FLAT WARS
So I get home and I know there's a crisis because the flatmates are all in different rooms studying for that exam in about 10 years time. I don't know what the crisis is because no-one will tell me, and if I ask, all I'll get is "What crisis?" You're not allowed to say - It's against the crisis rules.
No worries - not my problem. Then I see that there's been an attack on me in my absence: someone has stacked all the stuff I leave all over the house in a pile outside my door. Like they NEVER go into my room when I'm not around and finger through my back issues of "Hot Leather Nuns on Harleys" Magazines! Sure. So that means that I'm under the gun as well. I must have done something.
So who gives a shit, as a retaliatory attack I make a mental note to start my stereo and 7am, and play the same song again and again until I'm ready to get up. Then play it some more. (Even when I'm in the shower)
And turn the bass up too, so you can't actually hear the tune, just the thump Thump THUMP THUMP!.
I pick up all my stuff and put it in my room and go to watch TV, only one of the flatmates has sneaked past and beaten me to it, which, by the unwritten law of the flat means they control the TV till they switch it off and leave the room. Bugger!
No worries, it's my turn to cook anyway. Besides, the batteries for the remote belong to me. I take them back and decide to use the mixer to make something for Tea, cos it always puts lines across the TV picture and pisses everyone off. We'll see who cracks first...
The flatmate ups the stakes by telling me her boyfriend is coming over and can I cook some more for him too - and be careful, as he doesn't like carrots or hot food. I look up curried carrots in the cookbook, but there's nothing there so I'll have to improvise. We do have some cayenne pepper...
So it was a really good dinner. And even better, I dish myself out a portion, mix in some mega-hot chilli sauce and leave it on the table while I go to the toilet. Sure enough, one of the flatmates swaps plates with me. His eyes are bleeding. One down. If you can't stand the heat, stay away from my cooking..
I get up first in the morning because if I don't the first flatmate up will use up all the hot water out of ignorance. I have my shower and leave the hot tap running to let them know how it feels. This'll be the third week in a row I've done this, so I guess they'll get the picture soon. I pause briefly to open the kitchen window to let all the warm air out. Beat that.
...
I get home and there's a definite chill in the air and not just from the window....
There's a message on the fridge from the flatmate who's staying (it appears) with her boyfriend for a week, and sorry, she forgot to pay the power bill, but it should be reconnected by the time she gets back, and also sorry, she accidentally told my girlfriend that I was out with my girlfriend when she rang. Fuck you VERY much! I ring up and order them two pizzas from the new firm that has armed delivery boys and notify the drug squad of the new homebake unit that's in the neighbourhood at their place, and how it's a shame that young people can't do good for a change instead of staying up all night playing with automatic weapons... 95% sure that it's Two down.
Right. Two flatmates to go.
The war has escalated a bit since I got home as apparently B tied A's dog to the fencepost right at the blind corner of the driveway just as A was coming home, resulting a a large unneccessary dog food stockpile in the flat.
No problems as with a bit of sauce and some chilli, one of the dog rolls would look exactly like the meatloaf that flatmate B made to take to her boyfriends parents place for dinner... If you can't stand the heat, don't play with a flamethrower...
I give her boyfriend a call and ask him to ask her where that meatloaf shaped dogmeat roll went that was in the fridge because they've been recalled because of a food poisoning scare...
One to go.
Last is the flat recluse, who gets up in the early hours and does his washing and is rarely seen. He's a bit of a commando too, because he does all his flat sabotage when no-one's around, like tying someone's dog up, and adding wallpaper paste to the washing powder...
About 1am I hear the BZZZERT as he stands on the electrified shower tray ("Yes, officer, he had some idea about negative Ion Generation that he never fully explained to me...) and meets his maker.
THIS FLAT IS MINE!
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* * It's: "SPLAT - MY CAT!"
-//-//-_
+>\ --__ Slower than a speeding DATSUN 180B. Much slower.
+>/ _------__ Mortally slower, one might say. Rest in Peices.
-\\-\\-- spt@waikato.ac.nz. Fax: 064 7 8384066
* * University of Waikato, Private Bag 3105, Hamilton, NZ
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