I’mmmmmm backkkkkkkk (in creepy childlike voice). I have regained my ability to blog once again! I HAD attempted to update from my iPhone, but that was a disaster. My phone would not only autocorrect every misspelled word into the most nonsensical word it could “think” of, but it would also autocorrect half of my correctly spelled words. I must have proofread my last post at least 50 times.
I was going to include my St. Patty’s day festivities in the latter half of this post, but it took me so long to write this, and it ended up being so long, I will save it for tomorrow to write. This post will regard the previous two days: Sunday and Monday. I would first like to address how absolutely nightmarish and unbelievable the past two days have been. I feel a great need to write about this on here, because putting my thoughts into writing helps me to both mourn and grieve my losses. These losses include the following: some of my sanity, my electric toothbrush, some more of my sanity, and some money (hopefully temporary). I also know that what is one man’s pain is another man’s pleasure, so feel free to enjoy as you read.
With that, let’s get started!!
It’s 2 a.m. Sunday morning. I’ve been out all night. My roommates threw a party. I arrive back home. I expect a huge party. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I open the door. It’s messy. Too messy. Three random guys are sitting in our living area. The first, let’s call him Joey..because his name is Joey…introduces himself to me. I pretend to want to meet him. I’ve been told that 100 people were in our apartment tonight. I become scared. I make my way down the hall. Phew, my bedroom door is still locked. I turn to my bathroom. I panic. I look inside. I shriek! Someone peed in my toilet and did not flush. I look at my sink. It’s filled with water, a cup and my extra toothbrush. My electric toothbrush is gone. Dried toothpaste spit up trails tauntingly down the mirror. It’s not my spit up. I moan. I see my shower in the mirror. I grow furious. I don’t want to turn and look. I do. It’s filled with trash. Coffee grounds litter the shower floor. Dirty water bottles cover a corner of the stall. Paper plates and odd substances that I did not bother to inspect sit in disarray. I find Joey, poor drunk, clueless Joey. “What happened to my bathroom?” I say as calmly as I can. Drunken blathering in response.Nothing annoys me more than drunken blathering. The more they speak, the more I can feel my rage attempt to free itself from its only slightly secure bonds. I have to get to my room. The internet will be my salvation, as it so often is. It’s gone. No internet. I die inside. I run back out. “What happened to the internet!?” I ask. I’m fuming. Why did I ask? Drunken blathering in reply. Joey keeps encouragingly saying, “Well, you know, it can only get better from here.” I hold my tongue.
I go to sleep. Fortunately, drunken Joey is right. It can only get better.
I wake up Sunday afternoon. I remember the state of my bathroom. I then remember my lack of internet. I have lost my desire to live. I barely have enough strength to open my eyelids. I lie in my bed, gasping for air. Oh cruel world! I’m not used to such hardship. Please take pity on me; I’m just a boy! Struggling, I begin to congratulate myself that I’m holding out so well, in such a dire time. Anyone else would surely have died from shock, I reassure myself.
I called my Dad. Of course he lifts my spirits. Although he is none too happy with my predicament, he does help me realize that it’s not the end of the world. Still angry at the recent turn of events, I am convinced that I want to move rooms. I decide that I will figure out the internet dilemma first. I knock on my roommates door. I’m told to come in. My roommate is not in. His sister and her boyfriend are rolling blunts on the bed. Great. We call my roommate. He has no idea why the internet is down. I decide to go speak with the office once it opens. My roommates come home before I am able to. Joey is still here too. Good ole Joey. I question them. I interrogate them basically. We figure out that someone spilled beer on the internet router. I cringe. Everyone takes turns looking at my bathroom. Joey forgets that he saw it last night. He is in awe of the mess. I’m apologized to and told that it will be cleaned. Joey repeats that it can only get better from here. My roommates take a break from apologizing to smoke weed. I’m told I can use my roommates shower. I decide to wait for my bathroom to be cleaned. My pride was going to make sure that my roommates cleaned this.
As I wait, I hear that my roommate has internet. I ask him how this can be. He explains that the neighbors once gave him their password. He tries to remember what it is. He is wrong. I grow tired of waiting for things to happen for me. In Virginia I grew used to things happening for me. Sadly, it’s not like this in Chicago. I run to the neighbors room and introduce myself. I explain what happened to our router, and they graciously understand and offer their password. Hours pass. I realize my bathroom is not going to be cleaned. I suddenly feel motivated. I put away my pride. Two trips to the store, and four hours later, my bathroom is beautiful once again, more beautiful than ever before. ‘Argh She’s a beaut’, I think euphorically. Don’t get me wrong, the rest of the apartment was still a total disaster. I had no intention of changing that. All I cared about now was that my stuff was clean.
And the apartment stayed that way until over a day later. The one roommate with the sister finally cleaned everything. I learned that my toothbrush was apparently thrown out of the window by a guest because he couldn’t get into my bedroom. Understandable. I also asked both roommates to please pay me back for my missing toothbrush and the cleaning supplies I was required to buy. They tell me they will honor this. I’ll be sure to let y’all know how it goes. I’m just relieved all is well again in the world of Phil.
P.S. For those wondering why I did not lock my bathroom door, it is because it can’t be locked. It’s accessible from the hallway to anyone, but all four roommates have our “own” bathrooms. Two are private, and two are not. Mine was the only public one disrespected.
Here is a before and after of my shower: Image is dirtier than it may appear.
____________________________________________________________________________________
I also just want you to know that this entire ordeal was mostly difficult for me due to homesickness. And while I was on the verge of suffering a mental breakdown, my posts are often exaggerated, and I’m not actually such a whiny baby.
Enjoy and see you soon!
– Phil
Phil'nFree 