Since its college decision season for many high schoolers, I got to reminiscing about my college experiences at Binghamton University. As loyal blog readers may recall, I have many fond memories from college. But I also have some not-so-fond memories.
In today’s blog, I’ll tell you about one—though technically two—of my least fond memories from college: my senior year apartment-mates. Had it not been for L and M, my senior year would’ve been amazing. I had good grades, an even better social life, and I was heading to law school after graduation.
But my college “home life” was less than ideal. While the four-bedroom apartment I resided in was relatively nice, my three apartment mates were slobs. Only E, my best friend at the time, was considerate of our shared living spaces and limited her messiness to her own room. L and M, on the other hand, did not.
As it turns out, having peace in your home, even if it’s only a temporary home, is important to one’s well-being.
Which brings me to this life lesson: living with other people requires a level of adjustment and compromise. Being respectful of differences in habits can help ease tensions, but only when there’s communication and the spirit of partnership. Sadly, I didn’t have any of those elements, thanks to L and M.
Here’s the story of my mess distress…
Sweeping things under the rug
College is great place for self-discovery. It’s a time for understanding who you are and what direction you want to go after college (ideally before graduation). College is also an ideal place for learning about some important non-academic areas. For me, it was figuring out how to share my living space.
When I was a kid, I had my own bedroom. Everything had its place, and that place—at least according to my mother—was not on the floor. My mom did all the housekeeping and although we weren’t all that helpful, we respected her efforts. In other words, we knew not to leave messes behind; that was a non-negotiable expectation.
In college, I realized that cleanliness and order were also non-negotiables for me. I quickly learned that, sadly, most people didn’t share that philosophy.
Thankfully, there was a cleaning service that maintained my dorm’s common areas. Comforted by the knowledge that at least the bathrooms were cleaned regularly, my mess distress was manageable.
But even if my roommates had been as neat as a pin—which they weren’t—I was someone who didn’t like sharing her space. (I still don’t, but I like being married more.)
And so, after two years, I decided to move on from dorm life.
Good broom-mates
For my junior year, I moved up to Binghamton’s on-campus apartments. The apartments were basically dorm rooms with a shared kitchen, bathroom, and living area. The biggest benefits of the apartments were that you got your own bedroom and could also walk to campus. (A mere fifteen-minute hike!) Plus, I was excited to be moving in with my friends who were rising seniors.
Since there was now no cleaning service, my older and wiser apartment-mates used a chore wheel. Between the four of us, we kept the apartment reasonably clean. I was spoiled in that I didn’t experience any mess distress that year.
But then my friends graduated. That meant I had to find new people to live with for my senior year.
Since I already knew E, we just needed two more people for our apartment. Enter L and M, with whom we were somehow connected. L and M were both busy nursing students and claimed they’d be ideal to room with. To me, this meant L and M would be so busy with school that they wouldn’t be around much. Not being around much meant little to no mess, right?
As it turns out, my logic was horribly wrong. And so began my mess distress.
Soap-er powers
Apparently, L and M didn’t have time to be neat. Or help with any household chores. Or do anything other than come in, throw their stuff all over the place, and retreat to their rooms until they got hungry.
E and I were the only ones who adhered to my amazing chore wheel. Initially, I quietly picked up the ignored chores because I couldn’t stand the filth. Apparently busy nursing students—who literally have to be hygienic as part of their studies—couldn’t be bothered with cleaning their own living spaces. That was my first instance of my mess distress.
When I spoke to L and M as nicely as I could about being neater, they pretended they were sorry. They blamed their messiness on being so tired from their important nursing studies.
Boo hoo. I thought in my head. I didn’t point out that I was double majoring and playing on the lacrosse club, so my schedule was pretty hectic too. Plus, as I learned from my hard-working mother, there is always time for cleaning.
Even though I thought we’d had a good conversation about cleaning regularly, after a few weeks, L and M went back to their old ways.
Missed mop-ortunities
Sadly, my mess distress grew whenever L and M were home. Instead of being busy with studying, I often heard M gabbing on the phone with her long-distance boyfriend and L laughing, etc. with her boyfriend whenever he came over.
They certainly could’ve taken a few minutes for cleaning before or after those non-studying activities.
While the sporadic bathroom cleaning was one thing, L and M were often also too busy to wash their dishes. One of their favorite side dishes was rice. More often than not, there was a pot with burnt rice caked on the bottom sitting in the sink. L and M claimed they left the pot to “soak.” For days. I would wash my dishes and add a dollop of soap to their burnt rice pot. I hoped my soap dollop would magically clean their pot. It never did.
After about five days, I couldn’t take it. I would break down and wash the offending dishes for them.
When I did wash things for them, to make a point, I would often leave the cleaned item in a prominent—and often misplaced area, like the middle of the kitchen table or on the couch. Originally, we all had a good laugh.
But after a while, they didn’t seem to care. My mess distress started growing.
And I haven’t even told you about the toilet paper incident yet.
Running on empty
One of the biggest reasons I lived on-campus was because I didn’t have a car. All three of my other apartment mates did. In a time when only pizzas could be delivered, the best options I had for getting food was grabbing something from the dining halls or taking the bus to Wegmans. Wegmans is the closest and bestest supermarket. (Wegmans was so amazing that I am willing to violate proper grammar rules to make the point.) The ideal option was getting a ride to Wegmans, but E’s schedule didn’t always align with mine. And I definitely didn’t want to go with L and M.
And so, while the bus was the cheapest and best option, it was a huge pain. It meant I could only buy what I could carry. That was about four shopping bags. No impulse buys for me, unless that item was tiny. Purchasing bulky items like paper towels or toilet paper meant I had used up one of my four shopping bags. So, buying those items was a big sacrifice.
As you can imagine, four girls in an apartment meant that the toilet paper flowed like water. And guess who was the one who always seemed to notice that we were running low? You guessed it. Me.
I also observed that whenever they came back from Wegmans—in their cars—L and M never remembered to buy toilet paper. Apparently, it was much easier for them just to reimburse me, who schlepped everything on the bus. After several months of this situation, I got fed up.
And that’s when World War T broke out.
Not on a roll
To teach L and M a lesson, I decided that I would not buy toilet paper for them anymore. Instead, I bought toilet paper for myself and E, and stored it in my closet. I wrote E and my names on a roll of toilet paper that I then left in the bathroom. When the toilet paper ran out, L and M would have nothing.
Or so I thought. Instead, L and M “borrowed” toilet paper from the nursing school bathrooms.
But lesson learned. When they went to Wegmans next, they finally bought toilet paper. Except L and M now wrote their names on the toilet paper.
And then L and M went one step further. They started writing their names on everything that wasn’t provided by the school. Napkins, ketchup, coffee. Nothing was shared anymore. Thank goodness E was the one who supplied the apartment’s television set, otherwise I would’ve really been screwed when it was time to watch Melrose Place and 90210.
I’m not sure how we ever resolved the situation other than by graduating.
Things may have been different if L and M had been a little more respectful. Though, perhaps I should’ve just quietly done the additional chores since cleanliness only seemed important to me. It’s a shame that we couldn’t compromise given our lifestyle differences.
I will say this: when we all graduated, I left the apartment first. And I took all the toilet paper with me.
Do you recall any childhood memories that had a strong impact on you later in life? Please share your stories with me in the comments section.
