First off: I despise my roommate. He’s an ill-mannered drunken slob, and if he dropped dead of a wasting disease I doubt I’d shed a tear.
I was back home this weekend, working on something that necessitates being on the far side of the fascist uber-firewall that this so-called school has inflicted on me, and during my abscence the apartment was, to engage in a rather heinous act of understatement, trashed. Apparently there was quite a bit of partying going on this weekend.
I say ‘partying’ rather than the more simple ‘partying’ because in this context ‘partying’ means unwanted drunken goings-on rather than the more traditional definition concerning the particple form of enjoyable festivities.
Anyway, apparently our resident whomever (R.A.? R.M.? Something…) had words with HellRoommate. I had a brief discussion with The Man today, and it was made quite clear in a distinctly subtextual fashion that well-phrased testimony could start us all down the path to removing the unwanted element.
Sounds great, right?
Thing is, I’d feel guilty. There’s no rational reason for guilt; he clearly has it (‘it’ meaning eviction and several other inconveniently complex forms of karma) coming. He’s not the sort of… ‘individual’… for whom I should feel compassion.
It must be nice to be evil. Lex Luthor would’ve had this bum out of here months ago. Sigh.