Weirdest housemate ever!?
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blindedbythelights
This is hilarious. 
All of these stories are. I'm half dreading/anticipating my future roomates. As long as they're fun and decent people I can handle a bit of mess.
Just no decomposing rats please.
All of these stories are. I'm half dreading/anticipating my future roomates. As long as they're fun and decent people I can handle a bit of mess.Just no decomposing rats please.
I think it's more likely than not that you'll have at least one messy housemate. I lived with the same people minus the guy in my story this year, and one of them was STILL messy as hell.
But I think messy housemates are still far more common than weird/secluded housemates, and even then it's easy to keep out of their way if you don't get on.
blindedbythelights
This is hilarious. All of these stories are. I'm half dreading/anticipating my future roomates. As long as they're fun and decent people I can handle a bit of mess.
Just no decomposing rats please.
All of these stories are. I'm half dreading/anticipating my future roomates. As long as they're fun and decent people I can handle a bit of mess.Just no decomposing rats please.
I have to say that was the only time in my life that I'd ever come across a rat in such a disgusting condition. Plenty of other situations that reminded me of the rat event mentioned earlier though.
In my second year I ended up sharing a corridor with freshers in hall and having been there the first year I warned them to be careful that sometimes one particular shower on the shared and mixed corridor occasionally overflowed and flooded the bathroom and I suspected that the drain might be clogged or something.
It didn't seem too bad to the men of the corridor. A tiny room with a tiled floor, and a raised, pitted square to stand in and shower. No mats or rugs to worry about. The problem, though, was that after probably dozens of years of student use the water wasn't draining down the plughole. So by the end of your wash you'd be ankle deep in tepid water. Some of the girls found this repulsive, and asked for suggestions on how to fix it, since the cleaners and hall management had been pretty useless when confronted with the situation. I suggested poking some flexible thing along to possibly clear the blockage since I had done similar with blocked drains before - the technical term for it is "rodding". But we didn't have any suitable implements for "rodding". So the girl in question set about searching out an alternative...
"I'll use a fork."
A handful of us from the corridor crowded round the open doorway as one of the girls, wearing marigolds, got down on her knees and confidently jabbed a dinner fork down the plughole. After a few inches it met resistance, so she pushed harder and whatever was down there slowly yielded to the prongs.
With grim determination, she started to twist the fork round and round, and if you listened, you could hear something happening – like a tiny wellington boot lifting itself out of some mud.
twist, squelch, twist, squelch ...
"Right, that should do it," she finally announced, and with us looking on silent with anxiety, she pulled on the fork. It started sliding up slowly at first, then all too quickly, it burst out with a plop, and this poor, helpful girl was left squatting there holding ... something. It's still hard to compute to this day.
Afterwards, over strong coffee we referred to it as "the dead rat". It was definitely grey and glistening. It was as though someone had put a large, rotting rat corpse through a mincer, then spent a good hour spitting snot over it, before helpfully forcing it into our plumbing and sealing it in with week-old semen. It certainly smelt like this was the case.
Well, after it was out, she went back and bagged it up. None of us wanted to help. We were hiding in our rooms within 30 seconds of that monstrous thing seeing the light of day.
Later the JCR sent round a half jokey letter to all students in hall asking them to please refrain from masturbating in the showers as it was blocking the drains...
marcusfox
I have to say that was the only time in my life that I'd ever come across a rat in such a disgusting condition. Plenty of other situations that reminded me of the rat event mentioned earlier though.
In my second year I ended up sharing a corridor with freshers in hall and having been there the first year I warned them to be careful that sometimes one particular shower on the shared and mixed corridor occasionally overflowed and flooded the bathroom and I suspected that the drain might be clogged or something.
It didn't seem too bad to the men of the corridor. A tiny room with a tiled floor, and a raised, pitted square to stand in and shower. No mats or rugs to worry about. The problem, though, was that after probably dozens of years of student use the water wasn't draining down the plughole. So by the end of your wash you'd be ankle deep in tepid water. Some of the girls found this repulsive, and asked for suggestions on how to fix it, since the cleaners and hall management had been pretty useless when confronted with the situation. I suggested poking some flexible thing along to possibly clear the blockage since I had done similar with blocked drains before - the technical term for it is "rodding". But we didn't have any suitable implements for "rodding". So the girl in question set about searching out an alternative...
"I'll use a fork."
A handful of us from the corridor crowded round the open doorway as one of the girls, wearing marigolds, got down on her knees and confidently jabbed a dinner fork down the plughole. After a few inches it met resistance, so she pushed harder and whatever was down there slowly yielded to the prongs.
With grim determination, she started to twist the fork round and round, and if you listened, you could hear something happening – like a tiny wellington boot lifting itself out of some mud.
twist, squelch, twist, squelch ...
"Right, that should do it," she finally announced, and with us looking on silent with anxiety, she pulled on the fork. It started sliding up slowly at first, then all too quickly, it burst out with a plop, and this poor, helpful girl was left squatting there holding ... something. It's still hard to compute to this day.
Afterwards, over strong coffee we referred to it as "the dead rat". It was definitely grey and glistening. It was as though someone had put a large, rotting rat corpse through a mincer, then spent a good hour spitting snot over it, before helpfully forcing it into our plumbing and sealing it in with week-old semen. It certainly smelt like this was the case.
Well, after it was out, she went back and bagged it up. None of us wanted to help. We were hiding in our rooms within 30 seconds of that monstrous thing seeing the light of day.
Later the JCR sent round a half jokey letter to all students in hall asking them to please refrain from masturbating in the showers as it was blocking the drains...
In my second year I ended up sharing a corridor with freshers in hall and having been there the first year I warned them to be careful that sometimes one particular shower on the shared and mixed corridor occasionally overflowed and flooded the bathroom and I suspected that the drain might be clogged or something.
It didn't seem too bad to the men of the corridor. A tiny room with a tiled floor, and a raised, pitted square to stand in and shower. No mats or rugs to worry about. The problem, though, was that after probably dozens of years of student use the water wasn't draining down the plughole. So by the end of your wash you'd be ankle deep in tepid water. Some of the girls found this repulsive, and asked for suggestions on how to fix it, since the cleaners and hall management had been pretty useless when confronted with the situation. I suggested poking some flexible thing along to possibly clear the blockage since I had done similar with blocked drains before - the technical term for it is "rodding". But we didn't have any suitable implements for "rodding". So the girl in question set about searching out an alternative...
"I'll use a fork."
A handful of us from the corridor crowded round the open doorway as one of the girls, wearing marigolds, got down on her knees and confidently jabbed a dinner fork down the plughole. After a few inches it met resistance, so she pushed harder and whatever was down there slowly yielded to the prongs.
With grim determination, she started to twist the fork round and round, and if you listened, you could hear something happening – like a tiny wellington boot lifting itself out of some mud.
twist, squelch, twist, squelch ...
"Right, that should do it," she finally announced, and with us looking on silent with anxiety, she pulled on the fork. It started sliding up slowly at first, then all too quickly, it burst out with a plop, and this poor, helpful girl was left squatting there holding ... something. It's still hard to compute to this day.
Afterwards, over strong coffee we referred to it as "the dead rat". It was definitely grey and glistening. It was as though someone had put a large, rotting rat corpse through a mincer, then spent a good hour spitting snot over it, before helpfully forcing it into our plumbing and sealing it in with week-old semen. It certainly smelt like this was the case.
Well, after it was out, she went back and bagged it up. None of us wanted to help. We were hiding in our rooms within 30 seconds of that monstrous thing seeing the light of day.
Later the JCR sent round a half jokey letter to all students in hall asking them to please refrain from masturbating in the showers as it was blocking the drains...
I'm very sorry, but I couldn't help but laugh out loud reading this!
That poor girl...How could I have forgotten my Nottingham experience...
http://www.thestudentroom.co.uk/showthread.php?p=12961718#post12961718
Seems such a long time ago now...
http://www.thestudentroom.co.uk/showthread.php?p=12961718#post12961718
Seems such a long time ago now...
Original post by BojanglesELF
As im not in uni yet i have no fab stories of my own- but one memorable tale of how my friend dealt with his flatmates.
he'd been complaining to me about them most of the year- he's a quiet, fairly nerdy guy. He's into indie music, and lord of the rings...and likes to sit in his room in the evenings with a nice cup of tea. his room mates were all giggly, bleached blonde, fake tanned girls who apparently played r n b loudly every day, would spew on their kitchen table and not clean it up for hours...and go out every night pissed only to return to yell abuse at him.
one night they came back, screaming about how annoying he was as usual, and one girl grabbed a broomstick and started hitting his door with it at 4 am, he had an exam the next day.
the next day he returned from his exam, fuming at being kept awake so late on such an important day, so, while his roomates were out, took revenge on the girl who had grabbed the broomstick......
he cracked a few eggs into a bowl, and poured in a little vinegar, mixing it up.
he then painted the mixture on the girls door, but, cleverly, made sure to also paint the very underside of it, so that if the girl ever cleaned her door, she would probably skip the underside thinking there was no point and so the stench would continue.
the girl was driven mad trying to figure out where it came from :P and everyone else knew it was her room..because when they approached her door the stink from the rotting egg and vinegar got worse.
he'd been complaining to me about them most of the year- he's a quiet, fairly nerdy guy. He's into indie music, and lord of the rings...and likes to sit in his room in the evenings with a nice cup of tea. his room mates were all giggly, bleached blonde, fake tanned girls who apparently played r n b loudly every day, would spew on their kitchen table and not clean it up for hours...and go out every night pissed only to return to yell abuse at him.
one night they came back, screaming about how annoying he was as usual, and one girl grabbed a broomstick and started hitting his door with it at 4 am, he had an exam the next day.
the next day he returned from his exam, fuming at being kept awake so late on such an important day, so, while his roomates were out, took revenge on the girl who had grabbed the broomstick......
he cracked a few eggs into a bowl, and poured in a little vinegar, mixing it up.
he then painted the mixture on the girls door, but, cleverly, made sure to also paint the very underside of it, so that if the girl ever cleaned her door, she would probably skip the underside thinking there was no point and so the stench would continue.
the girl was driven mad trying to figure out where it came from :P and everyone else knew it was her room..because when they approached her door the stink from the rotting egg and vinegar got worse.
Oh wow, that is brilliant!
My flatmates are bearable (meaning they're nice) it's just that they're really immature when they party...which is about 4-5 out of seven days a week. They get drunk to such an extent that I can smell the alcohol in my room when they're drinking in the kitchen...which I'm the furthest away from. Often, they're running up and down crashing into things, and screaming until about 4-5 in the morning, even on weeknights.
Twice, I've snapped. I'm up for a party every now and then, but not getting absolutely sh*tfaced!
The way I exacted my revenge was by tipping all of their alcohol down the sink (every last drop apart from a glass of Pinot Grigio that I poured for myself) and replaced it with lemonade/water/soft drinks.
As I said I've done this twice now and it's priceless, because they end up relaying the night to me a few days later and mentioning that their alcohol tasted really strange :')
Original post by marcusfox
That's not the half of it, haha. I lived in a house with this really odd guy once. He was a complete animal. He was a born again Christian who believed that no harm would ever come to him unless it was God's will and if it was, then it couldn't be avoided. His opionion of illness was that it was a way for God to punish the wicked. Consequently he didn't go much for personal hygiene. Or in fact any hygiene issue.
He just didn't wash. Anything. Himself. His clothes. But most importantly, he didn't wash his dishes. Or at least not in the way you, I or the majority of people would count as being washed.
He had a washing up bowl with a lid. It was his. None of us would consider touching it let alone use it. He filled it with water when he first arrived and he'd use it to occasionally soak his dishes for an hour or so. Then he'd wipe them in his grotty tshirt and reuse them. Trouble is, he reused the water too. Thank God for the lid.
As you can imagine the smell of this got pretty bad, so something had to be done. Rock paper scissors was played and I lost.
Trying not to vomit, I carried the bowl to the toilet and poured the muck inside down the pan. Trouble is a layer of absolutely rancid smelling crap had congealed at the bottom and I wasn't going to bother messing about scraping it out and possibly vomiting.
Stuck a label on the top that said 'do not open' and put it out for the bin-men the next morning.
On second thoughts, the label was a bad idea. Judging by the quantity and different locations of several piles of vomit the next day, curiosity had obviously got the better of a few passers by.
He just didn't wash. Anything. Himself. His clothes. But most importantly, he didn't wash his dishes. Or at least not in the way you, I or the majority of people would count as being washed.
He had a washing up bowl with a lid. It was his. None of us would consider touching it let alone use it. He filled it with water when he first arrived and he'd use it to occasionally soak his dishes for an hour or so. Then he'd wipe them in his grotty tshirt and reuse them. Trouble is, he reused the water too. Thank God for the lid.
As you can imagine the smell of this got pretty bad, so something had to be done. Rock paper scissors was played and I lost.
Trying not to vomit, I carried the bowl to the toilet and poured the muck inside down the pan. Trouble is a layer of absolutely rancid smelling crap had congealed at the bottom and I wasn't going to bother messing about scraping it out and possibly vomiting.
Stuck a label on the top that said 'do not open' and put it out for the bin-men the next morning.
On second thoughts, the label was a bad idea. Judging by the quantity and different locations of several piles of vomit the next day, curiosity had obviously got the better of a few passers by.
I've not laughed that hard in a long, long time. Thank you, sir!
I have so much love for this thread.
I still have to live with my current flatmates, so I'll relate a story from the time when I was a long-termer in a hostel in a large Australian city.
About three doors along the corridor from my (shared) room was a man who we'll call Oliver. Oliver, despite being Australian, could easily have passed for a bona fide chav on any of Britain's roughest estates - we're talking the full on tracksuit, gold chain, baseball cap with hoody pulled over the top, and a slightly pallid complexion that suggested malnutrition (unsurprising, since he invariably ate in McDonalds at least once a day, if not twice).
Oliver had eschewed a life of honest work for one of claiming benefits, drug dealing and petty theft. He regularly came round to our room selling all manner of drugs - weed, primarily, but we knew he could supply us with anything else we wanted. He was also a petty thief, and came by occasionally with goods that he wanted to sell, all with far-fetched stories about how he had acquired them in a legal manner, all of which had more holes in them than a piece of Swiss cheese. On one occasion, my supervisor (I was staying there on a Work-For-Accommodation basis) asked him to 'acquire' a laptop for him i.e. have one stolen from the paying customers.
Part of my work at the hostel involved me cleaning the communal kitchen. Oliver was forever stealing food from people, hence many had acquired padlocks for their food bags (although he had ingenious ways of getting around those). He also refused to do his washing up on occasions, so I ended up in the slightly surreal situation of telling off a drug dealer who was twice my size for not doing his washing up, and standing over him until he did it (which he did in the end).
He also boasted (yes, boasted) that he had been in prison in every Australian state except for NT and ACT. Shortly before I left, he assaulted a police officer and was expecting to go down for several years, although in the end he was only sent down for 4 days (he had the option of paying a $400 fine instead, but concluded that 4 days free bed and board was preferable).
I still have to live with my current flatmates, so I'll relate a story from the time when I was a long-termer in a hostel in a large Australian city.
About three doors along the corridor from my (shared) room was a man who we'll call Oliver. Oliver, despite being Australian, could easily have passed for a bona fide chav on any of Britain's roughest estates - we're talking the full on tracksuit, gold chain, baseball cap with hoody pulled over the top, and a slightly pallid complexion that suggested malnutrition (unsurprising, since he invariably ate in McDonalds at least once a day, if not twice).
Oliver had eschewed a life of honest work for one of claiming benefits, drug dealing and petty theft. He regularly came round to our room selling all manner of drugs - weed, primarily, but we knew he could supply us with anything else we wanted. He was also a petty thief, and came by occasionally with goods that he wanted to sell, all with far-fetched stories about how he had acquired them in a legal manner, all of which had more holes in them than a piece of Swiss cheese. On one occasion, my supervisor (I was staying there on a Work-For-Accommodation basis) asked him to 'acquire' a laptop for him i.e. have one stolen from the paying customers.
Part of my work at the hostel involved me cleaning the communal kitchen. Oliver was forever stealing food from people, hence many had acquired padlocks for their food bags (although he had ingenious ways of getting around those). He also refused to do his washing up on occasions, so I ended up in the slightly surreal situation of telling off a drug dealer who was twice my size for not doing his washing up, and standing over him until he did it (which he did in the end).
He also boasted (yes, boasted) that he had been in prison in every Australian state except for NT and ACT. Shortly before I left, he assaulted a police officer and was expecting to go down for several years, although in the end he was only sent down for 4 days (he had the option of paying a $400 fine instead, but concluded that 4 days free bed and board was preferable).
OMG I feel sick after reading that rat and fridge story haha
Nothing this interesting happens to me, tempted to see if Marcus still wants a flatmate in Nottingham 
Captain Jack - bumping old threads? Tut tut Do you have any stories to share?
Original post by Captain Jack
OMG I feel sick after reading that rat and fridge story haha
Captain Jack - bumping old threads? Tut tut
Do you have any stories to share?
I had a housemate who decided to report me as threatening and violent (I politely asked for the dishes to be washed. Apparently this makes me a potential serial killer in a cowprint dressing gown).
When she moved, she kindly left me a tampon on the carpet as a memento.
Thank you Miss R for your humble gift, you know me so well.
When she moved, she kindly left me a tampon on the carpet as a memento.
Thank you Miss R for your humble gift, you know me so well.
Original post by rmhumphries
Do you have any stories to share?
I had quite a few weird housemates in my time, most in a good way! Not sure I have anything quite so bad as the rat. I'll tell you about the recluse, the mould, the collapsed ceiling and housemate convinced he could heal people another time. For now I'll start with a fairly nice one...
Probably one of the weirdest times - and quite timely because it led up to a pancake day event - was in fact when my three housemates and I were preparing for a houseparty for which we'd bought a karaoke machine. As soon as we started singing (aka shouting) the neighbours, who were also students although we'd never met, started tapping on the wall. This continued until everyone in our house thought it would be hilarious to start a tapping war which went on for hours until everyone was finally driven mad by the sound of the tap. All of this happened but both parties from each house stayed put, never going around to say something in person.
The next day though I was dared to run round and post a letter saying "Dear Tap-a-Tap, we would be most appreciative if you would stop your incessant tapping. Tap x".
Nothing happened for a week afterwards until the following weekend we received a dog eared note asking us to "politely stop tapping and singing bad renditions of Celine Dion". This sparked a two week argument by hand delivered letter in the dead of the night which escalated to ridiculous levels. I.e. waking up to the sound of the neighbours alarm going at 4am, the sound of footsteps running followed by the bang of our letter box.
One day we arrived home to find a severed papier mache head labelled to warn us that 'should we persist we would be next'. The logical response from us was of course to send back the headless body of a teddy bear frozen in a block of ice with an equally harsh threat tied to it inside.
I'm not quite sure how but we kept this up for three months, neither set of housemates ever meeting or seeing each other, despite living next-door and going to the same Uni. Across the course of the three months all manner of items were exchanged from dolls carefully positioned at windows to scare them when curtains were opened through to a pair of pants thrown aggressively through our living room window.
Eventually, after three long months, on Pancake Day nine years ago, we were in the backgarden and the other set of housemates, four really nice respectable girls came out to say hello. We immediately decided to call a truce by playing a game of pancake tennis for the rest of the evening using frying pans getting to know each other.
So I guess you could say we were all pretty weird. And we're all friends to this day!
Original post by rmhumphries
Nothing this interesting happens to me, tempted to see if Marcus still wants a flatmate in Nottingham
Haha, I thought this thread had died. Nope, I'm all sorted for housemates thanks, most of them seem to be a pretty normal bunch.
Apart from the one who works at the QMC, more than a nurse, but not quite a doctor. She likes to regale us of the stomach churning incidences she has encountered throughout her working day.
Only this week she told us how she had assisted in a cyst drainage: the patient had not one but 17, spread over his back and ranging from dried pea to satsuma in size. The little ones went OK, with a quick slash to dissect them out intact. The 3 biggest...squirted. Apparently the smell was a cross between rotting flesh, halitosis and vomit. All the theatre staff were hit. The surgeon had to have his faceshield wiped off twice, and the theatre itself was out of action for 4 hours while pathology had it steam cleaned and then swabbed for cultures.
Also live with an occupational therapist who has to go out to other places and do assessments for people so they can live relatively normal lives.
I say relatively normal, because often the places she goes out to and the stories she comes back with are anything but.
(edited 12 years ago)
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