I attract weird people. I don't know if it has something to do with my personality, my appearance, or some mysterious chemical process, but I do know that I've met a lot of weird people in my 21 (almost 22) years. I've come to accept the fact that I have encountered a lot of strange people in my lifetime (and will probably continue to do so); that I am clumsy, and that everything that could happen will happen (to me).
[DISCLAIMER: I realize that "normal" is a completely subjective term, and by "weird" I don't mean "eccentric" or "quirky," but rather "nutty," "not all there," or "batshit bonkers." Everyone has their own personality quirks and unique habits that make them an interesting human being, but...you get what I'm saying].
Take eighth grade English. Things were going well, we were learning about diagramming sentences or whatever we were learning about, and our teacher was really funny. As the year progressed, however, our teacher stopped being so perky. She began to give us "breaks" in the middle of class so that she could go outside and smoke; one of my reports was returned to me with a tomato sauce stain and ash marks, and, occasionally, she showed up to class looking like she had been crying. One day, she brought her 6-month-old daughter to school because her daycare provider got sick (she told us not to tell the principal--it was kind of exciting to share a secret from the principal). And then one day in mid-February, we arrived in class to find a substitute who announced that our teacher would not be returning and that she would be our teacher for the rest of the year. As it happens, I think that she was going through a really messy divorce (and it was a really sad story)--but, yes, it was definitely an experience I would add to my "weird" list.
Then there was my experience with London bed-and-breakfasts during my summer study abroad jaunt two years ago. For Corpus Christi (a big holiday in Spain), my roommate/friend Racquel and I decided that it would be nice to go to London for a few days and that it might be quaint (and cost-effective) to stay in a bed-and-breakfast/hostel outside of the city. Racquel's mother booked what looked like a great place for us not too far from the Stansted airport and we planned our trip (e-mailing the owner of the B&B our flight itinerary in advance). Our flight from Seville didn't get in until 9 p.m., then, as non-EU citizens, we had to stand in customs for a good hour-and-a-half. Once we found a cab and arrived at our B&B, it was almost 11:30. The place was a little different than we expected--it was a house in a very-English-suburban, Harry Potter 4 Privet Drive kind of way, remote from any sort of commercial area. We rang the doorbell and were greeted by an irate English man who immediately began fuming at us for arriving so late when we told him that our flight got in at 9 p.m. "I can't believe you're so disrespectful, taking your time to see the sights of London before you check in," he raved, "I was at the airport waiting for you at 9 p.m. sharp to pick you up!!"
We had never made any sort of arrangement for this man to pick us up at the airport (we didn't know who he was or what he looked like), and anyone with any common sense knows that, when flying internationally, you don't just arrive at the airport and start your vacation--you have to go to the baggage claim, go through customs, find some sort of transportation... We explained to the man that no, we were not out sightseeing, but standing in customs; how were we to know that he was going to pick us up from the airport, etc. He continued to fume and told us that we could not stay at his B&B (even though we'd already paid) and that there was a hotel about a mile up the road where they accepted late arrivals. I don't know if we finally wore him down by refusing to walk a mile down the road at midnight in rural England and complaining, but, finally, he agreed to let us stay there. However, he explaiend as he showed us to our room, "You cannot make any noise. No showers, no TV, no talking, no big lights...nothing except for getting into your beds and going to sleep. I won't have you waking up our other customers!"
When I pulled back the covers on my bed to find a dead spider, I knew that something had to be done about the lodging situation. Racquel whispered to me, "I can't live like this," to which I agreed, and together we devised a plan to get us out of our four-night agreement with Meany McMeanerson. We woke up at dawn to find a payphone and called Racquel's mother, who, in turn agreed to call the B&B and say that Racquel's sister had been in a severe accident and that she needed to come home right away and that she had spoken with my parents and I was to board the first flight back to Seville. The plan worked; we snuck back into our room and about a half-hour later the owner came to our doorwith a grave face and handed the telephone to Racquel. She choked back some fake sobs (and I fought not to crack a smile) and the owner felt so bad that he waived the usual 20 pound fee and drove us to the airport for free. In the car, he awkwardly asked us if we were disappointed that our holiday had been ruined by such a tragic accident and was very apologetic about his behavior the previous night. It's wrong to lie, but this man really was awful; plus, Racquel doesn't have a sister.
In sum, I feel like such adventures don't happen on your average trip to London.
Back to the present. We have a new roommate (the 4th!) living with us; her name is Ana, she is Colombian and she has an M.D. but is studying for her Ph.D. She is a lot of fun.
So, last Monday night after we had our apartment meeting, Steffie and I thought that things were back to normal (and really great). Friday evening, however, Sally started to complain that Steffie and I make a lot of noise at night and that she just can't sleep anymore (this is a common complaint of hers). She particularly complained about the previous night, during which we went out for a glass of wine and returned to the apartment at the ungodly hour of 11:30 p.m. and, without talking, went to our rooms, brushed our teeth, and went to bed. Steffie asked Sally what we were supposed to do to further reduce our noise level because we are already not showering past 11 p.m. and not talking or doing anything loudly at night but that we still need to be able to go out. Sally suggested leaving the apartment door open at night (to which we were both like, are you crazy!?) and then began to complain about how much noise the toilet makes when it flushes. She then decided that we shouldn't flush the toilet at night and that if we needed to, we should use a bucket of water. Steffie and I refused to cave in on this one and asked her what she expected us to do, to which she responded (in a huffy, very annoyed tone) that she needs her sleep and that we should ask our parents what it's like to be old and need a lot of sleep but have trouble sleeping).
Steffie and I ran to the store for a few things and returned to find the apartment completely upside-down. Ana, it appeared, would be arriving that night and things needed to be organized; Sally was furiously sewing on her machine in anticipation of Ana's arrival (sewing what, we do not know). Ana arrived and Sally sent us an e-mail in which she announced that she would be going to the junk shop in the morning if we needed anything, and that she was going on a weekend trip to A Coruna.
After Sally left for A Coruna, Steffie and I proceeded to befriend Ana and let her in on the real story (i.e. the Sally we began to get to know after the first week), letting her know about her sudden outbursts, desire to implement ridiculous rules, impulsive purchases, and cleaning habits. Ana told us her Sally stories--the things that she thought were weird about her, such as her demanding the 150 euro deposit from Ana the night she arrived and her asking Ana (when she said that she enjoyed cooking) if she would like to cook for her (to which Ana said no). Ana told us that if a group of people can talk about someone for an entire day (which we did), it is a sign that that person has some sort of personality disorder. We all agreed that once Sally returned, we needed to have a meeting with her to discuss a few things (and if she won't agree/compromise a bit, we will move out--together, because we all get along so well).
But now, we are thinking that we will give her our 15-day notice a bit sooner.
While she has been away in A Coruna, Sally has quit her part-time job taking care of a 10-year old girl after she gets out of school (she sent Ana an e-mail explaining that Joyce was coming for the keys--she wouldn't tell us who Joyce was but when Joyce called us, Ana found out that she was the new nanny). The phone has been ringing constantly with people asking for Sally--including her son. We thought it odd that she went away without telling her son that she would be gone. Before she left, she gave Ana a list of her entire extended family (about 20 people in total) and their phone numbers. She left a stack of dirty dishes, shredded lettuce loose in the produce drawer of the refrigerator (it has since rotted), and, of course, those dishwasher-box tables are the primary furniture in Ana's room (so she has some stuff to buy upon her return). We had assumed she would be back by Monday, so, earlier this evening, Ana called her to ask her when she might be coming back. Sally responded, in the rude way she has of responding to very casual questions on the phone, that she did not know because she was on vacation. Many questions are racing through our minds--did this woman have a mental breakdown? Is she a con artist? Has she stolen away with our deposit money (which is why she kept pestering Ana for her deposit money)? She is retired--what does she have to vacate in an industrial town 30 minutes away? Is she ever going to come back? Regardless, we don't think we can live with someone who is this unstable--plus, we are having a good time with her gone.
I should go to bed now. I could write a novel about Sally. But, back to the "weird" thing--Ana also feels that she always ends up with weird people. So I am not alone.
