My College Roommate Hated My Guts

They weren’t green enough for her

I waited anxiously for its arrival for weeks, checking the mailbox fifty times a day and borderline-stalking the mail carrier. When it came, I ripped the envelope hungrily and devoured its contents right there in my parents' driveway.

I knew this letter had the power to alter the course of my entire upcoming school year, for it contained my college roommate assignment. I envisioned whoever had been selected as my first-ever roommate would become a friend for life.

As I read the information on the page in front of me, I said my new best friend’s name out loud “Samantha Eggars.”

I wonder if she will let me call her “Eggs,” I thought as I skipped back into the house, imagining all the late-night gossip sessions we would partake in. The letter included Samantha’s email address, so I immediately sent her an email introducing myself.

I received no reply.

When the day came to move into my freshman dorm, I was ecstatic to meet Samantha, despite my disappointment that she never emailed me back. I didn’t let the lack of response ruin the image in my head of her meeting my family during Christmas break and telling them how awesome it was to be my BFFL.

I saw matching friendship bracelets in our not-so-distant future.

Due to some drama with my high school sweetheart, I arrived at school very late on move-in day. I twirled into the room, ready to embrace my roomie with a hug, but my arms fell limp as I examined my living situation.

Samantha was sitting on her bed with a green comforter, dressed in green from head to toe, writing in a green notebook with a green pen. A green curtain hung from the window with a green trunk resting underneath it.

“Wow, you must really have a green thumb,” I joked, pointing at the green plant in its green pot on the green trunk.

Every item Samantha owned was some shade of green. She made a point to only purchase things that were green, even proudly showing me her box of green condoms, in case she met Kermit the Frog or something.

Seriously, green condoms? The image of a moldy meat stick became embedded in my mind.

But Samantha wasn’t so one-dimensional that she only loved the color green. She had other interests as well. She loved drinking Diet Coke to the point where she had to “wean herself down” to thirteen cans per day. This wasn’t the type of Coke problem I anticipated my peers having in college.

She also loved music and played one specific CD around the clock. I could respect that, even if her taste in music differed from mine — if only she played it a little quieter.

Samantha’s favorite CD was instrumental bagpipe music. She even had her alarm clock programmed to play the bagpipes as her wake-up call every morning. There’s nothing more relaxing than bagpipes blasting in your ear after a night of puking Taco Bell into a handsome upperclassman’s face.

When I asked Samantha if she was Scottish or perhaps Irish, she replied flatly, “No, why?” and looked at me as if I was a fool. Suddenly, I had no clue why I’d asked. Nothing about her made any sense.

Samantha and I were polar opposites. I stayed up late while she went to bed promptly at ten every night. I had friends over frequently while she and her only friend usually left as soon as I came back to the room. My clothes were strewn across my side of the dorm. Her green sweaters, sneakers, tank tops, bras, and dresses were folded neatly and placed in a green storage bin.

I could see why my habits might annoy her, but I was living the typical freshman lifestyle while she was avoiding it entirely.

One morning at breakfast, I made the mistake of playfully calling her “Green Eggs and Sam.” Samantha became so enraged, she threw down her scrambled eggs and stormed out of the cafeteria. I’m not sure what made her more mad — the nickname, or my interacting with her in public. When we passed each other in the hallways, she always avoided eye contact.

The more I tried to include her in things, the more Samantha hated me. Like, really, hated me. I guess calling her “Green Eggs and Sam” probably didn’t help that situation.

By the end of the first semester, we weren’t speaking. Every time I walked into the room, she’d blast the bagpipe music or grab her green backpack and leave.

I’d never had someone loathe me so much. It seemed exhausting. During winter break, instead of exchanging friendship bracelets and telling my mom about our zany college experiences, I was dreading the idea of going back to the “leprechaun room” as the entire building started calling it.

Before break ended, I texted Samantha and asked why she hated me so much. No reply. Maybe she was just out of minutes on her phone? It must have been hard to afford minutes with such an expensive Coke habit.

When I arrived back on campus, Green Eggs and Sam was waiting for me with our resident advisor. The RA instructed me to take a seat on my bed. I sat facing my angry roommate, her green glittery eyeshadow sparkling while fire burned in her eyes.

“Samantha says you two have been having some trouble living together. Would you consider a roommate swap?”

What kind of weird kinky shit was this girl into?

Samantha had asked the RA if her one Kendra-hating friend and I could switch rooms. Her friend didn’t get along with her roommate, Krissy, either.

I didn’t know Krissy but I was told she was never around because her boyfriend lived off campus. I agreed to the swap. There was no way I was going to stay in the leprechaun room a second longer than I had to.

Krissy ended up being an odd roommate as well. The day I moved in, she pulled down her pants and showed me a tattoo of her boyfriend’s name right on her crotch. At least her underwear wasn’t green and her boyfriend’s name wasn’t Kermit.

“I hate the bagpipes and I won’t have sex with a moldy meat stick,” I responded as she zipped her jeans back up. Might as well get everything out in the open.

As promised, I didn’t see Krissy much so the situation worked out nicely. Unfortunately for Krissy, that boyfriend, whose name was forever on her lady bits, dumped her. She left college before the year ended and moved out of state. Hopefully, wherever she ended up had a decent tattoo removal place.

I finished the year with a corner room all to myself. It was a green-free, bagpipe-free, crotch tattoo-free, party room after that.

I’m sure if you were to hear this story from Samantha’s point of view, she would have an entire list of reasons I was a bad roommate — written on green paper with a green pen and highlighted with a green highlighter.

Being hated sucked but I do have sympathy for my old roomie. I’m sure she was going through a lot and battling her own demons.

After all, it’s not easy being green.

This story was inspired by one of David Conte’s because I get my story ideas from whatever he writes, apparently.

Special thanks to Mike Butler for the eggcellent editing!