There's No Place Like Home

I once had a crazy ex-Texan roommate. An intense face and brow lift made her look like she was constantly in a wind tunnel, and thanks to a semi-botched childhood tonsillectomy she had a voice that carved grooves in our apartment windows. She listened to NPR on 3 radios in 3 rooms at once, and she never left the apartment...not that I can blame her, as we lived on a sixth floor walkup. I myself chose to spend most of my time on the other end of the staircase. I would have guessed that she'd be the type to have 14 cats running around, but instead she devoted her time and energy to our next door neighbor, who lived in a cave at the end of a corridor stuffed with 40 years of newspapers, and who had a leather and chain-clad dom come huffing up the stairs once a month to spank him and force him to clean up the mess. This neighbor had once attacked our front door with a hammer when he thought my roommate was blaring NPR too loud; the dents were still there but they had made up, for the most part.

What energy was not devoted to complaining about our floormate was focussed on the apartment, her baby, whose lease she'd held for years. I came home one day to find my roommate waiting for me, her visage as close to an expression of concern as possible when one's face is as hard as a melon. Apparently she had noticed some divots in the hardwood floors. Aghast, she had inspected all of her own shoes to find a culprit, but had come up with nothing. Returning to the scene of the crime, she got down on her hands and knees and traced the divots to my room, at which point she went through every pair of shoes in my closet. The offending pair of stilettos with heels worn down to the metal stubs were on the coffee table for my inspection. Luckily for everyone concerned, she moved to Croatia, and I moved downtown.

All this comes to mind because I recently noticed that my current roommate has come into my room and wrapped a giant shower cap over my air conditioning unit in my absence. Have I learned nothing from my earlier roommate experience? Do I need a giant "GO AWAY" sign for my door? (Actually, I have one of those, but it seemed rude and invasive). Should I myself move to Croatia? The easiest answer seems to be that it's New York, and I should be glad he does all the cleaning, and doesn't just snort coke all day through a vacuum cleaner-shaped straw.*

*True story, but not one I can claim as my own...thanks E!