Mot Juste..?

A typical day has gone by in a flurry. Not with actual flurries sadly, although there should have been being that it is November. I enter my hall of residence and climb aboard the tiny disturbingly unfaithful boxes that will bring me to the location of my bedroom. I dig out my keys and open the door to a most disgraceful site (1). Living in a suite, I often just run to my own room and slam the door. I barely even talk to my roommate. Having chosen to room random, I had no clue who my roommate even was until she slammed open the door the day before classes were suppose to start (2). I still can’t bring myself to comment on her rather repellent part of the room. You would think that a twenty year old would have more courtesy.

(1) Now at this time I would like to point out that this occurrence is quite common. I frequently open the door dreading the other side. For you see, my roommate is quite the slob. I don’t believe she realizes that she shares a room. I often ponder how to bring up this problem to her. Do I come right out and complain to her? Should I leave her a note on a colorful piece of paper? A post-it note would most likely land me with a very unhappy roommate. Do I really even care at the moment? Is it truly that hard to clean up after yourself? Leaving heaping piles of clothes and trash is disgusting.

(2) It was a humid afternoon in mid-August. August the 17th I do believe. I had been quite ecstatic about finding out whom my, hopefully, new best friend would be. I was in for quite a shock when this short, quite large, girl slammed open the door. Her pink hair assaulted my senses. This was not the new best friend I had been hoping for. She begrudgingly said hello and proceeded to haul her luggage into her room. I then realized that this was the beginning of a no-where near perfect friendship, or lack thereof.