I'm not fighting with my roommate. But she is moving out. Not because she hates me, but because she can no longer handle a 40 mile commute. This saddens me because despite the many concerns I had about living with a stranger, it has worked out. Towards the end of this month, Molly will be leaving and we will be ushering in a new roommate. A roommate that is not a complete stranger. This makes me happy.