Two men enter, one man leaves

Thankfully for me, ll and his boyfriend were headed to Cologne for the gay games a few days after the incident. But before they departed, ll's friend from the states (who he admitted was his 'lover' during our waterside convo) flew to Amsterdam to spend 2 weeks with him. After seeing a bit of the crazy hot messes that are attracted to Amsterdam, and seeing how utterly insane ll is, I had reason to expect this guy was going to be a complete nutjob. ll was hyping up this guy's arrival hardcore -- he had actually moved to Amsterdam with ll, but after they broke up he returned to the states and ll did not (sadly). I thought to myself, what a romantic and wonderful tale. Truly the stuff dreams and cocaine and unicorns are made of. However, landlord's former lover was about as interesting as watching paint dry. He was white, nerdy, middle-aged, and soft spoken. He really had nothing to say, and he spoke about 10x slower than I do. My conversation with ll's fl was about as dry as Margaret Thatcher's nether regions. We'll come back to him later.

The gay games lasted one sweet, blissful week. I had time to cope with the future I had laid before myself and recover from that nightmare.

However, during this week I also learned that my other roommate, who I'll refer to as 'Worthless French Fuck", is also a lunatic in his own right.

When I arrived at the apartment for the interview, wff was in his room. ll tried to coax him out to introduce us, but it took a few tries for him to finally come out and say 'hello' and go back to his room. ll was speaking to him like he was a child, which isn't unusual, except he claimed that they were 'friends' for several years and wff is over 30 years old. At dinner the next night, wff seemed normal as one can be. I was also glad he was there, and had stayed so long in the apartment - that signaled to me that things wouldn't get to the point of wanting to pull a midnight run - leaving with all of my possessions in the middle of the night without warning. I was also excited at the chance to be able to practice French with him as I've been gradually losing it. WRONG. I haven't spoken to him in any language, and I've been here for almost a month now.

We were both in the apartment the entire week at the same times, however I saw him only once. Once in seven days. For the first few days he would go to his room and stay there, and I would stay in mine - as I had a lot of things to catch up on after one month of living out of my suitcases in various countries and cities. After a day or two I had left the door open when he came home. I said 'hey' as he passed my room to get to his and he did the same thing he always does - ran inside and shut the door. He didn't not say "hello", nor did he say "hi"; he didn't do anything. And for a French person I'd consider this to be pretty fucking rude. When I studied abroad in France, the neighbors in my corridor who I resided side by side with for an entire semester would ALWAYS say hello. They never asked my name, where I was from, or try to say anything else except for 'hello', which for the French is basically just to acknowledge that there's a conscious human being in their eyesight. It's as natural for them as jerking back their scorched paws from a hot deep fat fryer.

Maybe he didn't hear me, whatever, but the fact remains that every single day he does the exact same thing - runs to his room, shuts the door, and stays there until he brushes his teef and goes to bed... at 10pm. I know that he is in bed at 10pm because his fucking lights are OFF and I can hear his bed squeak as he turns over. So what I can tell is that his life is basically UH-MAZING. He gets up early and goes to work (around 7:30, thanks for the wake-up call, fucker) and comes home around 6:30, eats, then seals himself inside his tomb until it's time to repeat the cycle of bliss the next day. If working and staying in my room were the only activities that my life revolved around, I would kill myself. I would definitely kill myself.

A few times I did get some communication coming from his end. One night I came home late and the dog started barking. The next morning I was woken up by him slamming the door when he left for work. One evening I was listening to music without my headphones, although it was still quiet, and guess what? I was woken up to blaring music coming from his room. Neither of those events reoccurred, so I'm under the impression he was just trying to punish me for not being a soulless zombie with no friends, no personality, no interests, and no will to live, like himself.