It's not like me to publicy rip on a particular person on the weblogs. The only other time I can recall I have was when I tore Luis Suarez a 2nd anus so he could spout all the pent-up bullshit. Since that time, he went from a Dutch-reknown douche to an international douche, so you know that when I rip on someone it is probably justified. If anything, I went easy on him.
Anyway, this story needs to be told because I'm slowly turning into a monster. Earlier I wrote a small post about how my new flat kind of sucks. There were pictures of dead mice and all that, but overall I am pretty pleased with my new flat. It's cheap (relative to Wellington) which is a bonus if you are unemployed. It is close enough to town and plenty of great shops and a fantastic Saturday vege-market. And I have a large bedroom with a nice big sunny window. And mostly, I can put up with the flat because I have a countdown calendar. If I was staying longer in Wellington, I would be flat hunting, but for a few months (now three weeks), I was happy tolerating a studenty-New Zealand-messy flat.
Then, about a month ago there was a bad omen.
I woke up one morning to find the bathroom sink filled with vomit. It was our new flatmate, who apparently had been drinking the night before, had a vom, and crashed before he could even attempt to run the tap a little bit. Fair enough. It can happen. I mean, not to me. The few times when I have vomited due to alcohol poisoning/awesomeness, it has always been preceded by a moment of scary clarity. I mean, I once vomited while on a public bus, but I regained a sense of myself a few seconds before and held it in my mouth for a full minute till the bus stopped at my stop.The point is, the new flatmate is a bit younger, and whatever. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. So, I was awake that morning enjoying my porridge when he woke up.
"Shit" he said, "I'm late for my school trip."
I laughed at him, out of politeness.
Then he looked at me and said "Can I borrow 40 dollars for a taxi?"
Now, this put me on the spot. On the one hand, this guy is in need of a hand and this seems like a fairly reasonable request. On the other hand, he kind of deserved to miss the trip, and I am unemployed. It's like asking a baby if you can borrow their nappy. In the end, I loaned him the 20$ cash I had in my wallet and had a big clean-up after he left, enjoying the quietude of the next 2 days.
He seemed like a nice enough guy, but just not a person you would want to really flat with. You know, the general little things that piss you off about a flatmate - borrowing little things without ever seeming to give back, leaving piles of dishes, and lazing around the living room watching TV pretty much the whole time. But you know, I'm not new to flatting, and besides, I was out of here soon anyway. No sense in being a bitch.
Then last week I finally found some work. I had to be on the opposite side of town at 7am, so I woke up at 6am. It was brutal. On the way to the kitchen for my coffee and cereal, I stumbled over a body in the living room (it's open plan). There was a guy sleeping there, and my flatmate on the couch. This isn't so weird, except for that he has two beds in his bedroom. But maybe they fell asleep during their late-night TV watching.
I didn't think much of it, until that evening he had a whole group of friends over. And that next morning I again stumbled over a human being on the way to the kitchen, but this time there were four of them.
Now at this point, I should mention that the flatmate and his friends are all Fijian.
So, whatever. I think the night before they were watching rugby on TV or something, on our satellite TV. It could have been an important game or something.
Wednesday morning, and I couldn't believe it. This time there were 8 Fijians sleeping in my living room. No, I joke, there were only three. I just found the situation rather ridiculous. It was as if we had squatters or homeless people here. Only, they didn't have bags or anything with them. So they obviously just live in other parts of the city. By now they pretty much had a permanent presence in the flat. Every other minute you would hear what I call Polynesian laughter. If you are unfamiliar with it, you might think that it is mocking, sarcastic laughter. It kind of sounds like it begins with someone standing on your balls until you realise it doesn't hurt, kind of tickles, and everyone thinks it is hilarious so you all turn it into laughter. But once you get used to it (I grew up at a school with many polynesian students), it is one of the most pure sounds you will ever hear. But amazingly even this is less welcome when it continues till the early hours of the morning when you need to wake up at 6am.
Furthermore, apart from some drinking and smoking, it seems like they were here mostly for the satellite TV. They were treating the flat like a hotel room and they were leaving on all the heaters and stealing the tissue box. The next few days continuted like this, and we ended the week averaging 3.4 Fijians sleeping on my living room floor. We did it! People said it shouldn't be done, having 2.4 friends sleep over for no apparent reason for a full school week, but by golly they pulled off a miracle. And they kept going, apparently trying to break their own record.
Now, in their defense they were polite enough to pretend to keep sleeping while I not unquietly made my breakfast, coffee and packed lunch, but they weren't really good house guests. For one, the best thing about house-guests is that they leave. But they didn't really clean up, made it awkward to go to the kitchen and then all that noise pollution. Furthermore, I think they might be douche-bags. Despite the fact that they are always here, I submit the next two facts as evidence:
- One of the guys went to sleep with his sunglasses on. Really? It's bad enough when assholes like LeBron James wear sunnies to a night club, but I'm sure he even takes them off when he sleeps. Also, he is LeBron Fucking James and can do whatever he wants.
- When I say that they are here to watch my TV, I mean exactly that. They are so indiscrimiate with their programming as if they have never really seen TV before. They not only watch Jersey Shore - and they watch it unironically - but once that is finished, they continue with Geordian Shore which is the English version. That makes another reason I don't want to go to the kitchen. It makes me feel dirty. I already know to much.
At 1:30am, after the 8th consecutive night of the Fijian invasion of my flat, with TV, mis-tuned guitar and peals of polynesian laughter ringing through the house, keeping me awake before my 2nd week of 6am mornings it began: passive aggressive fantasies. As much as I hated not getting my regular 6 hours of sleep, I hated myself more for the petty thoughts of just waking the fuckers up at 4am and kicking them out (it was also raining), or of stealing the code card from the satellite TV decoder, or things that even cannot be said here. How did my flat turn into a Fijian Men's house? Is there a dusty track leading to the back door? Will the place soon be overrun with chickens, stray dogs and palm fronds? And then to make it worse the white-guilt set in. Maybe this kind of camaraderie is the Fijian way of expressing friendship in another country.
But fuck that. The only thing that matters for a flatmate is how much you want to continue living with them. He might be a nice guy and a good friend (to his friends) but he's a terrible flatmate. On a 1-10 scale with 10 being "I will follow you whereever you go", to 0 being "Let's fight to the death and the loser has to do the dishes", I rate him at about 1.5. (He could raise that number to 2 by paying me back my 20 dollars.)
My point is, not that I need it, but I have yet another reason to be impatient to leave. Not only is there a pull from Japan, but also a nice friendly nudge from New Zealand, or Fiji, whereever this is.
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