Sheesh, are any of these college stories from US colleges? (I am so alone)My roommate is of a particularly evil spoiled, bratty, sorority girl breed. Her sorority is Kappa Kappa Gamma, but is known all over campus as Visa Visa Mastercard, which really sums it up right there.
Living with her is like living in some sort of hell. I have morning lecture, she wakes me up at 3 in the morning by stumbling into the room and *turning on the TV*. She takes my food out of the refriderator and actually leaves it out to spoil so that she can fit her food in. She steals anything of mine that she happens to want at the moment... things like pens and paper, but also things like photo frames, clocks, binders, and computer cables. When I see them on her desk and ask why she has them, she shrugs and says she needed them. She leaves toenail clippings in the carpet and spills hair bleach everywhere.
Anyways, she's in the same chemistry class as me. She is every bit as bratty in class as she is in the dorm... and in a lecture of 200-300 kids, you have to really try to get in the teacher's bad books.
We're talking about her cell phone ringer going off at it's loudest volume at least twice a class, talking loudly to everyone around her and whoever happened to call her, spraying perfume everywhere (causing many of those seated near her to have fits of sneezing), and, in what I think was probably the clincher, showing up for class drunk and passing out on the stairs in the lecture hall. And then when one of the graduate student instructors tried to help her up, she woke up and accused him of trying to rape her, despite the evidence of 300 witnesses who said otherwise. *This last one happened twice.*
In other words, the girl had it coming. And you honestly can't blame my chemisty teacher for not hesitating too long when his help was required.
One night she went out to get hideously, annoyingly drunk, as only overly-rich sorority girls can. Enter me, roommate. Enter collaborators, the rest of my hall (including the RA). Enter chemistry teacher, looking slightly sheepish to be walking into an undergraduate dormitory while wheeling a huge motherfucking container of liquid nitrogen.
Perhaps I ought to note that my dear roommate's entire wardrobe consists of apparel by Louis Vuitton (sp?), Prada, DKNY, and the like. All very posh designer names. All *very* expensive. All paid for by daddy and lovingly removed every weekend by whatever frat boys wanted to do so.
Chemistry teacher, RA, myself, and Liquid Nitrogen enter the dormroom. The rest of hall gather around the door, bearing beatific smiles in the face of justice about to be served.
Well, you can guess what happened. Probably a classic prank. Take one Prada bra, dip into Liquid Nitrogen. Remove. Give sharp rap against door for satisfying shatter and cheer from onlookers. Repeat with as many articles of clothing as desired.
We did her entire wardrobe... shirts, pants, skirts, socks, underwear. Everything except for two tshirts and one miniskirt. We collected all the shattered bits and put them back in her drawers.
Everyone fled the premises.
Eventually the roommate came back, too drunk to do anything but collapse, fully clothed, onto the bed. The fun didn't begin until about noon the next day, when she woke up and opened her drawers.
Such a lovely shriek.
Did I mention that we're in a rather northerly state here? And it is winter. Well, close enough to winter, anyways. And did I mention that my roommate is from Los Angeles? And had never been out of Los Angeles before coming to this college? And is dumber than a pile of concrete blocks?
Well. I quite innocently told her that in these harsh nothern climes, sometimes clothing that had been made in warmer places would just freeze and shatter.
Hook, line, and sinker.
No one ever told her what happened. She had to buy an entire new wardrobe, which took months, and which led to all sorts of fun fights with daddy dearest and all kinds of great long distance phone calls back home to California.
It is a memory much cherished on my hall.
Name of school withheld to protect the now well-beloved chemistry teacher. Sorry the story was so long, but I just *had* to post it.
(Living with her is like living in some sort of hell. I have morning lecture, she wakes me up at 3 in the morning by stumbling into the room and *turning on the TV*. She takes my food out of the refriderator and actually leaves it out to spoil so that she can fit her food in. She steals anything of mine that she happens to want at the moment... things like pens and paper, but also things like photo frames, clocks, binders, and computer cables. When I see them on her desk and ask why she has them, she shrugs and says she needed them. She leaves toenail clippings in the carpet and spills hair bleach everywhere.
Anyways, she's in the same chemistry class as me. She is every bit as bratty in class as she is in the dorm... and in a lecture of 200-300 kids, you have to really try to get in the teacher's bad books.
We're talking about her cell phone ringer going off at it's loudest volume at least twice a class, talking loudly to everyone around her and whoever happened to call her, spraying perfume everywhere (causing many of those seated near her to have fits of sneezing), and, in what I think was probably the clincher, showing up for class drunk and passing out on the stairs in the lecture hall. And then when one of the graduate student instructors tried to help her up, she woke up and accused him of trying to rape her, despite the evidence of 300 witnesses who said otherwise. *This last one happened twice.*
In other words, the girl had it coming. And you honestly can't blame my chemisty teacher for not hesitating too long when his help was required.
One night she went out to get hideously, annoyingly drunk, as only overly-rich sorority girls can. Enter me, roommate. Enter collaborators, the rest of my hall (including the RA). Enter chemistry teacher, looking slightly sheepish to be walking into an undergraduate dormitory while wheeling a huge motherfucking container of liquid nitrogen.
Perhaps I ought to note that my dear roommate's entire wardrobe consists of apparel by Louis Vuitton (sp?), Prada, DKNY, and the like. All very posh designer names. All *very* expensive. All paid for by daddy and lovingly removed every weekend by whatever frat boys wanted to do so.
Chemistry teacher, RA, myself, and Liquid Nitrogen enter the dormroom. The rest of hall gather around the door, bearing beatific smiles in the face of justice about to be served.
Well, you can guess what happened. Probably a classic prank. Take one Prada bra, dip into Liquid Nitrogen. Remove. Give sharp rap against door for satisfying shatter and cheer from onlookers. Repeat with as many articles of clothing as desired.
We did her entire wardrobe... shirts, pants, skirts, socks, underwear. Everything except for two tshirts and one miniskirt. We collected all the shattered bits and put them back in her drawers.
Everyone fled the premises.
Eventually the roommate came back, too drunk to do anything but collapse, fully clothed, onto the bed. The fun didn't begin until about noon the next day, when she woke up and opened her drawers.
Such a lovely shriek.
Did I mention that we're in a rather northerly state here? And it is winter. Well, close enough to winter, anyways. And did I mention that my roommate is from Los Angeles? And had never been out of Los Angeles before coming to this college? And is dumber than a pile of concrete blocks?
Well. I quite innocently told her that in these harsh nothern climes, sometimes clothing that had been made in warmer places would just freeze and shatter.
Hook, line, and sinker.
No one ever told her what happened. She had to buy an entire new wardrobe, which took months, and which led to all sorts of fun fights with daddy dearest and all kinds of great long distance phone calls back home to California.
It is a memory much cherished on my hall.
Name of school withheld to protect the now well-beloved chemistry teacher. Sorry the story was so long, but I just *had* to post it.
TheFelineAnarchist,
Thu 23 Oct 2003, 1:39,
archived)
I love that story!I can't stand what we in SoCal call "Newport Bitches" - they run around as if they own the place because daddy is a plastic surgeon and has lots of money.
Good for you!
(Good for you!
Batshitmentalist is sane for once,
Thu 23 Oct 2003, 2:39,
archived)
Ah, so that's what they're calledI had never met one until I suddenly had to room with this one. We have rich, annoying girls where I'm from, but this seemed like it had to be another breed altogether.
( TheFelineAnarchist,
Thu 23 Oct 2003, 3:08,
archived)