Jake and the Box
I'll tell you, I knew that once I signed that lease for my own place in September, the next half-year with Jake would be a little hell. Because it's the little things that get on your nerves, innit? Like this box.
It's been sitting waiting for me to take it out since sometime in February.
Somehow, as I may have mentioned somewhere already, I ended up on eternal rubbish detail. Well, I mean, I know how it happened. I was the first to take it out. I had every reason to believe back then that I was living with someone reasonably responsible, who would step up and share the burden as a matter of course. There are only two of us, after all.
After about six weeks, when he didn't step up, I finally said something. But despite encouraging him to chip in when it looks like it'll take more than one trip (it's four flights of stairs, for chrissakes), and assurances on his part that he'd "do better" he hasn't done anything. He's never once in the space of four months taken out the trash.
I'm tempted, of course, to generalize about the next generation, their sense of entitlement, their smiling assurances while they flip you the bird behind your back, but I don't want to sound like Greenberg. And I don't think it's the generation so much as just Jake.
Or maybe it's just that age. I mean, 29 is the new 12. I remember during my brief stint teaching in a gymnázium abroad — ages twelve to eighteen — being amazed at the energy and enthusiasm kids had... for avoiding the assignment when completing it would take no time at all and very little effort.
In Jake's case, I wonder if we were in the same age cohort things would be different. Not only might he be used to people older than him providing for and picking up after him, but I sometimes think he believes that because we have no friends in common, he can get away with slacking off without any consequences.
But nobody likes the kind of roommate he's been for me. Maybe that's why he had to find a new place in the first place. I've pieced together from what he's told me in the past that his last roommates basically kicked him out. And before that his last girlfriend, with whom he'd bought his Lord Fauntleroy Suite-sized bedroom set from Bob's, fled to Guam to get away from him (no, really).
Anyway, I've tried a couple times since talking to him to just wait him out, but, frankly, I don't want to live in filth to prove a point.
But I've drawn the line at The Box.
See, at least with the other rubbish, it's both of ours. I bear some responsibility for it, so I can rationalize taking it out. If I lived alone I'd have to do it. But this is not the case with The Box. The Box is his. And the only reason I would make an extra trip to the curb with it is if I were his bitch, which I am not. And from what I've heard through the wall, it would not be worth it if I were.
I'm nearing my wit's end. I hear Guam's nice this time of year.
Somehow, as I may have mentioned somewhere already, I ended up on eternal rubbish detail. Well, I mean, I know how it happened. I was the first to take it out. I had every reason to believe back then that I was living with someone reasonably responsible, who would step up and share the burden as a matter of course. There are only two of us, after all.
After about six weeks, when he didn't step up, I finally said something. But despite encouraging him to chip in when it looks like it'll take more than one trip (it's four flights of stairs, for chrissakes), and assurances on his part that he'd "do better" he hasn't done anything. He's never once in the space of four months taken out the trash.
I'm tempted, of course, to generalize about the next generation, their sense of entitlement, their smiling assurances while they flip you the bird behind your back, but I don't want to sound like Greenberg. And I don't think it's the generation so much as just Jake.
Or maybe it's just that age. I mean, 29 is the new 12. I remember during my brief stint teaching in a gymnázium abroad — ages twelve to eighteen — being amazed at the energy and enthusiasm kids had... for avoiding the assignment when completing it would take no time at all and very little effort.
In Jake's case, I wonder if we were in the same age cohort things would be different. Not only might he be used to people older than him providing for and picking up after him, but I sometimes think he believes that because we have no friends in common, he can get away with slacking off without any consequences.
But nobody likes the kind of roommate he's been for me. Maybe that's why he had to find a new place in the first place. I've pieced together from what he's told me in the past that his last roommates basically kicked him out. And before that his last girlfriend, with whom he'd bought his Lord Fauntleroy Suite-sized bedroom set from Bob's, fled to Guam to get away from him (no, really).
Anyway, I've tried a couple times since talking to him to just wait him out, but, frankly, I don't want to live in filth to prove a point.
But I've drawn the line at The Box.
See, at least with the other rubbish, it's both of ours. I bear some responsibility for it, so I can rationalize taking it out. If I lived alone I'd have to do it. But this is not the case with The Box. The Box is his. And the only reason I would make an extra trip to the curb with it is if I were his bitch, which I am not. And from what I've heard through the wall, it would not be worth it if I were.
I'm nearing my wit's end. I hear Guam's nice this time of year.
Just move those things he leaves, into his room and say, "I think you misplaced this."
You have my empathy, I've been there, done that and there is no actual solution. But putting stuff into his room with a note, like I know you forgot where you put this, at least helps you feel like you are doing something, anything besides bitching and being frustrated. Good luck!
Reply to this
I used to live with somebody who was master in incompletion. He would tie up the newspapers, box up recyclables, etc. and then they would sit by the door. and sit. and sit. And I always hated having to be the adult one and remind him that these things don't make it to the trash bin by themselves...
I think the suggestion above is sensible but if you want fun, why not incorporate the box into the decor. Dress it up for Easter, tie a 'crime scene' tape around it, turn it into a shrine.
that reminds me, I have to watch 'Ridicule' again. Fanny Ardant makes me want to be straight.
Reply to this
I wish we had the kind of rapport where I could have a little fun with it, but that's part of the problem here. I can usually be slyly ironic or sarcastic and get the point across, but I have to say Jake has kind of a nasty side when he feels criticized. He needs constant affirmation just for being. If it was just carelessness I could cope, but there's something curdled on top. Like, "Yeah, whatever." It's why I don't teach adolescents anymore.
Reply to this
Oy. Run, don't walk. Where there's not humor there's no hope. I shall pray for a nice spring so that the garden can be your sanity recuperation pod.
Reply to this
My BF leaves his mail & newspapers strewn around the kitchen island and table. I keep asking why not leave that stuff on your office desk where piled up papers suggests a bit of activity? Then I remind myself this same messy person keeps me warm at night and gives a pretty decent BJ. Sorry to hear you're missing the 'benefits' portion in your arrangement. PS. I don't think I could resist doing something with the box like filling it with empty toilet paper tubes, taping it shut, and then mailing it to Jake. Say,,, that's a good idea. When you move, mail it to Jakes new place. Sorta like a housewarming gift. :)
Reply to this
Well, it's definitely true that a blowjob every now and again would make up for the inconvenience.
Reply to this
I'm thinking the box needs to find its way to his bed.....
Reply to this
Darling, put the fucking box in miss thing's room with a print out copy of your scathing dish and forget Guam, then tell the schulb to buy a one way ticket to Texas on the Grayhound and leave town pronto! I. A.
Reply to this
Methinks Jake should be introduced to Miss Lily Linda LeStrange...she could either discipline him or send him packing pronto!
Reply to this
Hey pup
I mean, I am going to be in Boston this summer I believe for a spell. I think the two of us can figure out a way to make it plenty uncomfortable for him to be within' earshot for the duration of my visit.
Reply to this
That sounds like the best suggestion yet
Reply to this
And at the very least, you'll both have a roaring good time. It's a win-win situation no matter how you deal it.
For the nonce, I second the suggestion that the box be placed in his room.
Reply to this
In light of the question about the purpose of a roll of tissue you could fill the box with "used" tissue. Used being merely sprinkled with water.
Sounds more that he just hasn't broken past the shell of adolescence. Been there on both sides of that equation. It's a shell that only bumps and potholes in the road of life will crack.
Reply to this
Don't just put it in his room, put it in his bed.
Reply to this