So I have a new housemate, a middle aged plumber with not very many teeth named Mick. He is replacing Paul, who was a middle aged truck driver with not very many teeth. So far I am very disappointed with the new tenant. He is older and more doddery than Paul was, I think Mick has had a stroke at some point in his life as he has a consistent slur in his voice. Paul had less teeth but he had more edge to him, lots of weird tattoos and a sense of humour. Despite Paul being older, we had been able to establish some camaraderie. Paul's departure closes the book on some truly epic bants. In comparison, Mick is like the spectre of old age and mortality, enthusiasm for life evaporates when he walks into a room, we try our best to be welcoming and take an interest but we can only do so much.
He's already had an awkward showdown with our resident Fallout cosplayer, Atilla. My Hungarian housemate had cooked some chicken the night before Mick descended on the place. Mick arrived and apparently thought this was some kind of welcome treat and ate all of Atilla's chicken, which he had been saving for lunch. Atilla, not the kind of man who takes such a matter lightly, decided to question Mick before any introductions were made. I have never seen someone make such a poor first impression.
So its only been a few days but Mick is going to have to do much better than this. He's a 4/10 Housemate and that's only that high because he says he might have a Sky box we can use.
But when you have a lingering dislike for a person, suddenly everything they do is annoying. Last night I had partaken of ye olde wacky tobaccy and was watching 1864 a gritty period drama series on BBC 4 following soldiers in the Danish army during their war with a newly-unified Germany. The series is all in Danish and is at times pretty fucking dark. In comes Mick with his wife or girlfriend, a sour faced woman at any rate, and they start cooking noisily. I'm subtly increasing the volume as this goes on and Mick makes some small talk with me about the house, interrupting me as I'm answering his own questions. As he's talking, a particularly grim bit of the show is unfolding, and whether it was because everything was in Danish or because there was a lot of blood and screaming, Mick became curious and asked "What side is this on then?"
For some reason his use of the word "side" (coupled with my assumption that he was judging me for my viewing tastes) irritated me immensely. I'm still angry today in fact. Not that I let it slip, I patiently informed him that it was on BBC 4 and that I was watching it on iPlayer. But the use of the word "side" as a sort of blue collar colloquialism for "television channel" still irks me for reasons I cannot fully explain. Regardless, after two days in the house I'm keen for him to exit.
Had I less tact I would ask him how long he intends to stay. In a vaguely sociopathic way I've been examining ways I could potentially persuade him to look elsewhere. Him actually dying would probably be a great hassle for everyone but perhaps I could stage an elaborate ruse and convince him the house is haunted or cursed, built on the remains of an ancient Indian burial ground perhaps.
Something has to be done, we had a good system going for six months but in a house share, inevitably you roll the dice with a new tenant and lose. If this post has made me sound like an ageist or some other kind of embittered anus so be it, he's been in the house two days and across three encounters with the man I've accumulated nothing but negative emotions for him.
