I remember one of my first roommate situations. I was on time for an interview with the guy renting the room, and the place was a pigsty. There were dirty towels on floor, dirty dishes in the sink, and the place had the look of seeped-in grime. Naively, I asked “The place is usually cleaner than this?” Oh yes, he assured me, and even though there were four roommates, there was plenty of room in the slightly-smaller-than-full-sized fridge.

After I moved in, I found out there was a huge ice block in the fridge because the thing hadn’t been defrosted in forever. Despite the fact that the fridge had a hard time keeping anything cold, real estate within was fiercely contested. And, of course, as you roommate veterans know, the place was a pigsty.

Fast-forward to a couple months ago, when I first came to see the place where I live now. I was on time for an interview and the place was gorgeous, and fairly clean, considering there were guys living there. Gay guys, but not the clean, anal-retentive, orderly kind, darn it. The other ones.

There were dirty dishes in the sink, which one of the guys promptly began washing, but I could tell dirty dishes in the sink overnight was a regular occurence. Max capacity was 6 roommates, but there was plenty of room in the fridge and a second fridge downstairs. There was also plenty cabinet space. The house was never locked because someone was always home. And they attracted some really cool people. This, at least, was the story.

You know, as soon as he said there was plenty of cabinet space, I knew he was lying and my first inclination was to get up and start opening doors. But the place not only had a nice-sized back yard and front yard, it was physically gorgeous and it also had plenty of nooks and crannies that I knew my cat would love. And so I decided that I could put up with a lack of cabinet space for the happiness of my cat.

I didn’t think about the fact that the guy had no problem at all lying. That was a red flag I didn’t even see waving. I saw the lie, but not the liar. Fast forward a couple of months, and this oversight … has led to drama.

The Slow Leak

It’s been a long, slow leak and I was so busy trying to go along to get along I didn’t even notice. I moved in. Sure enough, the cabinets were full to brim. Oddly enough, no roommate there had space in the cabinets. They were all full of the dishes and food of the gay couple who were renting the rooms. I was shown a closet (not in the kitchen, but close) which I could use as a pantry. That second fridge was not working. Okay, this was … not really a surprise. This was the agreement I’d made with myself so my cat could be happy.

I didn’t consider it acquiescing at the time, but, looking back, I can see how the guy (let’s call him Warren) would assume that because I didn’t hold him accountable to his words, I was okay with his behavior. That his behavior was acceptable. And because there were no consequences for his behavior, he could continue and expand that.

Of course he’s a liberal. Personal responsibility and Satan to him are pretty much one and the same. And that was my big, fat second red flag. As soon as someone tells you they’re for universal health care, expect some drama. What they are telling you is that they want someone else to assume responsibility for their care. And that reluctance to accept the task of taking care of themselves on that level will also be present in other areas of their lives.

Like the two small dogs that are housed in the basement. It’s a room which faces the backyard. In that room, the door to the backyard is kept open so the dogs can run in and out. They don’t like to let the pets inside: one dog isn’t well and pees inside the house sometimes; the other dog tends to scratch holes into the sofa cushions. Except there are other rooms in the basement. Air-conditioned rooms, so that unwell dog doesn’t have to bake in the hot summer heat. When Warren complains about how he can’t afford to take the dog to the vet, I want to ask how come he hasn’t done what he can afford to do?

One roommate is an alcoholic. Who alternates between feeling sorry for himself and gay, verbose interruptions of whatever it was you were talking about.

It’s funny, during all this time that I’m negotiating all these small blooms of madness, I had this constant feeling of being drained, but I kept thinking it was due to my work schedule, even after I cut back to part-time hours.

These seemingly small agreements I was making to stay in this place were exacting a huge toll on me.

The Big Drain

And then, in moves the pothead. She’s a professional: she buys the plant from Juan Valdez in the mountains of Columbia, painstakingly picks off all the seeds, rolls out the leaves to dry in the sun several days … I’m making this up. What I’m not making up is that she buys the plants. I know because she wants to show all of the roommates one her “precious”.

And she has a giant German Shepherd — albeit a well-trained one. I’m assured by Warren that the dog will be leashed in the house (because of the impending arrival of my cat). I think this is odd agreement for any pet owner to make, but … I’m already in the habit of keeping my head down and my mouth shut because this is going to be just such a great place for my cat to live … as soon as I can get him here.

I remember feeling a vague, disquieting sense that something was wrong here, but being unable to identify exactly what the problem was. I just knew that when I thought of my roommates, I felt disappointed.

Apparently, though, the fact that another addict has moved in is not enough of a wake-up call for me. I need more.

And, boy, do I get more.