it's better to have never roomed at all

i've had more roommates over the years than i can count on both hands. funny thing about them, though. it's always ended up costing me more money and aggravation having a roommate than i would have on my own. but by the time i realized that, it was already too late.

the last roommate i have had ... and will ever have, was "bananas". bananas seemed like a sweet, quiet girl. we were friends for at least two years before becoming roommates. i thought she was a perfectly normal girl and would make a great roommie. man, when i'm wrong, i'm wrong.

it started out with me driving her uhaul 1,500 miles across country because she didn't drive. i helped unload her stuff and then she told me that she was leaving for an around-the-world vacation. since she wasn't actually going to be staying in the apartment for a month while she was on her holiday, she didn't feel like she should have to pay rent to store all of those boxes and furniture. when she got back, she was too broke and exhausted from her trip to look for a job.

i've been suckered into this song and dance so many times that i at least know all of the moves.

bananas only had one hobby - watching tv. day and night. night and day. she complained that it wasn't fair that the only tv in the house was in my bedroom instead of hers. it didn't matter that it was my tv and we didn't have a living room. then she threw a fit because we didn't have cable. never mind that maybe we could have afforded cable if my roomie paid even part of the rent and bills.

they say you don't know a person until you live with them. how true! i met a side of bananas that i had never seen and didn't even think possible. when most people throw a fit, they blow off a little steam. not bananas. she would scream for hours, throwing things, slamming doors. curse like a sailor. it didn't matter if anyone was in the same room or even same building, she would carry on the argument as if they were right there.

now imagine - this girl was about 4 feet 6 inches tall. she might have weighed 80 pounds. at 21, she looked about 12. she knew how to work the sweet, innocent child act. her idea of a curse word was "phooey" and she wouldn't even wear sweat suits or jeans around the house because she dressed like she was going to sunday school 24/7. she was a perfect little china doll, much like the psychotic child in interview with a vampire. when she got mad, everything changed. she would throw things that probably weighed as much as she did. she would jump on things - cabinets, cars, stereos - anything that she could climb on top of. and the vile filth that spewed at top volume out of her mouth got the cops called out to the apartment more than once by terrified neighbors.

the cops would roll up and ... poof ... bananas was a tiny, crying child and i was the big bad monster who had trashed the house. if she had hurt herself during the tirade, then i was the meenie who had bruised and abused her. i'm lucky i didn't spend any time in jail. i think what saved me was the time that they showed up and could hear her arguing...but i wasn't even home.

why did i put up with her as long as i did? i don't know. maybe i was a sucker for the china doll act, too, even though i knew the truth of it. none of our mutual friends believed me. in fact, most of them were not speaking to me because she told them all of the horrible things i supposedly did to her. finally, i gave up. it had been two months and she hadn't paid a penny in rent or bills. i hadn't had a moment's rest between her tirades and her watching my tv at full volume all through the night in my room.

but before i could kick her out, my landlord outdid us. she kicked us both out. gave us a month's notice because the neighbors were complaining about bananas. relieved that i didn't have to be the bad guy, i started looking for a new apartment. something so tiny and cheap that i would never need a roommate again. in the meantime, i was sleeping at a friend's house because i couldn't stomach putting up with her for another day.

i came home one night to pack up in preparation for the move and was horrified at what i found. all of my dishes were smashed. cd and movie collection destroyed. there was a hammer stuck through my tv. the radio was smoldering. my clothes, mattress, and pillows were shredded. my shoes were filled with a certain solid bodily fluid. and to add insult to injury, there was a death threat tacked to my bedroom door.

i wasted no time changing the locks. when she came home and couldn't get in, she broke a window. the cops came, took one look at the damage and read the death threat (which she conveniently signed!), and put her in the back of a squad car. i used all of the boxes i no longer needed because most of my earthly possessions were destroyed and i filled them with everything she owned. i made sure at least one very smelly shoe (after all it was her shit in them!) was in each box. i put the boxes by the dumpster and called one of her friends to let them know where to pick up her belongings and what station they could find her at.

the next day, the boxes were gone and there was gum in all of the new locks, but she was out of my life. none of our old friends were talking to me except to leave obscene messages on my answering machine, because no one could believe that sweet, little bananas could have done anything wrong. i just laughed because bananas was their problem now.

i moved the next week and never gave out the address or phone number. i was in a different state, physically and mentally. i haven't seen bananas since then but occasionally have fantasies that she's rotting in a state mental facility, having long arguments with herself.