STD Part 1: The Mystery of the Disappearing Paper Products (as well as several pots and pans)
Every once and again, people come into your lives that you hope you will know forever. You get along, you share secrets, you look out for one another. These are the people you are proud to call your friends
Then there are the others. The ones that Residence Life sticks you with because your planned roommate drops out at the last minute. This blog is about one of those people.
My senior year of college, I was fortunate enough to live with two of my best friends... plus a third roommate. To fully appreciate the following stories, it's essential that know a little about the main characters.
Andy (me) - dramatic with my friends, but generally non-confrontational
Jim - easygoing - pretty good at overlooking people's faults
Dave - calm and rational
S.T.Dave (not to be confused with Dave) - I'll let you draw your own conclusions about him.
Even as I was writing this brief introduction, I decided that this"story" is actually more of a chronicle. Therefore, I will pusblish it in chapters.
Chapter 1
The Mystery of the Disappearing Paper Products (as well as several pots and pans)
Our story opens at around 6pm on a crisp fall evening. Dave, Jim, and I, having returned from a long day of classes, find ourselves quite hungry in the apartment. After some debate, it is decided that dinner will be cooked and shared among the habitants of apartment 1D. The plan is put into place, and unravels almost seamlessly. The only small hitch is that we find that S.T.Dave does not accept our invitation to feast from our bounty. Undeterred, Dave, Jim, and I share an enjoyable weeknight meal together in the apartment.
Several hours later, Jim and I are diligently working on homework, and Dave prepares to go to bed. His student teaching did not allow him to stay up too long past 11pm. Suddenly, S.T.Dave emerges from his room, finds two boxes of macaroni and cheese, a large pot, milk, butter, and a spoon. Within minutes, the smell of delicious macaroni and cheese fills the apartment, but the three who are not eating do exchange quizzical looks, wondering why on earth S.T.Dave is preparing two boxes of macaroni and cheese so close to midnight. A few more minutes pass, and S.T.Dave passes from the kitchen to his bedroom with a large pot of macaroni and cheese and a spoon.
The next evening, Dave, Jim, and I have a very similar evening. Once again a meal is cooked, although our options were limited as one of our largest pots had disappeared. Once again our invitation to S.T.Dave was refused. Once again, about 11:30, S.T.Dave emerges from his room, finds a slightly smaller pot, two boxes of macaroni and cheese, milk, butter, and a spoon, and begins his dinner.
The third evening, Dave, Jim, and I once again dine together. Our options are even more limited still as more dishes have simply vanished from the kitchen. Dave stays awake late tonight to see if the ritual of the macaroni will continue, which it did. He was not disappointed.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Fall rolled into Winter. Jim, Dave, and I still ate dinner together fairly regularly, although this was becoming increasingly difficult due to the cooking supply shortage. Slowly but steadily pots, pans, saucepans, large bowls, and large cups continued to slide out of existence. Just like the walls of heavy smokers are saturated with the smell of cigarettes, our kitchen was a wellspring of odeur de macaroni et cheese. Within weeks, the ritual of the macaroni transformed from odd, to amusing, to disgusting, to enigmatic, back to disgusting again, and then commonplace. It was during these first weeks of winter, just as it became frosty enough to drag out the heavy coats that a toilet paper strike began.
Dave, who shared a bathroom with S.T.Dave, had graciously been supplying one hundred percent of the toilet paper for his bathroom. As S.T.Dave survived on a diet that consisted almost entirely of macaroni and cheese, his bowel movements - one can assume - must have been quite violent. Consequently, if one can believe Dave's story, S.T.Dave required much more toilet paper than the average person. Dave had convinced himself that since S.T.Dave worked at a nearby supermarket, it would be only a matter of time before he would buy toilet paper and end the Toilet Paper Crisis of 2003. As a safeguard, Dave kept a roll of Charmin in his bedroom. Unfortunately for Dave, the Crisis escalated into a full-scale Cold War. Not long after Dave's refusal to buy more toilet paper, I started to notice that the toilet paper in my and Jim's bathroom was flying by faster than usual. Much faster. I even became concerned about Jim's health, seeing as there would be a 3/4 roll difference between my visits to the restroom.
Just as I was about to confront Jim about this problem, Dave approached me and, in a whispering tone, advised me to hide the toilet paper. He had seen S.T.Dave cross the living room, from our restroom to his, with several yards of our toilet paper.
Jim and I heeded Dave's advice and hid the toilet paper in the linen closet. Although this saved our toilet paper dilemma, more problems arose. One night, upon desiring to cook a small dinner for myself and 2 of my roommates, I peered into the cupboards only to discover that we did not have a single pot in which to cook. In desperation I looked in the oven, the microwave, the dishwasher, and then, finally, the refrigerator. Inside was one of the missing pots, filled with week-old macaroni and cheese. With the disgusting pot in front of me and my fear of confrontation behind me, I marched to the cave of S.T.Dave, and asked if he would politely eat this macaroni and cheese or at least clean the pot so that the rest of us could eat something. He complied, and after receiving the pot that S.T.Dave cleaned, I soaked it in Clorox for a couple of minutes and then cooked dinner. After making a mess in the kitchen, which is not unusual for me, I began hunting for paper towels. But where were they? I thought I had just opened a roll. As if rehearsed, S.T. Dave's toilet flushed just as I was wondering.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Dave, Jim, and I were very careful to lock our textbooks in our bedrooms before leaving the apartment. Any paper that was left in public space was sure to meet an unspeakable fate. Paper towels, napkins, newspapers, and magazines all began disappearing from common rooms. In one memorable event, without realizing that Dave was in the room, S.T.Dave walked from his bathroom to the tissue box in the living room. Only after grabbing dozens of tissues did S.T.Dave realize that Dave was watching him. Upon this realization, S.T.Dave feigned a sneeze, and held the massive wad of tissues to his clearly-not-sick nose. Then he wandered back into the bathroom.
The Toilet Paper Cold War was over before Christmas. The Allies had successfully blockaded S.T.Dave's access to paper products within the apartment. Although there was not a magazine left to be read in 1D, and not a newspaper to speak of, Dave walked into his bathroom one December evening to find a 4-pack of Charmin sitting opened on the sink.
End Chapter 1
Then there are the others. The ones that Residence Life sticks you with because your planned roommate drops out at the last minute. This blog is about one of those people.
My senior year of college, I was fortunate enough to live with two of my best friends... plus a third roommate. To fully appreciate the following stories, it's essential that know a little about the main characters.
Andy (me) - dramatic with my friends, but generally non-confrontational
Jim - easygoing - pretty good at overlooking people's faults
Dave - calm and rational
S.T.Dave (not to be confused with Dave) - I'll let you draw your own conclusions about him.
Even as I was writing this brief introduction, I decided that this"story" is actually more of a chronicle. Therefore, I will pusblish it in chapters.
Chapter 1
The Mystery of the Disappearing Paper Products (as well as several pots and pans)
Our story opens at around 6pm on a crisp fall evening. Dave, Jim, and I, having returned from a long day of classes, find ourselves quite hungry in the apartment. After some debate, it is decided that dinner will be cooked and shared among the habitants of apartment 1D. The plan is put into place, and unravels almost seamlessly. The only small hitch is that we find that S.T.Dave does not accept our invitation to feast from our bounty. Undeterred, Dave, Jim, and I share an enjoyable weeknight meal together in the apartment.
Several hours later, Jim and I are diligently working on homework, and Dave prepares to go to bed. His student teaching did not allow him to stay up too long past 11pm. Suddenly, S.T.Dave emerges from his room, finds two boxes of macaroni and cheese, a large pot, milk, butter, and a spoon. Within minutes, the smell of delicious macaroni and cheese fills the apartment, but the three who are not eating do exchange quizzical looks, wondering why on earth S.T.Dave is preparing two boxes of macaroni and cheese so close to midnight. A few more minutes pass, and S.T.Dave passes from the kitchen to his bedroom with a large pot of macaroni and cheese and a spoon.
The next evening, Dave, Jim, and I have a very similar evening. Once again a meal is cooked, although our options were limited as one of our largest pots had disappeared. Once again our invitation to S.T.Dave was refused. Once again, about 11:30, S.T.Dave emerges from his room, finds a slightly smaller pot, two boxes of macaroni and cheese, milk, butter, and a spoon, and begins his dinner.
The third evening, Dave, Jim, and I once again dine together. Our options are even more limited still as more dishes have simply vanished from the kitchen. Dave stays awake late tonight to see if the ritual of the macaroni will continue, which it did. He was not disappointed.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Fall rolled into Winter. Jim, Dave, and I still ate dinner together fairly regularly, although this was becoming increasingly difficult due to the cooking supply shortage. Slowly but steadily pots, pans, saucepans, large bowls, and large cups continued to slide out of existence. Just like the walls of heavy smokers are saturated with the smell of cigarettes, our kitchen was a wellspring of odeur de macaroni et cheese. Within weeks, the ritual of the macaroni transformed from odd, to amusing, to disgusting, to enigmatic, back to disgusting again, and then commonplace. It was during these first weeks of winter, just as it became frosty enough to drag out the heavy coats that a toilet paper strike began.
Dave, who shared a bathroom with S.T.Dave, had graciously been supplying one hundred percent of the toilet paper for his bathroom. As S.T.Dave survived on a diet that consisted almost entirely of macaroni and cheese, his bowel movements - one can assume - must have been quite violent. Consequently, if one can believe Dave's story, S.T.Dave required much more toilet paper than the average person. Dave had convinced himself that since S.T.Dave worked at a nearby supermarket, it would be only a matter of time before he would buy toilet paper and end the Toilet Paper Crisis of 2003. As a safeguard, Dave kept a roll of Charmin in his bedroom. Unfortunately for Dave, the Crisis escalated into a full-scale Cold War. Not long after Dave's refusal to buy more toilet paper, I started to notice that the toilet paper in my and Jim's bathroom was flying by faster than usual. Much faster. I even became concerned about Jim's health, seeing as there would be a 3/4 roll difference between my visits to the restroom.
Just as I was about to confront Jim about this problem, Dave approached me and, in a whispering tone, advised me to hide the toilet paper. He had seen S.T.Dave cross the living room, from our restroom to his, with several yards of our toilet paper.
Jim and I heeded Dave's advice and hid the toilet paper in the linen closet. Although this saved our toilet paper dilemma, more problems arose. One night, upon desiring to cook a small dinner for myself and 2 of my roommates, I peered into the cupboards only to discover that we did not have a single pot in which to cook. In desperation I looked in the oven, the microwave, the dishwasher, and then, finally, the refrigerator. Inside was one of the missing pots, filled with week-old macaroni and cheese. With the disgusting pot in front of me and my fear of confrontation behind me, I marched to the cave of S.T.Dave, and asked if he would politely eat this macaroni and cheese or at least clean the pot so that the rest of us could eat something. He complied, and after receiving the pot that S.T.Dave cleaned, I soaked it in Clorox for a couple of minutes and then cooked dinner. After making a mess in the kitchen, which is not unusual for me, I began hunting for paper towels. But where were they? I thought I had just opened a roll. As if rehearsed, S.T. Dave's toilet flushed just as I was wondering.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Dave, Jim, and I were very careful to lock our textbooks in our bedrooms before leaving the apartment. Any paper that was left in public space was sure to meet an unspeakable fate. Paper towels, napkins, newspapers, and magazines all began disappearing from common rooms. In one memorable event, without realizing that Dave was in the room, S.T.Dave walked from his bathroom to the tissue box in the living room. Only after grabbing dozens of tissues did S.T.Dave realize that Dave was watching him. Upon this realization, S.T.Dave feigned a sneeze, and held the massive wad of tissues to his clearly-not-sick nose. Then he wandered back into the bathroom.
The Toilet Paper Cold War was over before Christmas. The Allies had successfully blockaded S.T.Dave's access to paper products within the apartment. Although there was not a magazine left to be read in 1D, and not a newspaper to speak of, Dave walked into his bathroom one December evening to find a 4-pack of Charmin sitting opened on the sink.
End Chapter 1
posted by Andy at 8:17 PM
2 Comments:
Wow, that was riveting! I can't wait for chapter 2. I can't believe he started using magazines. One can only imagine the paper cuts.
I have a small bookcase which has burn marks on the top from the macaroni pots. The bookcase was just outside S.T.Dave's room.
Post a Comment
<< Home