By: Daniella Porano, Emma Little, and Hayley Regis

The Parent

The mom or dad of the house knows how to do everything – cook, clean, and fix things. They text you to as when you’re coming home and make sure you’re okay when they haven’t seen you all day. Checking to make sure you ate, and if you did, making sure it was a balanced diet. This roommate will make a comment if you eat dessert first or if you only eat bagels.

When you’re frustrated and can’t find something, they find it within seconds. When you break something, they can fix it. They remind you to clean, do your chores, your homework, and to study. If you’re going out, the parents likely make sure you get home safely. They seem like the perfect person, and leave you wondering how they have mastered all of these skills, and kept up on all the cooking and cleaning with a busy university schedule. You appreciate that they care, but you also wish that sometimes they would just leave you alone.

The Is-This-Really-A-Kitchen-Or-A-Junkyard-Roommate?

It’s Saturday morning and I’ve come downstairs to make myself breakfast. There’s an inch of mold in my mug, vomit in the kitchen sink, and disgusting Tally-Ho’s remnants in takeout containers strewn across the kitchen table. The garbage bag on the floor is emanating a revolting smell and leaking a mysterious brown liquid on the tiles. Dry heaving and ordering takeout becomes my Saturday morning routine.

This roommate is the dirtiest person you have ever met. You don’t understand how any one person could be this disgusting, until you see their mom come and clean their room one Sunday afternoon. Because you share a kitchen, and sometimes a bathroom with them, you feel like you’re living in a private hell of toxic filth. There is no amount of angry Facebook rants in your house group or passive-aggressive post it notes that will end this madness. Moving out is your only real option.

Meat head

Hey buddy, I know it was you. Nobody else plays enough WoW to use an additional 300GB of internet. Also, I get that you go to the gym and you “gotta get dem gainz” but I don’t understand why that means you dirty every pot, pan, and plate in our house every week. Is it some ritual I don’t understand? If so, I apologize, but I also don’t care, I just want to make some mophuqqin’ KD without having to salvage clean dishes from the mountain of filth you create. Also aren’t you in your mid-20s? Probably stop using Axe, that’s not a thing.

“I’m in a band”

We get it, you’re in a band. But the women you bring home in the night aren’t groupies; I’m 95 percent sure you pay them (which is no big deal, sex work is fine) but I’m not super fond of how often you steal my laundry detergent to do your sweaty sex sheets. Please pay your bills, like it’s been months and I don’t really want to pay for all your shower sex (P.S. it’s not conserving water if you do it like thrice a day).

Are you even in a band? I’ve only ever heard you play the same chord over and over and only at 2 a.m. Why must you smoke indoors? Blowing pot smoke into the vent seems like a good idea until the rest of us get confusing contact highs and try to figure out why we’ve eaten all our chips at 3 p.m. on a Thursday. Just graduate already.

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