Last Sunday (the 21st of March), when we returned home from Spring Break, my roommate asked me if he could have “a friend, maybe two, stay over on Tuesday night.” I agreed. I mean, why not–sure, we live in a dorm room, but we have the space for one, possibly two people for a night, right?

As it turns out, when my roommate said “a friend,” he really meant three friends; and when he said “Tuesday night,” he really meant Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights. That’s right–for three long days, there were not the normal two, but rather five people living in my dorm room.

It’s also worth mentioning that the three new occupants were all girls–three of the crudest, most perverted girls I have ever met. When they weren’t talking about sex, they were talking about their bodily functions in the most intimate of details. Furthermore, they smelled bad, and made the room smell bad–and were quite proud of that fact. Imagine the personality and maturity of your average seventh-grade boy in the body of a nineteen-year-old girl, and you’ll have a pretty good idea of the nature of my roommate’s visitors.

Was I mad at this point? Well, not yet. I was a bit annoyed by the visitors, and the fact that my roommate had misrepresented the nature of their visit, but I wasn’t outright mad quite yet. No, that would come on Thursday night–or rather, Friday morning, at 3:00 AM, to be precise. It was about that time that I had reached my breaking point. Since I had to get up at 8:00 AM for a 9:00 AM class, I returned to my room at 2:55 to find, to my dismay, that the slumber party in my room was still going strong. I asked the four if they planned on going to bed any time soon.

With a smug look on his face, my roommate responded, “Maybe.” Before I could say anything, one of his friends interjected, “We’re just going to finish this card game and then we’re going to bed.”

Fair enough, I figured, as I got into bed. I tried to go to sleep, but as there was a bright white light shining in my eyes, it was very hard. At about 3:00 AM the game ended, and the girls climbed into their sleeping bags. I was staring at the ceiling, but I heard my roommate retrieve something from his desk, prompting one of the girls to ask, “Mike [my roommate], what are you doing?” “Homework,” I heard him respond. “But your roommate wants to go to sleep,” his friend said. “I think you should respect that. You can do your homework in the morning.” My roommate did not respond, and continued doing his homework.

At 3:10 I figured that enough was enough. I had given him ample warning and time to comply. I got up and, mumbling something about turning off the light, I flicked off the light. I went back to bed. My roommate did the rest of his reading my flashlight, which was fine by me. I just wanted enough darkness to sleep.

3:30 rolls around, and I am drifting off to sleep. Suddenly, my roommate flicks the light back on. Blinding white light knocks me out of sleep. He gets something from under his bed and then goes to take a shower. Yes, you heard right: it’s 3:30 in the morning and he is going to take a shower. Thankfully, he turns off the light as he leaves.

3:50 AM now. I managed, by this time, to start to drift off again. But then my roommate returns and turns the light back on–and begins taking the sheets off his bed! Our exchange went roughly like this:

Me: Mike, what are you doing?
Roommate: What does it looking like I’m doing?
Me: It looks like you’re taking the sheets off your bed, but why the hell are you doing that at 4:00 in the fucking morning?

And that’s about when all hell broke loose.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had had it. My roommate has got to be the most annoying person in the world, and he had been a complete ass to me all year. I decided not to hold anything back. I told him he was the rudest, most annoying person I had ever met, and I absolutely hated him. I was so mad that I told him that no one at Bucknell liked him, and he had no friends here. I told him I felt sorry for anyone who ever had to live with him again.

For his part, he didn’t hold much back, either, for being such a passive-aggressive person. He let it be known that our hatred was mutual, and he expressly told me that he thought he was better than me, and therefore was not bound to respect me in any way. He also pointed out that I had woken him up by accident on a few occasions (namely, Friday and Saturday mornings when I return to my room early in the morning), and so he was justified in having his girlfriend call at 6:30 AM most mornings, or keeping me up until 3:00 AM. He also admitted that the source of his anger was from the relatively small and almost forgotten argument we had back in November, when I asked him if he could stop having his girlfriend call at 6:30 in the morning just to annoy me.

Which brings up several points. First of all, my roommate missed the point of my outburst. I don’t expect to never be woken up by him, but his actions in that regard are often excessive and deliberate. I might accidentally wake him up some Saturday mornings at 3:00 or whatever, but that’s very rare, and not intentional. However, his girlfriend’s phone calls are excessive and deliberate, as was his changing his sheets at 4:00 AM. Furthermore, his having three guests over without my permission was way, way over the line.

Anyway, now that we made it known we hate each other, I think the final six weeks of living together will go smoothly, if a bit quietly. Before there was a tension that resulted mainly from being unsure how things were going; now that we know we can’t stand each other, that tension seems gone. I only have six more weeks and then I am free! And yes, I vow to make his six weeks worse than mine, if push comes to shove. No more Mr. Nice Roommate!