From the first college dorm room to moving into that first house, everyone amasses roommate horror stories. Personality clashes, financial crises, cleaning disorders, hygiene deficiencies, treacherous odors, sexual scandals. We’ve all experienced some form of roommate hell. So Hatch asked readers to tell us about their abominable roommates. Here are a few of the responses.


Shower-Fresh Feeling

When I was a sophomore in college, I lived in an apartment with three other college students. Typical to many college living arrangements, we had one teeny tiny bathroom for all of us to share. My heinous-bitch roommate, who (in addition to her many acts of she-devildom) was a grade-A whore, used to bring her skinny, pimply, weird-ass boyfriend into our one-and-only bathroom for the infamous “sex shower.” On a consistent basis.

Not only is this nasty for the obvious reasons (when you’re sharing a college bathroom with one all-too-infrequently-cleaned tub, the last thing you want is … ew, you get it), but they weren’t shy about taking their sweet-ass time. When nature calls and you can’t use the crapper because your slut of a roommate is getting jiggy with it in your shower stall, then you’ll understand the meaning of hatred. Another roommate and I did get back at her once. Since we knew she wouldn't get out of the shower until she knew the coast was clear (selective embarrassment?), we turned on a CD, made a little noise and quietly left the house, giggling as we pictured her and her man-boy shivering in the shower until they finally realized we were gone.

-- Michelle D., 27, Pennsylvania


For Mature Audiences Only

Back in school, one of my roommates and I were coming back late one night. Ironically, our front door was in the back of the house, so we had to walk by the living room to get in. Well, we walk on by and notice the TV’s on and lo and behold, there’s porn on the TV. In an apartment of five guys, there’s bound to be some porn floating around. But it’s usually a private matter, not on the TV in the living room. So we try to sneak in real quiet, but the second the key started turning, our roommate jumped up with a startled, glazed look over his face. And he was trying to get us to believe that the TV just magically had porn on it that night (no video was ever found), so he figured why not watch it.

A couple week’s later I get the cable bill, and wouldn’t you know it, there’s an extra $30 charged to the account. What’s great is not only was there an order made for the night just mentioned, there was one for a night me and my other three roommates were all at a concert and couldn’t possibly have ordered spanktravision. And since we knew he wouldn’t confess to it, we decided to get “Spanky” back in the best way we could think of -- by adding a parental code on the cable box.

-- Doug M., 28, Maryland


Too Close For Comfort

My first mistake was moving across the country to an apartment I'd never seen. I was relocating with one of my best friends and he had scoped out locations while I tied up some loose ends. "It's a converted living room, but it's huge, there's a fireplace and the place is like a few blocks from the beach," he said. After our 10-day cross-country road trip, I arrived at a decent-looking house that was close to the ocean, but definitely not a few blocks away. The bedroom was a converted living room, but there was no door -- not even a sheet separating my new bedroom from the rest of the house. The dirty orange carpet was covered in ants and the fireplace, while lovely, was totally fake.

But that was nothing compared to my new roommate, the woman who was subletting her living and dining rooms because, at age 36, she was still working as a waitress and her loser boyfriend couldn't hold a job. At first, she seemed cool. I described her as a bohemian, a free spirit. So what if she was knocking on 40's door and totally without a life plan? She was an artist. Who cares how she looked walking down city streets to the neighborhood pool in full scuba gear? She was fun! Until she wasn't. One day, after two and a half months of calm, the storm hit. Horrified by a few dishes in the sink, a couple of crumbs by the toaster and a three-quarter full garbage can, Barb lost it. As my friend and I cowered in my room, she screamed in the kitchen about how immature we were. Dropping the F-bomb every 10 seconds or so, this rant lasted 15 solid minutes ... until, while carrying the garbage downstairs, she tripped and fell, spraining her ankle.

The next night, at about midnight, I heard pounding. Since my room was the living room, I was right across from the front door. I ran over and heard Barb's boyfriend screaming. Apparently, she had locked him out. He switched from sobbing and begging his "baby" to take him back to screaming at the "evil bitch" and threatening to kill her. This went on for an hour.

The next morning I left the house at 9 a.m., returned at midnight and repeated this for the next two weeks until my lease was up. I saw Barb only once more and, sure enough, she smiled and acted as if nothing had happened. A true psycho.

-- Lee D., 25, California

Ever had a roommate from hell? Share your stories with Hatch.