I was recently reminded of my first roommate, the girl I shared an apartment with my third year of college at the University of Minnesota.
When I lived in the dorms, I had my own room. This was fantastic. I would study and when I wanted company, I could go two doors down and say hello to friends. One of the girls in my dorm was named Dogwood (not her real name, but she was named after a tree). In a three minute conversation (the longest we ever had up to that point), we decided to become roommates the following year.
This may have been a poor choice.
Dogwood was plain looking, she kept her straight and long. She purchased many of her clothes at second hand stores even though money was not a problem. She was thrifty.
Dogwood did not drive. That's okay, Dana doesn't drive either. She was a huge fan of public transportation (which Dana is in favor of transportation, I just don't think she enjoys public transportation the way Dogwood did).
Dogwood had a boyfriend (I think they're married now) named Robert. Not Bob, not Rob, Robert. It always had to be said in the full name way. He was not a fan of nicknames. Neither was she. They did break up while I lived with her, for about two weeks, I think he needed to sow some wild oats and luckily, I never witnessed him sowing them with her.
When we went apartment searching, we checked out exactly 1 building near campus. This was a mistake.
The apartment we would be renting was still occupied, so we were shown the vacant two room on the third floor. We were lead through the front of the building (to keep us from the back of the building) to a clean, large apartment. The doors were all mahogany and the price was amazing for such space! That should have been a clue. We signed the lease that day.
September 1 came around and it was time to move in. I had my family and a couple of friends helping me and Dogwood had her parents there. As boxes were moved into our apartment (which we got our first views of at the same time our parents did), Dogwood's mother excitedly pointed out how much character the building had! "There are vines growing outside! The space you girls have! Look at this!"
My mother spent two hours crying.
I learned a very valuable lesson the day I walked into the place I would be living for a year. It had to do with apartment searching.
I'm going to explain what had my mom in tears now. Please, don't be afraid. I don't live at this place anymore.
The first thing my mom noticed was that the neighborhood seemed to enjoy the first of each month, watching people move in and out of apartments. The dumpsters were prime targets at the beginning of each month. There were actually 12 people from the neighborhood going through the dumpster next to our building, grabbing couches, chairs, etc.
Then my mother noticed the lock on the back door. Or, should I say, the non-existent lock. She also noticed that the basement (which the stairs were right next to our door) had blankets and clothes all over the place. It seemed that some vagrants enjoyed that space as housing.
My mom sent my dad to the store immediately to buy two chain locks, heavy-duty.
The two boys who had lived in the apartment before us had moved out two weeks before and the apartment was not cleaned by them or by the caretakers. The walls were not repainted (state law) and there was actually an inch of dust under the tub in the bathroom. From the dirt and grime in that apartment, I doubt the place had been cleaned for at least four years.
The bathroom had a stand alone tub. It was "charming". This is according to Dogwood's mom. My mom noticed the cracks in the walls and the water damage all over the bathroom. Then my mom noticed a window in the bathroom. This intrigued her since the bathroom was in the middle of the apartment and all the walls should not have an outside view. Curious as to why the glass was painted over in a poop brown color that did not allow any light, my mom opened the window.
Not a good idea.
As it turned out, there was an air shaft in the middle of the building. I have no clue as to why. I'm not an architect. Dogwood and I lived on the first floor and so what my mother first saw was the accumulation of years of garbage. The only access to this air shaft would be through the windows of the three apartments and it seemed that numerous tenants were too lazy to take their trash out to the dumpsters. No, it was much more convenient to dump it out the window into the pit of despair.
After deep hitching sobs subsided, my mom set forth on trying to clean the layers of grim away from the sinks in the bathroom and the kitchen. My dad looked at the refrigerator in the kitchen and two days later showed up with a new one that he bought. When I moved out, the new refrigerator went home with him and the caretakers got to put the old one back into the place. The reason to remove the other fridge from our apartment, besides the fact it seemed to be leaking coolant on the floor, was the pure filth of the machine. It was extremely tiny for a fridge and the new one doubled the storage space while cutting the energy needed in half.
During my year at this apartment building, I paid for a parking spot in the back. With my night life schedule, I would come home to find that the caretakers did not monitor the cars in the lot and I rarely had a spot left to put my car. The question became, who do you complain to at 3 in the morning? I created my own spot. I parked on the grass and the caretakers did not fight me on this one, AT ALL.
Now that I've explained the living arrangements provided by my rent check each month, I think it's time to move onto Dogwood and the experience of living with her.
When we moved in, I went and bought food. Did she? No. She ate my food. I had to buy more food. And she ate that too. Becoming frustrated, I went and bought lots of meat and nothing else. Did she eat it? No. Success! I lived with a vegetarian. The only way for me to have food left over to eat was to only purchase meat products.
I ate a lot of bacon and steak during that year. And I drank a lot of Coca-Cola. (Eventually, I was hanging out at Bugs (the pool hall) often enough and going out with the Bugs crew that I ate healthier at local all-night restaurants and had no need to eat at home. It was expensive, but it was less than buying food that I wouldn't get a chance to eat.)
Dogwood and I had quite different ideas for decorating the apartment. I tend to go for modern, sleek, natural wood colors, and black appliances. Looking around my current apartment, I see crystal on glass shelves, lots of pictures in frames (although not as many as there were before), black iron escalerras, and penguins. My bookshelves and DVD racks are wood and so is my desk. My chairs are black leather. There's no rhyme or reason to my decorating but that's my next project. The artwork I have is Monet paintings, this awesome spray paint picture I bought in Vegas, and movie posters. That's what I like.
Imagine my surprise to come home from class one day to find the living room transported into a different dimension.
Now, a couple of the pieces of work were okay, but I really didn't want to live in a cartoon gallery. I didn't put any artwork or posters up in the common living area. I figured it would be a "free" zone. I guess the charactures were not as odd as what I found sitting on top of my DVD rack.
There was a head. A glass head.
No body. No color. Not even a hat. Just a head.
This went against all sense of logic I have. I think of it now and I am lost in confusion.
Eventually (my night shift helped with this), Dogwood and I were on completely different schedules. I think I managed to see her twice in a seven month period. Then summer came and I never saw her again.
I have a story about Dogwood I will share in a moment, but I first need to explain how much she didn't contribute to the expenses of sharing an apartment.When we moved in, I also bought toilet paper. I bought one of those mega-packs that last for 2 months. When it got low, I figured she would supply the next package. It got closer and closer to the last roll, so I went and bought more toilet paper. Another two months go by. I bought another package of toilet paper that I kept in my room to test a theory. When I needed to use the bathroom, I brought the TP in there with me. I didn't store it in there.
Now, when there was toilet paper, she used it. I know this because I would be gone (back home) for the weekends and the rolls would deplete. When I no longer provided the TP in the bathroom, there was none. She never replaced any.
I have no clue how she wiped her ass for 8 months of our lease. None. I'm so very afraid.
The story about Dogwood I think I should share is about our first evening in the apartment. After we had unloaded some of the boxes and everyone left, her and I went to play pool at Bugs with another friend of mine, Naynay. I'm not all that creative for her name right now so I'll use the horrible pet name her boyfriend gave her.
The three of us went to Bugs.
To move in and do heavy lifting, my choice of clothing was sturdy tennis shoes (this was before my big, black boots days), a pair of jeans, and a t-shirt. For some odd reason, Dogwood, aka the hippie who loved communal living and mooching off of others, decided a dress would be the best choice for moving.
I don't check out women's asses so I did not notice this. One of the regulars from Bugs told me about this and I'm so horrified by my former roommate that the thought makes me shudder.
Dogwood was still wearing the dress that was short in length. It was her idea to go play pool (I know this is surprising, but it was her idea). While we were playing, she made her shots and leaned over the table to make them.
There were quite a few tables of men who got a good show that night at Bugs.
That's right, she was not wearing any form of underwear. She didn't even have on hosiery.
So, looking back, I can say that I may be liberal, but I'm not a damn hippie. I met a hippie. I lived with a hippie.
Oh, Dogwood wanted to pose for Playboy. Odd connection, her father worked for the men's magazine for years and while I was reading a book by a certain author this past summer, the author mentioned getting a denial letter from my former roommate's father. Strange connections.
After meeting her and her family, I can say, "Drugs are bad."
My mom was thrilled when I moved home that summer. I don't blame her. I learned a lot from that year.
2 Comments:
At 11:12 AM, CarpeDM said...
Oh, my God. I remember you telling me about Dogwood and thinking she was a flake but I don't remember all of this. This is crazy. Yikes.
I'm so glad you got out of that and are now living with a nice, normal person, yourself.
I've had some crazy roommates as well but this is amazing.
Anyway, back to work. I had fun last night. Talk to you later.
At 11:48 AM, Firebear said...
Nice roommate story!
