Methods My Roommate Patrick Giroux Uses to Psychologically Torture Me
- Once a month he cooks a large bowl of popcorn and gathers all the bills on the coffee table, where he splits them evenly. He lets out a long sigh then hands me an itemized listing. He complains about at least one bill, sometimes two, using a strange nasal ‘complainy’ voice he only employs when complaining about energy, gas, and cable conglomerates.
- He kisses his girlfriend with incredible volume, acoustically. Even in my bedroom with the door shut, I can hear their smacking between giggles as they watch Stargate SG‑1. They’re using their skulls as resonance chambers to distract me from reading, which is not polite.
- I routinely steal cans of his Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator, which he knows. Every time he purchases more Dr. Pepper he announces so with great flourish, to remind me that I’m a lousy mooch.
- Similarly, he is thinner than me, and more muscular, a physique he maintains in order to remind me of my laziness and lack of physical coördination. He struts around in trim euro-style clothes, to telepath: lookin’ kind of pudgy today, aren’t ya? I don’t understand where this hostility comes from.
- He takes off his shoes when he enters the house, which would be a positive if he did so neat and orderly like a Japanese person, since it would reduce the dirt build-up and vacuuming requirements. Instead, he just sort of abandons them, blocking the door. He does so to complicate my access to the fresh world and outside air, which he knows I love.
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