G' day Readers, and thank you for the Renter Horror Stories you've submitted thus far. There's a steady stream. For your amusement and to inspire, we're going to spotlight two or three between now and Thursday's nomination. Here's one from Alisa:
My roommate has one of the largest collections of first edition 35 mm genre film in the country, and since his two storage lockers aren't enough to hold the lot, there are over 200 films in our small two bedroom apartment and more coming in all of the time. I sleep in "the print room," on a small twin bed next to piles of film extended to the ceiling. There is little ventilation, and the dry air combined with chemical odors from the film means that the first thing I do in the a.m. is puke or hang my head out the fire escape to suck in fresh air. Granted I could use my bedroom to sleep, but that is my home office and I don't like sleeping and working in the same room. My roommate doesn't like to feel like he lives anywhere permanent and wants that feeling of 'just crashing somewhere,' so he sleeps on the couch, which now reeks of extreme B.O. Or maybe that's just the cat piss and litterbox I'm smelling. We don't have much air circulating, and since I moved here two months ago I have had to give away almost all of my beloved houseplants. There are only five of 20 plants remaining that seem like they might survive this horrific environment where there is limited natural light. Oh yeah, my roommate gets mad when I open the windows. He hates fresh air and gets cold easily because he is 5'10 and weighs 125 lbs. I guess that's about it. Thanks. Alisa, Chicago