More roommate stories. You’ll need to read this one first, to get all the background info. Enjoy!

Bed Pans

Blinders never liked doing the dishes, even if it was he who messed them up in the first place. He’d make these strange meals (like shark steaks – nothing stinks like shark steaks), and would tell us “I’ll get the dishes done tomorrow”. They would stay dirty until someone needed a pot or a plate, then only that 1 pot or plate got washed. B-love had let the pots and pans sit for 2 weeks at one point, because he was “too busy” to wash them. Have you tried eating cereal on a paper plate you stole from a barbecue? With milk? It ain’t easy, trust. So the boys hatched a fiendish plot designed to make Blinders remember his responsibilities. They removed all the dirty pots and pans from the sink, threw back the covers of his bed, and dumped the stuff into his bed. Did I mention that they didn’t wash them first? Then they pulled the covers back over the stuff, neatly arranging the sheets and blankets. Sure, you could see the huge lumps under the covers, if you bothered to look first. You see, Blinders had the bottom bunk in the bedroom he and I shared, and he had a habit of running into the room and diving onto the bed. It was some sort of geek ritual he had established somewhere between stroking the pony to “National Geographic” and watching all-day marathons of “Dr. Who”. He came home, oblivious to the now-missing dishes in the kitchen. Radial and Crony greeted him with smirks on their faces. He dropped his book bag onto his desk, and dove into bed, as usual. I was in the top bunk at the time, pretending to be reading and doing my damndest to stifle my laughter. I heard this from below: “ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW! What the fuck? What IS this shit? Aw, man…you sonsabitches! You bastards! God, you all suck!” I innocently stuck my head down like Long Duck Dong from “Sixteen Candles” and said “What’s the matter?” ‘Hatred’ may be too strong a word to describe the way he looked at me then, but I can tell you I’ve never received a Christmas card from him. He did his dishes in a timely fashion from that point forward.

Powder

One night their shenanigans affected me. I had been out with my girlfriend (yes, a real live girlfriend) and some other friends at a party. My roomies were also having a party, but it was a loud, drunken party at our apartment, and since they were the only ones I knew (and since I was afraid of a room full of drunk white people after dark), I decided to do my own thing. See, their parties were ridiculous. Oh sure, it had all the required attributes of a campus party: beer, drunken sorority girls, beer, guys acting really idiotic in front of aforementioned sorority girls, beer, guys with no game trying to hook up with the sorority girls, and beer. But it also had an element of danger. When Radial and Crony got drunk, they got tore up from the floor up. I can remember an episode involving Radial and Jaegermeister that resulted in a very large, hand-shaped hole in the drywall. Not my cup of tea. I guess Blinders stayed away too, ‘cause when I got home around 3am, everyone in the apartment was asleep or passed out, and Blinders was nowhere to be found. I stepped over the bodies and made my way to my bedroom, dead-tired, nookie-less (although I had a girlfriend, my game was not strong), and ready to hit the sheets. I noticed some white powder outside the bedroom door, but my tiredness outweighed my curiosity. I seem to recall that I said to myself “Great, they’re doing coke now. Nice.” I opened the door, stepped in and took off my shoes. I noticed a strange but familiar odor, but couldn’t place it. I kicked my shoes into the room, and when they landed, a small puff of white smoke wafted up from the carpet. “What the fuck?” I said, aloud. Fearing the worst, I turned on the light. The entire bedroom was covered in about ¾ of an inch of…talcum powder. Talcum fucking powder, the kind you put on your body when you want to stay dry. NOT the kind you sprinkle ALL OVER YOUR ROOMMATES’ BEDROOM! It was in our beds, clothes, shoes, on our books, EVERYWHERE. Now, fun is fun, but they got my shit too, and I was livid. I can take a joke, but I was collateral damage in their war against Blinders, and I don’t like being a casualty. I woke up everybody in that whole apartment and told them to get the shit cleaned up or else. I went straight ghetto on them. I channeled every bit of Conway I had in me (Conway is the name of the town I grew up in, and it provides me with my infrequent ghetto super-powers). What the “or else” was, I hadn’t figured out, but it didn’t matter, because they jumped up immediately and cleaned up my parts of the room. My parts. Not Blinders’. And I stood there like the C.O. in the movie Cool Hand Luke, arms crossed, surveying the whole scene, not lifting finger the first. Blinders came home the next morning around 10 or so, saw half the room covered in powder, the other half spotless, and just sighed. And went to bed in his powder-covered bottom bunk. I almost felt bad for him.

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