Thursday, 9 December 2010

Cheeeeeeeese Gromit!

I never have lived with anyone apart from my family. So recently, the chapter in my life titled ‘university’ begun and the thought of it made me crap my pants. What was I going to do?! All on my own in a single bed in a 9 x 6 cell, having to fend for myself, having to cook for myself, ensuring I had clean underwear after repeatedly crapping myself from constantly thinking about the fact that I, am going to be alone with no friends, cold, scared and hungry.

I had accepted the fact that under no circumstances was my new home in university halls going to be like my comfortable home that has working appliances and isn’t full of strangers, with its comfortable sofa and comfortable bed that doesn’t creak every time you move and doesn’t resemble a camp bed. Nevertheless, the day I’d been dreading arrived quicker than you could say ‘help me’.

The car was filled with Mum, Dad and Sister, who at the time I hated because they were soon going to leave me. However, I moved in without kicking up a fuss and crying- I was a grown up now and I had to do grown up things. I could do it, look after myself and not get mugged. Eventually, after the flat became full with my housemates, together the 10 of us made up Flat 1a and would do so for the next 8 month of our lives. I survived my first night by accompanying my fellow flatmates out for a drink at the Student Union Bar and kept constantly thinking ‘this is weird’. I’d been thrown way out of my comfort zone and felt like an elephant that had just seen a mouse. It was hard to think that everyone was feeling the exact same as me.

My flatmates and I are all very different individuals, there’s The One Who Smells, The One That Never Washes Up, The Quiet One, The Dramatic One, The Pretty One, The Anti-Social One and The Funny One, The Squealey One and The One That’s Nice To Look At. Becoming friends was something I had no trouble in doing. I was happy enough going about my day to day business, getting to know everyone and even more excited to start a new course in one of my favourite subjects; something that I’m good at and something that I want to build a career in: Fashion Journalism- which is writing about pretty clothes and being a know-all. Everything was super troopa, however, when the investigation of the missing cheese erupted, I was terrified.

It all happened one miserable morning. I had settled in nicely after a few weeks of the university lifestyle and it all wasn’t that bad, I wasn’t going to admit it yet- but everything was okay. On this particular morning I’d gotten up feeling a little worse for wear from the previous nights one too many vodkas, this was something else that nobody warned me about when becoming a student- nobody made you a cup of tea when all you wanted to do was fossilise yourself in bed when struck with a hangover. When I finally reached the kitchen I made a cheese toastie in complete zombie mode.

When everybody moved in, they all brought their different appliances, pots, pans and sets of 16 unnecessary plates. I moved in with the basics and decided to buy anything that I needed along the way. The Quiet One had brought this machine. At first I thought it resembled some sort of time machine which under no circumstances, was I going to attempt to figure out what one earth it was in fear of being transported to some unknown land. But, embarrassingly I asked what on earth the device was and after my flatmate showed me what the special machine created, my diet has consisted of cheese and bread ever since. The cheese toastie machine is, in my eyes, a miracle invention. So, this all seems innocent so far? That’s what I thought too.

There must have been a cheese alarm, like one of those creations conjured up by Wallace and Gromit, as it had got to that time of day which resembles feeding time at the Flat 1a zoo and the investigation was full swing of trying to find out who had stolen The Dramatic One’s cheese. Everyone was lined up, hands out and inspected for any cheese under the fingernails of The One Who Smells, cheese on the used plate of The One That Never Washes Up and a frightful interrogation for the rest of us. “Did you steal my cheese?!” I didn’t know where to look or what to say. I must have picked up the wrong block of cheese when previously in hung-over zombie mode. “No!” I replied. I lied through my teeth- I must be the accidental cheese thief. I would have denied it within an inch of my life in fear of being outcast and perhaps hung by my toes out the window in punishment. I had to live with these people for the best part of a year and there was no way I was going to be The One Who Steals Food.

The problem was resolved by The One Who Smells telling The Dramatic One to get over it. It was only cheese.

What astonished me most is how people can wet their pants over a centimetre of cheese. It put me on edge knowing I was living with petty people- what happened to ‘sharing is caring’ and all that malarkey? The Dramatic One’s foul mood subsided within a few days. I have definitely learnt my lesson to keep my eyes open when rummaging through the fridge and this, will never be my home. I was almost wrong in thinking that the rest of my fellow flatmates were in fact, ever so slightly normal, because they’re not.

Kids nowadays.

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