I was watching Bend it Like Beckham with a few friends down in the men's hall, when I came across a Los Gatos High School yearbook. In it, I found the yearbook picture of my roommate, Anthony.
The owner of the yearbook, and his friend visiting from UC Davis, informed me that Anthony was a weird kid because he never talked. Certainly sounds like my roommate.
I'll tell you. I get along pretty well with the other people in my hall. They party, they get drunk and stoned and stupid, but they're tolerable. I don't have to hang around them. But every night, who's sleeping across from me? Anthony.
Yeah, I think I will get started on this guy. For one thing, he has no social contact with me whatsoever. When he walks into the room and I say hello, there's nothing in return. I offer him my snacks and drinks and he rejects them.
He's always out, every night, until at least 2 AM at some party, and the only reason I can see is because he has no personality of his own, so he must be in the company of others to truly exist.
But his hygenic and cleanliness habits are what really make him out as a total robot. We have the cleanest room that I've seen in the whole building. I usually clean up after myself - I've got clothes on the floor often and I don't see the reason to make my bed, but I do something when it gets out of hand.
But Anthony - his room is SPOTLESS. There are never any clothes anywhere. His desk consists of his computer monitor, mouse, keyboard, a lamp, a cup with a pen and pencil in it, and NOTHING ELSE.
The contents of his drawers are geometrically perfect.
He arranged the contents of our refrigerator ALPHABETICALLY.
He marks off every single day on his calendar. Where it might be October 29 or 30 in other rooms, it is November 2 in our room. Well, at least it would be, if what happened tonight didn't happen.
Anthony's must-go-to-every-party tendencies must have gotten the best of him. I've seen him stumble into the room, bump into things, and pass out, but after Bend it like Beckham and then some Harry Potter in the women's hall, I returned to my room to find Anthony passed out on the floor.
What I originally thought would be cute to show to his friends down the hall turned into a barf-fest when they tried to wake him up.
So I ended up having to hold him up by his shirt to keep him from drowning in his vomit, as his friends went for towels and baby wipes.
Remember the asshole guy I talked about a few entries back? The one who bragged about his adventures in druggyland? Well I'm pretty sure he saved Anthony's life tonight.
He got Anthony up, propped up against a trash can, got all the rest of the vomit out of his system, fed him water, got circulation back, took off his vomit-soaked clothes, and got him into bed. I'd definitely call the guy the perfect "American Hero." It's what any true man would do.
Although Anthony does owe him $50 for throwing up on his good pants.
Anyway, I could have left while Mr. Hero Man recovered Anthony, but I felt as if I should subject myself to it.
I don't like to drink, I don't want to drink, and I sure as hell don't want to end up like Anthony. And god damn, does it smell in here. I don't know how we're getting the vomit out of the carpet.
Although since Anthony was in here with a vacuum earlier today because of some food that his friends were eating beforehand, I'm sure he'll find a way to deal with it.
In other news, I want to move out of this goddamned hall and find some smarter individuals with whom I can coexist.