This month marks four years since I moved away from the comforts of my home to start a life with a boy I was pretty sure I was in love with. Turns out I was and we are married now. Phew! It also marks four years since I had the worst (and only) roommate experience of my life. Let me tell you a little story…
I checked out a few places that were looking for roommates via Kijiji. Yes, it may sound a little creepy but at least I visited these people beforehand and never went alone! Jeremie always came with me just in case someone was planning on murdering the person that responded to their ads. I ended up choosing a place with two other girls around my age. After talking to them for a bit I felt like it would be a good fit for me. I thought I would move to a new city and my new roommates could become lifelong friends. Nope.
My very first weekend staying in my new place, Becky invited me to join her and some friends for her birthday. It was all fine and dandy until she started flirting with a guy at the bar who wasn’t her boyfriend (her MARRIED boyfriend). Somehow news got back to him and things took a turn. Becky had upset him and we ended up back at our house where I would start regretting the people I chose to live with.
Becky rarely drank, but when she did she chose a wonderful concoction of Jack Daniels and Sourpuss. Shitfaced on whisky, she needed someone to blame for her boyfriend troubles. Hello! With a pointed finger inches away from my face, it was my fault. I was the one who called her boyfriend (who’s name I didn’t know, never mind his phone number) and told him she was flirting with other guys at the bar. Next thing I know, she grabs a 5 foot mirror off of the wall and shatters it on the ground. Shards of broken glass are covering the carpeted hallway and she starts throwing pieces down the stairs while yelling about her terrible life. Normally, I would have given Jeremie a call to come pick me up so I could stay at his house for the night but he was out of town. So naturally, I told her to calm the f*** down, closed my bedroom door and prayed that she didn’t cut my throat with mirror chunks while I slept.
The next morning she apologized, but in a way that was no big deal. Like it happens all the time. I accepted her apology and hoped that her knowing I thought she was a psycho was good enough. I should have known I was in a bad situation right from the start. My very first night here, Becky was crying because her boyfriends wife had just had a baby. This isn’t the kind of drama I care for.
Jeremie was going away for a few days on a work trip and gave me the key to his condo while he was gone. He knew how uncomfortable I was at Becky’s and allowed me to stay at his place alone while he was away. We would talk on the phone about us living together (this was only weeks into our relationship) and it didn’t sound like a bad idea. One day I was at work and relaying my shattered mirror story to my boss who told me “You need to leave work right now and pack up your shit. Get the hell out of there!” So with my two roommates not being home, I packed up my things and moved into Jeremie’s place.
It was very last minute when I moved out but Becky needed a months notice. I told her to keep my damage deposit because I was already gone but I would be keeping her key seeing as how she was kind of forcing me to live there for another months time.
One day while I was getting dressed, I couldn’t seem to find my watch. I looked everywhere and all of a sudden I had a flash back from my first days with my roommates. Becky had warned me “Feel free to put a lock on your door because Ashley takes shit.” I didn’t take this too seriously at the time. I barely unpacked any of my boxes anyway so I didn’t exactly have much laying around. Jeremie and I devised a plan to go to the house, make sure nobody was home, and I would use my key to go into Ashley’s room and grab my watch if she happened to have taken it. In and out, done. Wrong.
When I opened the door to Ashley’s bedroom, it was like walking into my own. There was perfumes, lotions, nail polishes, makeup and card games that all belonged to me. I couldn’t believe it. I opened her closet to find it filled with my clothes. We weren’t even close to the same size but she had taken my clothing anyway. I got on my hands and knees to start digging around for more of my belongings and that is when I found my underwear. MY UNDERWEAR! Who in their right mind steals someones underwear?! I snapped.
I made numerous trips from Ashley’s bedroom to Jeremie’s vehicle where he was waiting for me outside, with my hands full of things I was taking back. I didn’t notice any of my stuff was missing because I hadn’t unpacked. She went through my boxes while I was away at work! Making sure I found everything that was mine, I rummaged and trashed her bedroom. The only thing I didn’t find was my watch.
Later that day, Ashley came home and called the cops on me because I broke into her room. She tried explaining to the officer that I didn’t live there and had no right, where I had to tell him that I didn’t want to live there, but unfortunately I had to for another month. I had every right to be in that house. The police officer basically told Ashley she was in the wrong. She was an idiot and he couldn’t believe she wasted his time by calling him. He told me there was nothing else he could do and I was fine with that so I went home. My real home, with Jeremie where I should have been all along.
While putting my things away (and throwing half of them out because I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea that she had had them), I was deep in my own closet finding a place for the things I had no idea were missing… And then I found my watch. I had it the entire time.
I usually like to add a few photos to go with my story, but I have zero. I think there once was a few floating around Facebook on Ashley’s page but obviously she blocked me after our little mishap. Here is a picture of my cat instead:
