Once again I find myself in a crap situation involving flatmates. I guess in school they never teach you how to pick the good ones. The good news is that I have not moved house in over a year, I have taken on a lease by myself and my landlord hasn’t followed the Auckland trend by hiking up the rent every three months. However, the downfall is that I have magically contracted some horrible flatmates. So let me tell you the stories (PLURAL, because they are assholes) of these humans who never stop surprising me how dumb and inconsiderate they are.
When I took on the lease it was because the leaseholder was moving out and I DID NOT WANT TO MOVE AGAIN. We had two rooms to fill and me and the pre-existing flatty (Scott*) did so. He picked a dude he worked with called Paul* and I picked a girl called Rosie*. They moved in and things were just ticking along fine. The house was never full of people because some of us were either working or at our partner’s house. A couple of months rolled by and Scott was now off on an adventure to Asia and we had to fill his room. Being the nice guy he was he said he had already found someone and I was okay with that. SPOILER ALERT IT WAS MY BIG MISTAKE. Her name was Carrie* and she was 27. The first time I met her was the night before she moved in and we sat down and had dinner together, she seemed nice and was working at the same place as Paul. She moved in and things were okay for the first month. Then the cracks started.
Girl likes to smoke pot, which I had no problems with. She would be having a joint every evening when she finished work, it was her ritual. We would chat on the balcony and talk about the day that had just passed. Autumn rolled in and Rosie* decided she would move out which was cool, I held flat viewings and picked another girl called Anna*. She moved in and quickly befriended Carrie because they worked similar hours and both just loved weed. Then things picked up the pace and started to get a little out of control.
It started with Carrie. First, it was the refusal to pay the power bill because it was expensive. Then it was the refusal to take out the rubbish because she had already done it that week.
Three months in and we had a flat inspection on a Monday. A reminder went out on a Friday. I left the house clean on Sunday morning and came home after work at 12.30pm to a full rubbish bin, dirty floors, the house stinking of weed and cigarettes and a completely messy kitchen. Now knowing that I am living with humans who are all older than me by at least two years and that they had been reminded about the flat inspection two days prior I gave them the benefit of the doubt. I walked into the bathroom and nothing had been done, no scrubbing of the mold, no wiping of the sink, the rubbish had not even been taken out. So at 1am, I started to clean, 40 minutes later, angry and covered in bleach. Coming out of the bathroom the hallway smelled like a drug dealers house. Knocked on Carrie’s door and she popped her head out where I proceeded to ask her if she had been smoking in her room, with a flat inspection in the morning. The 27-year-old looked me dead in the eye and said: “We have finished now”. Literally no apology. I took my shower and crawled into bed.
I woke around 9.30 and wandered out to the kitchen where I stood in the doorway. Nothing had been touched. In fact, things had been added to the rubbish, the pile of dishes. I sigh, start running a sink full of hot water and begin pulling out the rubbish. I open all the windows in the house and look at the time. This gal had a meeting with my supervisor at 10.30am. I began scrubbing the dishes and began to cry into the sink like some sad housewife. Pretty much running around the house as I took the rubbish out, my sadness turned to anger and I ripped a poster off the wall of William and Kate because no house needs that on their bathroom door.
I cleaned the house but missed my meeting. Got dressed then heard the front door close, watched Anna jump into a car and leave. She was literally in her room the entire time. I went and hid in a cafe absolutely livid and was only two sips when my phone starts ringing. It’s the property inspector explaining how she had left our house key at the office and if I was home. I said no but someone else is, Paul was still sleeping though he had got home before me the night before. I said just knock and he will come to the door. She then politely told me how she had been doing that along with the doorbell for 10 minutes and no one had opened the door. I said I would call her back.
I called Paul.
S:”are you home?”
S: “would you get up and let the property inspector in, thanks.”
The property inspector finally gets let in and for the first time since I moved in, I am not there. She lets me know everything seems fine but her tone seems a little weird. I just put it down to it being Monday. But once again, I should have trusted my gut. I then get a call from an electrician asking if I can be home to walk him through the problem we are having with the bathroom light.
I then get a call from an electrician asking if I can be home to walk him through the problem we are having with the bathroom light. One coffee deep I head home, wait for him to turn up and I thought whilst he is here, I will get him to check everyone’s heaters, the hot water cylinder and all the sockets in the house because the power bill was now even more out of control, $450 out of control.
But it was when we walked into Anna’s room with the electrician did I almost throw him back out of the room. It was some sort of sick joke and then I remembered I was living with absolute idiots.