Our apartment is constantly filled with random strangers filing in and out faster than I can keep track. For guys who use the word “bro” as punctuation and whose idea of cultural stimulation includes getting trashed almost every night, I’m surprised that my roommates have so many European contacts. While I’m glad my roommates are friendly and genial, it might not be the best idea to treat the apartment as a free hostel without alerting your other roommates. I was never consulted about these visitors, or asked if their presence would bother me. Instead I was treated to surprise after surprise in which I would play a game in my head where I would try to guess the person’s name because none of them would ever introduce themselves.
Frenchie was the first one. She showed up on the second day we were here. The story of how she and my roommate met is just like a fairy tale. They met on Chat Roulette, a disgusting social website that allows complete strangers to video chat with each other. She lives in France, but the two of them exchanged information (it’s always a good idea to share your personal info with a complete stranger who lives in a foreign country). Their casual relationship is one similar to the many romantic comedies that have become popular today in which two consenting adults become friends with benefits with no strings attached.
Frenchie confined herself mostly to the double bedroom in our apartment. Sometimes I would be in the living room and she would shuffle out of the bedroom to get something to drink. Then, she would silently shuffle back in. In the two and a half weeks that Frenchie lived with us, I didn’t even speak to her. Once in awhile I would hear her mummer something in broken English, but that was about it. I began to wonder if there was some type of mail order bride aspect to her relationship with my roommate. Or perhaps it was an exchange. He provided her with a place to stay and she provided him...well, you know.
After she was with us a few days, I came to the awkward conclusion that I didn’t know her name. It was too late to ask, and I didn’t want to seem like an idiot. One day, I was back in the apartment and I realized that the silent sex slave had left as mysteriously as she had come. Then, 2 weeks later, she was back for another week. During this visit, I learned her name and the fact that she literally cannot boil water. What a keeper.
Besides Frenchie, my roommates have been known to entertain overnight guests and often I will go into the living room to find a random gathering of GSB bros or the evidence that a gathering took place not long before my arrival. One time, I found the remnants of a game of beer pong in the middle of the kitchen. It was only 8pm and our floor was covered in a thick layer of sticky spilled beers.
Currently, we are housing a guest by the name of Matt. I learned his name only after he had stayed with us for four days. He’s still here and shows no signs of leaving. Like the other guests, he has not spoken to me or bothered to introduce himself. One night he entertained a lady guest in “his” room. The noises that emanated from the room suggested that they were doing something physically exhausting. Maybe they were playing a sports game.
One of the reasons these unexpected, mysterious guests are so jarring is because we recently received a notice that there was a robbery in our building. I’m not saying that the people who stay over are potential robbers, but my roommates have grown accustomed to leaving our door bolted because there is no other way for our hostel's guests to get in. Call me paranoid, but maybe it’s not such a good idea to be leaving the door open when there’s a robber on the loose.
The morning after the robbery notice, I walked past the living room and saw someone sleeping on the couch. Oh, that’s Brendan’s friend, Matt. I was so proud of myself for finally knowing who was in our apartment and their reason for being there. I had kept up with the parade of guests. I deserved a medal, or perhaps even a statue. Later as I was walking into the shower, I was caught off guard by a goateed stranger in the hallway.
“Hey man,” he said.
This was either a very friendly robber or another friend of one of my roommates. So much for knowing who was staying in my apartment. I mumbled something to him and took my shower. By the time I got out, he was gone. I guess I should consider myself lucky. At least none of them have started a fire or stolen anything...yet.
If you find yourself around Crawford Passage, stop by. We’re in flat 8 and the door is usually open. Come on in, make yourself at home. If we’ve been robbed, kindly alert the police. As you wait for them to arrive, you can dine on some leftover Papa John’s in the fridge. Don’t bother asking anyone if you can have it, our other guests have learned to help themselves. Also, when I come back, just ignore me and don’t introduce yourself. I’ll have a fun time trying to guess your name, and if you’re interesting enough I might even write an essay about you.
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