Everyone has heard the stories about the roommate from down under. They don’t clean the bathroom, their music is too loud, their room decorations are hideous and their boyfriend has obviously forgotten where he lives because he spends so much time in your room.
I’m here to tell you about mine. Freshman year, I went to a university far, far away from the suburb of Detroit that I am used to. A week later, I was calling my mom, begging to come back home. She presented me with two options: get a job or go to Eastern. And I chose to remain unemployed. I moved into the First Year Center or FYC almost two weeks into the first semester, to the surprise of my new roomie.
She was mean! I left her my number and said I’d be moving in Monday morning. She called Sunday night and she sounded as though she would rather be swimming in swamps than talking to me. I moved in early that Monday and our room looked like Stepbrothers, before the bunk beds. We spent the first few weeks communicating via white board. If one was gone too long, maybe a text would be sent. We didn’t eat together, have long conversations or share nail polish like they showed in the movies. I was completely outdone until one day in October when she volunteered to have lunch with a few floor mates and me.
And the rest is history! We’re currently in the 6th semester of our roommateship* and it couldn’t be better.
*roommateship- isn’t a word.