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This was a kind of weird thing I discovered about my roommate a couple of months ago.
I was in the basement looking for something when I opened a box and found a book I'd been reading some time before, that had disappeared. Rummaging through the box, I found that it was full of my stuff - unpaid bills I'd never gotten, magazines I hadn't read, a mitten, a jogging coat.
That was odd, I thought; I don't remember storing any of that stuff. I saved the book, put the lid back on, and started looking for the thing again, and found another box. Again - half full of my stuff. A couple of toys, a framed picture of my parents, a few books I hadn't seen for a while, a bag of comics I hadn't had a chance to read before they disappeared, a pair of clean socks.
In all, I found four of these boxes crammed in the basement. By now, I'd realized that my Roommate was doing sweeps of the apartment - anything that he found, that belonged to me, he'd drop into a box, put a lid on it, and stack it in the basement with the rest of the storage. Never once did I actually hear him say, "Hey, I got a box of your shit here; what do you want me to do with it?"
The living situation we're in is an awkward one. It's a two-bedroom apartment and he has the Master; mine is a 96 square foot shoebox at the top of the stairs. Needless to say, all my stuff isn't going to fit in the shoebox, so some of it has to furnish the other rooms of the apartment. The Roommate doesn't like this. Anything of mine that leaves the room is either half-his by right, or to be pushed out of sight. If I talk about putting a shelf down there to clear some space in my incredibly cramped quarters, he immediately claims half the shelves. I started finding my groceries wandering around the kitchen - up a shelf, down a shelf, over to the pantry, back to the counter. His popcorn popper occupies a permanent place of honor; my blender must be unplugged, dismantled, and tucked out of sight.
You've probably figured out by now that this is pretty much an epic power struggle. The sofa in the house happens to belong to me; he told me to get rid of it just because he didn't happen to like it. The piano infuriates him, because he can't move it, hide it, or claim it. Meanwhile, anything of mine that leaves the room is doomed to wander aimlessly until it disappears into the basement, never to be seen again.
I think this compulsive shuffling of stuff is so that he can exercise some control over it; it's why my mail is never in the same place twice. If he can't own it, claim it, or hide it, he'll at least move it, and it makes him feel like he's in charge of it. I get nervous every time I use the crock pot; I'll come home to find the chicken in the bin, the crock pot in the basement, and my Roommate shrugging and saying, "I didn't know you were using it."
Least I know where to look if stuff disappears.
I was in the basement looking for something when I opened a box and found a book I'd been reading some time before, that had disappeared. Rummaging through the box, I found that it was full of my stuff - unpaid bills I'd never gotten, magazines I hadn't read, a mitten, a jogging coat.
That was odd, I thought; I don't remember storing any of that stuff. I saved the book, put the lid back on, and started looking for the thing again, and found another box. Again - half full of my stuff. A couple of toys, a framed picture of my parents, a few books I hadn't seen for a while, a bag of comics I hadn't had a chance to read before they disappeared, a pair of clean socks.
In all, I found four of these boxes crammed in the basement. By now, I'd realized that my Roommate was doing sweeps of the apartment - anything that he found, that belonged to me, he'd drop into a box, put a lid on it, and stack it in the basement with the rest of the storage. Never once did I actually hear him say, "Hey, I got a box of your shit here; what do you want me to do with it?"
The living situation we're in is an awkward one. It's a two-bedroom apartment and he has the Master; mine is a 96 square foot shoebox at the top of the stairs. Needless to say, all my stuff isn't going to fit in the shoebox, so some of it has to furnish the other rooms of the apartment. The Roommate doesn't like this. Anything of mine that leaves the room is either half-his by right, or to be pushed out of sight. If I talk about putting a shelf down there to clear some space in my incredibly cramped quarters, he immediately claims half the shelves. I started finding my groceries wandering around the kitchen - up a shelf, down a shelf, over to the pantry, back to the counter. His popcorn popper occupies a permanent place of honor; my blender must be unplugged, dismantled, and tucked out of sight.
You've probably figured out by now that this is pretty much an epic power struggle. The sofa in the house happens to belong to me; he told me to get rid of it just because he didn't happen to like it. The piano infuriates him, because he can't move it, hide it, or claim it. Meanwhile, anything of mine that leaves the room is doomed to wander aimlessly until it disappears into the basement, never to be seen again.
I think this compulsive shuffling of stuff is so that he can exercise some control over it; it's why my mail is never in the same place twice. If he can't own it, claim it, or hide it, he'll at least move it, and it makes him feel like he's in charge of it. I get nervous every time I use the crock pot; I'll come home to find the chicken in the bin, the crock pot in the basement, and my Roommate shrugging and saying, "I didn't know you were using it."
Least I know where to look if stuff disappears.
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