The Pirate Review - Surviving College Roommates

Be fully prepared to dump their lifeless bodies in the river

I've come to the conclusion that the college roommate experience is actually an elaborate, cross-campus experiment in social Darwinism. Find two people of polar-opposite backgrounds, outlooks and temperaments, lock them together in a room, add tons of classwork, not enough sleep and frayed tempers, and stir. Like two Japanese bettas in a single fishbowl, only the strong will survive.

Or perhaps the real purpose of college roommates is to give you that vague, unsettling "character-building" experience all the adults in your life kept recommending. You know, the kind of experience where you feel blessed to be still breathing and in one piece; where you realize your parents really were basically loving, decent people; where sharing a room with your hopelessly bratty little sister doesn't, on balance, seem all that intolerable. Somehow the troubles you know are always easier to handle than the ones you don't.

On balance, I was amazingly lucky. My first college roommate was very friendly and easygoing; we got along well and didn't crowd each other's space, and although we didn't have exactly the same taste in music, we both used our headphones.

Michelle* had no such compunctions. She had a campus job that began at 4 a.m. and she couldn't get going in the morning without her favorite heavy metal station playing at full volume. In those days it wasn't at all unusual for me to have been in bed a scant hour—just long enough to be really asleep—before I, and all my roomies, were serenaded with the dulcet tones of Metallica. Of course, because of her early schedule, she went to bed around 7:30—and saw no conflict in demanding that the rest of us had better tiptoe around after 8 p.m. That didn't last long.

As breathtaking as Michelle's chutzpah might be, it paled in comparison to Tami's well-rounded and perfect hypocrisy. Tami was the very picture of virginal innocence—all fluffy blonde hair, blue eyes, sweet little freckles across her beguiling upturned nose. She literally wore sailor-suit dresses with white and blue berets to complete the look. Good-girl Tami took it upon herself to be our resident rules cop—she rigorously policed the kitchen to be sure there were no members of the opposite sex in our apartment after 11 p.m. (dorm rules). Fifteen minutes later, she'd let the "flavor of the week" boyfriend in through the back door and into her (blessedly private) bedroom, where much suspicious creaking and heavy breathing would ensue. Eventually we all got sick of this and stood outside her bedroom one day, yelling, "TAMI... Is there a BOY in there? Are you having SEX with him? Which one is it THIS week?" That pretty much stopped it, but from there on out she made our lives hell.

Marianne, a Southerner, was our Resident Nudist. During the middle of winter, she'd crank up the thermostat to 85 degrees so she could parade around comfortably in a bra and panties (if that). Should anyone complain about her state of undress, she would make arch comments about being perfectly comfortable with her body, "unlike SOME repressed people around here." We were always nervous to bring a date back to the apartment, on the off chance that Marianne was lounging around déshabillé; there was also the very real danger of his passing out from heat exhaustion in our hothouse apartment. Incidentally, Marianne was always conveniently unavailable when it came time to pony up to the power company.

There were more, of course—Dana, the pimply grouch who hated everything but her own cooking (day in, day out, it was fried rice); boy-crazy Krystal, who chased anything in a pair of pants; Sylvia, who bathed daily in Obsession; Lorraine, who ate anything that wasn't nailed down; Angela, who could set lines of demarcation in a room better than Churchill and Stalin merrily divvying up Berlin—ah, the memories.

So, what have we learned, class?

No matter how easygoing you think you are, there are going to be things about your roomie that infuriate you—and things about you that infuriate her. Don't always assume the worst, but expect to have to deal with at least one blow-up experience.
Pick your battles. If there's something annoying that you can learn to live with, let it go.
Once in a while, make peace treaties. If you're going to the store, offer to pick something up for your roomie.
In really bad situations, you may want to try neutral third-party arbitration. Someone who doesn't live with either of you might be able to keep a clearer head and make suggestions.
If all else fails, MOVE. It's not worth the hassle, and you may do better with someone new.
If you find you can't get along with anyone, consider shelling out the extra cash for a private room. Not only will you be happier, but so will your roomies.

*All names have been changed to protect the guilty.