Dear Future Roommate (Part IV)

Part I Part II Part III

Dear Future Roommate,

I just got back from a month-long vaca and have P-lenty of stories of my travelings, but you move in next Wednesday, which is a mere 5 days away, and this event will end the now world famous Dear Future Roommate... series, so I figure I'd better spew forth some final installation before it's too late.

So to that end...

Future Roommate, I am going to break your shit.

I do not mean that I am going to stick logs of your feces in my soon-to-be-bought dehydrator and than go off on it, Kung Fu Panda-style, nor am I invoking my much beloved/maligned Ebonics to signify that I will be beating you. The first would be completely nonsensical and disgusting and the second would be nonsensical and shameful as you could totally take me.

What I mean is that your stuff will most likely get broken at some point. I am, as my beleaguered uncle has termed me, accident prone. He and my aunt have opened their home to me many times this year, both as a favour when I moved here and at their own request when I house sat for them about a half dozen times in the past 12 months. The following is a list of ways I have repaid them:


- Broken wooden spoon, dropped on floor (Innocuous? Not when it was purchased in Holland.)

- Broken whiskey glass, smashed when hit by strainer being banged on the side of the sink (I'm pretty sure the set 0f 4 was, like, 8 bucks but whatever. It didn't win me any friends.)

- Fucked up hot tub, left lid off and all the water evaporated into ice on their deck + bonus cracked wooden plank (Replacement board was $5 and it was installed for free by their neighbour, so the only real damage was to my rep.)

- Deceased microwave, just stopped working (Okay, this one was totally not my fault; I wasn't even using it at the time. Still happened on my watch, though, so another nail in the coffin of my trustworthiness.)

- Bubbled stainless steel pan, overheated when I forgot about the chicken stock I was reducing (This was the worst one, because I forgot to tell them, resulting in my aunt leaving me a voicemail that would intimidate James Gandolfini and then had to enter into an elaborate web of lies about how I thought it had been there before and that I didn't like her tone.)

- Melted plastic bowl, result of air-popping popcorn in the microwave (Kernels at the bottom got so hot that they melted through the bottom of the bowl and (bonus!) onto the tea towel that was covering the bowl, simultaneously burning and dripping melted plastic on it. This also occurred at 11pm and they were home so I got the ire right away.)


This last one happened just last night and it was at this time that my uncle gently suggested that I might want to buy some cheaper versions of their expensive cookware to use when they're gone for the year.

I broke 1; they're getting 12! YOU'RE WELCOME.

Why do I a) have the forehead wrinkles of
an 84 year old and b) have wrist knuckles?

So FutRo, my point is that unless I spend the next 12 months duct-taped in a corner or you put some sort of thumb-print security shield on the kitchen, I'm likely to break something. It will likely not be through carelessness but rather a complete lack of common sense (eg popcorn kernels get hot, plastic melts, etc.) and when this happens, I request a certain amount of patience and understanding. I will replace anything of monetary and promise to stay away from anything of sentimental value, unless that thing is a skillet or utensil of some sort, in which case, what the fuck is wrong with you? In other words, please do not shame me like a puppy that has doodoo'ed (doodid? doodone?) on the rug, as my aunt tends to do. It only makes me feel like crap and get stress headaches which keep me in bed until 11am, at which time I run out of the house and don't come home until midnight so as to avoid see you and your rolled up newspaper.

So in advance, I am sorry and I love you and seriously, thumb-print recognition technology is, like, dirt cheap right now.

Love,

D