When college sent out letters, telling us the name of our roommate, they noted that selection factored in “compatibility.”
After living with her for 2 months, I decided she was an inconsiderate bitch. (What did that say about me?)
The backstory: We agreed, when one of us needed our dorm room to entertain a gentleman caller, a necktie around the doorknob would be the signal. I hadn’t realized that she was entertaining the 7th Fleet. (Okay—that was catty). But the necktie spent more time around the room than I did.
I realized the extent of the problem when a woman who lived on another floor in my dorm, upon meeting me said, “Oh, you’re the girl lives in the hall.”
The straw that broke this camel’s back was—I was at the window in our room, slightly leaning out, talking to a friend standing on the street below. My roommate shoved me towards the window. It was a joke—she said.
I wasn’t laughing.
I responded that she had 48 hours to find a new place to live or I’d go to the college administration and discuss her behavior (with plenty of witnesses to all I’ve just described).
Luckily for my soon-to-be ex-roommate, there were 2 roommates down the hall having an equally bad time so we agreed to swap (and I didn’t care which one I got since “compatibility” was no longer my goal. I would settle for sleeping in my own bed).
The irony: My new swapped roommate? We lived together for the remaining 4 years of college.
I guess you could say we were …