PUBLISHED: 09-02-08

Author Information: Sara Harvey

sharvey@chroniclemail.com

Que sera, sera

Word to my roomies

Most of you reading this will have already moved into your new dorm room or apartment. Some of you will have met your new roommate, too. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship-or not.

I remember how excited I was when I found out I would be sharing a space with a roommate, my first one ever. I was unpacking my things at the University Center, putting sheets on my bed and hanging up clothes in the closet. A girl walked in with members of her family following her. She was carrying one small box with a pillow in it. It was my new roommate.

But before I could say “Go Huskers,” she ran out of the room bawling, and I never saw her again. So much for a first roommate.

For the first two months of school, I had a high-ceiling suite all to myself. I shared a connecting bathroom with two other gals (hey, Mercedes and Luisa!), but that was it.

In late October, I got a note under my door on UC stationery. I’d be getting a new roommate, who I’ll call Roomie No. 2 for the sake of this column.
The first few weeks after she moved in passed by pretty quietly. She took up more space than I thought she would, though she wasn’t around all the time. She had followed her boyfriend to Columbia, and he sometimes stopped by the room so they could go to the cafeteria together.

Sharing a room is easy, I thought. No worries here-just make sure you’re courteous and friendly, and things will be fine.

It wasn’t until my suitemates pointed out something green on the wall that I started to wonder about her.

I don’t mean green paint. I mean snot. Green, dried crust on the wall in the bathroom. It had to be the new girl … but why would she wipe snot on the walls when there were tissues readily available? Was she drunk, or did we do something offensive?

Then, as I was staring at the hard green chunk on the wall, I realized we had.
Weeks before, according to my suitemates, Roomie No. 2 frequently returned to the room with her man while I was gone. They fought and made “loud banging noises,” though I was never around for the spectacle. There was blood in the bathroom. Suffice it to say my suitemates were freaked out.
“We have to do something,” they said. So we did-we arranged for a mediation and confronted her. Roomie No. 2 was pretty upset about it, I guess, and that explained the booger warfare.

It was the beginning of a tumultuous relationship in which I came home to see posters torn from the wall and woke up to Roomie No. 2 and her pal slamming the door at 2 a.m. My friends thought I was crazy to put up with it, but I’m more of a lover than a fighter: I would have loved to put something vile in her John Frieda shampoo or sprinkle itching powder on her sheets.

I put up with it until about December, and she was kicked out by the UC for one of her indiscretions. I was afraid about who they might give me next.
Someone up there must love me, because I got Monique, the most down-to-earth, laid-back person I’d ever met. She moved in with her Ikea futon, a fridge, a TV, an Xbox, incense and some John Butler Trio albums.
I haven’t seen Monique since we moved out during the last week of classes. But I learned something crucial: Roommates can help you become more tolerant, diversify your interests and that things can always get much, much worse, but they won’t ever stay that way.