You fight to keep your eyes open as you take the elevator up to your room. As you round the corner and get closer to your room you grow more excited to kick off your shoes, peel those skinny jeans off your legs (you swear they weren’t this tight when you bought them…) and take a one way ticket to Snoozetown.

And then you see it. Scribbled on the dry erase board tacked to your door: come back later.

The writing is messy, but the message is loud and clear. Your roommate’s got someone in there and you are not welcome.

Angry, you stand there for a few moments taking it all in. It’s late on a weeknight. Everyone else is already asleep. And how long have they been in there?  Where the hell are you supposed to go? When can you come back?

You scan the hallway. Yup, everyone’s doors are closed and the hall is quiet. You are going to have to find somewhere else to pass the time. You take the elevator back down to the study room on your dorm’s main floor. You’re exhausted, but you decide you’ll do a bit more reading and try the room again in a half hour.

When you walk in you find another student in there reading on a couch.

“You too?” You ask. She nods.

You head towards one of the over-stuffed chairs but reconsider and move towards a table. The last thing you want is to get too comfortable and fall asleep down here. You unpack your textbook, grab a highlighter and start reading. But after getting through 3 pages and realizing you have no idea what you just read, you close the book and start chatting it up with your fellow Sexilee. You vent, you complain, you commiserate. Then you see a boy walk past in the hallway and, thinking that must be the man of the evening, take that as your cue to head back upstairs.

When you approach the door you notice the note is still on the dry erase board but you reason that your roommate must have forgotten to wipe it off. To be safe, you knock. You hear some giggling.

“Come back in five minutes!” Your roommate calls from inside.

“Come on! It’s late!” You call. You know you sound ridiculous, but you just want to go to sleep, damnit.

“Five minutes!” You’re tempted to throw open the door and break up the little party, but the fear of seeing some guy’s bare butt stops you. So you put your bag on the floor, pop a squat and wait it out.

Not five, but fifteen minutes later, the music stops and the door opens. Startled (it seems you have dozed off) you jump up. Your roommate laughs and shoos her guest towards the elevator. You gather your things and drag yourself towards your bed. Finally, you can get some sleep.

Well, after your roommate gives you the 20 minute rundown of her evening romp, that is.

—

Yeah, we’ve all been there.
It’s annoying, it’s infuriating…but it feels DAMN good when you can get sweet Sexile revenge.

You fight to keep your eyes open as you take the elevator up to your room. As you round the corner and get closer to your room you grow more excited to kick off your shoes, peel those skinny jeans off your legs (you swear they weren’t this tight when you bought them…) and take a one way ticket to Snoozetown.

And then you see it. Scribbled on the dry erase board tacked to your door: come back later.

The writing is messy, but the message is loud and clear. Your roommate’s got a boy in there and you are not welcome.

Angry, you stand there for a few moments taking it all in. It’s late on a weeknight. Everyone else is already asleep. And how long have they been in there?  Where the hell are you supposed to go? When can you come back?

You scan the hallway. Yup, everyone’s doors are closed and the hall is quiet. You are going to have to find somewhere else to pass the time. You take the elevator back down to the study room on your dorm’s main floor. You’re exhausted, but you decide you’ll do a bit more reading and try the room again in a half hour.

When you walk in you find another student in there reading on a couch.

“You too?” You ask. She nods.

You head towards one of the over-stuffed chairs but reconsider and move towards a table. The last thing you want is to get too comfortable and fall asleep down here. You unpack your textbook, grab a highlighter and start reading. But after getting through 3 pages and realizing you have no idea what you just read, you close the book and start chatting it up with your fellow Sexilee. You vent, you complain, you commiserate. Then you see a boy walk past in the hallway and, thinking that must be the man of the evening, take that as your cue to head back upstairs.

When you approach the door you notice the note is still on the dry erase board but you reason that your roommate must have forgotten to wipe it off. To be safe, you knock. You hear some giggling.

“Come back in five minutes!” Your roommate calls from inside.

“Come on! It’s late!” You call. You know you sound ridiculous, but you just want to go to sleep, damnit.

“Five minutes!” You’re tempted to throw open the door and break up the little party, but the fear of seeing some guy’s bare butt stops you. So you put your bag on the floor, pop a squat and wait it out.

Not five, but fifteen minutes later, the music stops and the door opens. Startled (it seems you have dozed off) you jump up. Your roommate laughs and shoos her boy towards the elevator. You gather your things and drag yourself towards your bed. Finally, you can get some sleep.

Well, after your roommate gives you the 20 minute rundown of her evening romp, that is.

Yeah, we’ve all been there.
It’s annoying, it’s infuriating…and it feels good when you can get sweet Sexile revenge.

The Social Drinker

Or, in other words, the roommate that’s only social when she’s drunk. You spend the whole day together, share the same bathroom, use the same shelf for your snacks, and probably own the same deodorant, but the only things you say to each other all day will be “I’m going to class” and “Mind if I get the light?” You don’t hate each other or even dislike each other, but somehow you never seem to have a conversation longer than fifteen seconds. Unless it’s Thursday evening and she’s into the vodka, of course. Then she’s your best friend, and she always wonders why you guys never talk, why she’s never gotten to meet all your cool friends, how much she hated that stupid haircut you had at orientation, and eventually she passes out and you don’t speak to each other for another week.

The Invisible Woman

You know she exists, because you saw her parents on move-in day, and the pile of laundry in her hamper sometimes varies in size. But she’s never in the room when you come back from class, she’s never brushing her teeth or taking a shower, and nobody ever comes looking for her. There’s the empty shell of a human life: bed always made, textbooks neatly lined up on the bookshelf, television never turned on. Your room feels like it’s being haunted, as if there’s some presence only half there. Sometimes you see her outside, chain-smoking and looking waifish.

The Hermetically Sealed Hermit

Sure, it’s nice to have a studious roommate. You can get work done when you need to, and you probably won’t come home on Sunday morning to find three naked people you’ve never met before passed out in your bed. But sometimes the zone of silence becomes a little too much: would you mind turning off that fan? Would you mind not chewing gum? Would you mind turning your pages with less rustling? Would you mind going across the hall and telling the room full of rugby players to body-slam each other through the drywall a little more gently?

The Apologetic Freeloader

Being the scrupulous, Type-A half of the arrangement, you were careful to bring a comprehensive selection of snacks in the fall. And because you’re also the easy-going, accommodating one, you were happy to loan them out to your hungry roommate when her busy schedule kept her running with no time to grab lunch. And she was always very nice about it, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you, I know-”

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you tell her.

And you love her to death, but now it’s April and she’s eaten maybe a hundred dollars worth of your Oreos, and she’s still really cute and fun abut it, but damnit, those were your Oreos. “I’m so sorry! I’m a mess, really, I’m a terrible roommate-” Well, yeah. Yeah. You are.

The Very Best Friend

College can be a lonely place at first, so you were really happy when you and your roommate hit it off so well. You were welcome to get drunk and lost with that first Friday night. And you just get closer from there; turns out you like the same bands, have the same major, dig the same take-out place. But one day, you wake up and realize: oh my God. This girl follows me around like a dog every weekend, she sits me down and blabbers about her bizarre emotional problems the moment I walk in the door, she snuggles with me on my bed when she feels lonely and I’m trying to study. I’ve gotten married and I’m not even getting any tax breaks.

Any other horrors I forgot?