The Roommate Experience Pt. 01

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This was originally going to be two separate stories, but they overlap (as you’ll see), so I decided to combine them. This story is also set in the distant past, before PCs and the internet … back when a record was something that sat on a turntable …

– “So, Joe … c-can you help me out?”

That was how it all started.

Marty was a short, paunchy nerd with a speech impediment – a stutter that came and went. He was understandably shy in social in social situations.

In Grade 9, on Initiation Day, I stepped in between Marty and two bullies who wanted to use his head to clean a toilet. I wish I could tell you that I kicked their asses – but I was the one who got my clock cleaned. Oh, I got in a couple of shots, but Marty did the most damage when he bit one of them hard enough to draw blood.

It would be nice, too, to report that the student body respected our courage, and that initiations were strictly forbidden from them on.

Yeah, right. We were suspended for 3 days, and got a reputation for being a couple of psychos. We probably weren’t going to fit in with the popular kids anyway, but that incident certainly accelerated the process.

Marty was a nerd, and I … I was never there. From the age of 13, I’d had a part-time job (and sometimes two). Right after school, I went off to work. All day Saturday, too.

It was my stepmother’s idea, really. I think that she just wanted me out of the house. Then, a few years later, she got the brilliant idea that I should pay rent, because I had money. My Dad was too whipped to object.

– “It’ll be a valuable lesson for him.” she said.

– “It’ll be a good experience for you, Joe.” said Dad.

The fuck it was. Stacking shelves at the grocery store, pumping gas, or carrying roof tiles up a ladder all summer doesn’t teach you much, except how hard it can be to earn an honest dollar – or how much of your school’s social life you miss when you’re always at work.

That meant no sports, no clubs, no extra-curriculars of any kind. Marty and I were both socially invisible. But there was always that bond between us.

In some cultures, if you save a man’s life, then you become responsible for him. I have to admit that I felt something like that towards him. And Marty … well, let’s just say that he went out of his way to pay me back.

In my senior year, I had to consider my options. I wasn’t sure that I could afford college. Dad finally spoke to his younger brother about me. Ray was a grease monkey at a downtown garage. He was a damn good mechanic, though, and when he put in a good word for me, his boss took me on part-time.

– “Don’t fuck this up, Joe.” said Uncle Ray. “You do, an’ you make us both look bad.”

– “I won’t.” I promised.

I cleaned up the garage, learned how to change tires, and do oil changes. I was also Joe Fetchit if anyone needed a tool, or a coffee, or a donut … and I went home dirty every night. But it paid better than most of the jobs I’d had – and I was actually learning something. Most of the guys were pretty decent to me, too.

So maybe that was how Marty and I connected – talking about cars. We started to hang out a bit. He regularly came over to pick me up, if we got up to anything. I never asked – God’s honest truth – Martin suggested it, every single time.

– “I’ll swing by and pick you up.” He must’ve said it a hundred times.

I was 18, but looked older, so I was the designated beer-buyer (Fake ID wasn’t readily available, back in the day). It was a mutually beneficial partnership, but I think I benefited more. What I’m trying to say is that I owed Marty quite a few favours, for all the times he’d driven me all over hell’s half acre. He’d even lent me his car to go for my driver’s exam.

That was why, when Marty asked for my help, I didn’t hesitate.

– “So, Joe … c-can you help me out?”

– “Sure. What do you need?”

– “Will you … d-double date with me, Joe?”

– “WHAT?” I couldn’t have been more shocked. As far as I knew, Marty had never even come close to having a girlfriend.

– “I met her at church.” he said. Then the words came out – all in a rush. “She’s really cute. But shy. Shyer than me. I think I like her, but if I ask her out alone she’ll probably say no.”

I was afraid that he was going to hyper-ventilate. “Slow down, Marty! Breathe …”

– “She lives near you. Close enough for you to walk. But I can swing by and pick you up. I already told her that my best friend lived nearby, and that we might ‘drop in’ on Sunday.”

– “Good for you, Marty. That’s great. Keep breathing. What do you need me to do?”

– “Well, she’s got sisters. Her parents will let go out, but only if her sisters go, too.”

– “Like chaperones.”

– “Something like that.”

– “So you need me to run interference? Keep the sisters busy? I can do that. Give me the bad news, then.”

– “What bad news?

– “Tell me the truth. How ugly are they? And don’t tell me they have nice personalities – that’s a dead giveaway.”

Anadolu Yakası Travesti “They’re not ugly.” It sounded like he was telling the truth, but I could have sworn that he was hiding something.

– “Come clean. Details.”

– “The older sister is 19. Her name is Samantha. I swear, she’s cute. And there’s also the younger sister – Tanya – she’s only 16.”

– “Three sisters? And you want me to keep two of them busy.”

– “C-Can you help me out, Joe?

– “Sure, Marty. What are friends for?” After all, I thought – how bad could it be?

– “Thanks, man.” he said. “This means a l-lot to me.”

***

We were on our way to see the three sisters, when Marty cleared his throat.

– “Umm – there’s probably one more thing I should tell you. It’s the oldest one. Sam. Ah … she’s … not that bright.”

It didn’t sound like the end of the world to me. There wasn’t much time to think about it, anyway, as Marty pulled up in front of their house. It was a big split-level, definitely a cut above my place.

All three girls came out to greet us. Caroline was a short, slender brunette. I pegged her right away as a wallflower. She had that ‘future librarian’ look. She shook my hand.

Samantha was a slim blonde – almost skinny – with bright blue eyes.

– “Call me Sam!” she said, with a giggle.

The youngest, Tanya, had reddish-blonde hair, and a facial expression that I can only describe as halfway between a smirk and a sneer.

– “Hey.” was all she said.

Since it looked like it might rain, Caroline invited us into the basement. We had to meet their mother, first; I stayed on my best behaviour, for Marty’s sake.

– “Let’s play some records!” giggled Sam.

The group dynamic became immediately apparent. Caroline was the serious, smart one – the responsible one, too. If you had asked me, I would’ve guessed that she was the oldest. Tanya was the precocious jailbait, quite confident that she was by far the coolest of the three, and would one day be smartest and hottest – if she wasn’t already.

As advertised, Samantha – Sam – was a complete ditz. Dumber than a bag of rocks. At first, I thought her airhead routine was just an act. There are girls out there who pretend to be dumber than they are, who hide their brains, so as not to intimidate the guys.

Sam wasn’t one of those.

Caroline suggested a Michael Jackson record. Sam wanted the soundtrack from Grease. Tanya laughed out loud when she saw the expression on my face – and Marty’s.

– “They don’t want to listen to that.” said the youngest sister. “Here, put this on.” She passed over a Foreigner record.

– “Much better.” I said, with a nod of approval.

– “Oh, I know what guys like.” said Tanya, with a little grin. “I like the same stuff. Wanna see my records?”

– “Sure.” If I could get the two blondes looking at albums, that would give Marty a chance to talk to Caroline. Personally, I couldn’t quite see what he saw in her – but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and all that.

I have to admit, Tanya surprised me. She had Queen records, AC/DC, The Police, and even Van Halen’s 1st album.

– “Wow. I’m impressed.” I admitted.

– “What sort of name is Van Halen?” asked Sam. “Who would call their kid Van, anyway?” She was examining the album cover. “Which one is he? The singer?”

I didn’t quite know how to react. Tanya just rolled her eyes.

– “That’s a last name, dumbass.” she told her older sister. “The guitarist and the drummer are brothers: Eddie and Alex Van Halen.”

Sam wasn’t offended. She just giggled.

– “Oh! Hee hee.” I took a wild guess: that wasn’t the first time she’d been called a dumbass.

– “She thought Fleetwood Mac was a guy’s name, too.” Tanya told me.

– “Did not!”

– “You did too.”

Caroline stepped in as peacemaker. That spoiled my attempt to give Marty some ‘alone time’. She suggested that we play a game. The sisters had a collection of board games.

Dice were rolled, pieces were moved, and Caroline and Tanya fought it out – tooth and nail. Very competitive, they were. Sam tried, too, but in a game of strategy, she’d obviously brought a knife to a gun fight.

She sat right next to me, and frequently giggled before she touched my arm, or looked at my face. Sam was cute, I suppose, but – damn! I’d never met anyone quite so … stupid. I don’t mean it as an insult. This girl was just colossally, monumentally ignorant.

But she was also foolish. Given two simple choices, Sam often had difficulty reaching the obvious conclusion. She knew it, too. She would just giggle, make the wrong decision – and then giggle again. Absolutely amazing. How had she ever graduated from high school? She worked in a department store – I couldn’t picture it.

– “Sorry, Marty.” I said, when we were on our way home. “You didn’t get much time alone with Caroline.”

– “No problem.” he said. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

That sounded ominous. I took it to mean Antalya Travesti that Marty would be calling on me to spend time with the three sisters again.

***

We took them to a movie – Dutch treat. I didn’t catch much of the film: Sam kept leaning over to whisper in my ear. “Who is that?” she’d ask. Or, “Why is he doing that?”

She had a hundred questions. Some of them were truly stupid. I think she genuinely had trouble following the plot. Or maybe she thought she had missed something important.

But it didn’t escape my notice that every time she had a question, she leaned over, rested her hand on my arm, and put her lips next to my ear. Once I even felt the pressure of her boob on my shoulder. Sam wasn’t skinny everywhere. Tanya kept shushing her. Sam tried to justify herself. I had to promise to explain the movie to her afterwards.

We went for ice cream (Marty’s idea). I kept my word, and summarized the film’s plot for Sam. It turned out that she really did think that she had missed a key scene, near the beginning. After that, she felt like she was struggling to catch up. Tanya rolled her eyes so energetically, I was afraid she was going to hurt herself.

I wasn’t sure that I believed Sam – not entirely. But while I was explaining the movie, I discovered a few things. For one, if I was doing the talking, that shut off most of Sam’s inane chatter. She listened attentively, with a big smile, her eyes never leaving my face.

It’s flattering, for an 18-year old guy, to have a girl focus on him like that – no matter how dumb she might be.

Besides, I had no problem looking at Sam. When she wasn’t saying something stupid, she was actually quite pretty: long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a cute face. In fact, if she wasn’t talking or giggling, Sam was downright attractive.

She had narrow hips, and not much of an ass, but she was far from flat-chested. Then she giggled, and put her hand on mine. “You’re so smart!” she said.

It was like throwing a bucket of water on me. I immediately remembered where I was, and who I was with. I wasn’t immune to flattery, but …

– “I think she likes you.” said Marty, after we had dropped them off.

– “Great deduction, Sherlock.” I said, with a snort. “Lucky me.”

– “Come on, Joe – it’s not so bad, is it?”

It wasn’t. That’s why I agreed to go a party with Marty and the two older sisters a few weeks later. Tanya was there when we picked them up, and from the expression on her face, she wasn’t too happy to be excluded.

– “Don’t be late!” she said.

Marty drove. I picked up a case of beer. Caroline sat quietly; she didn’t say much at the best of times. Her older sister made up for it, with a non-stop flow of questions: who was hosting, would they know anyone there, could she have a beer – or two …?

The host was a friend of Marty’s, a guy from our high school named Jim. He had a cute sister, who had been a grade behind us. But if I had had any plans to check her out, those were immediately torpedoed.

Sam attached herself to me like a barnacle. She kept one hand on my arm at all times, as if she was afraid to lose contact. I couldn’t entirely blame her: she didn’t know a soul at the party. It didn’t stop her from asking questions about every single person there, though.

Did I know him? Did I know her? Had I dated her? Would I date her? Did I think she (another girl) was pretty? Could she (Sam) have another beer? Half of her questions I couldn’t even hear, because the music in Jim’s basement was on so loud. They were playing the Cars album – I’d heard it too often on the radio.

I steered Sam up the stairs, and into the backyard. It was a nice autumn night, with a clear sky. We sat down on a bench. To keep Sam from talking, I told her a long story, about how Marty and I had met, and become friends.

– “He likes Caroline.” she said, with a giggle.

– “Yeah, he does.” I agreed. “Does she like him?”

– “I dunno.” she said, with a shrug. Well, that made sense. I doubt that either of her sisters ever confided in her. Telling Sam a secret would be the equivalent of putting it on a billboard.

At that point, Jim came out into the backyard with a buddy of his. Introductions were made, and Jim said “Hope we’re not interrupting.”

– “Not at all.” I assured him. I didn’t want Sam to start chattering, so I asked Jim what he’d been up to since graduation.

– “Working with my Dad, mostly. Learning the ropes. Have to get started, if I’m going to take over the business some day.”

– “What kind of business?” asked Sam. I held my breath when she started to talk, but to my relief, it wasn’t a stupid question at all.

– “Men’s clothing.” said Jim.

– “Is it hard work?” she asked. I had to turn, and look at Sam. She worked in a major department store – in the women’s clothing department!

Jim started explaining the trials and tribulations of selling suits to ignorant customers, or cheap customers, and working with temperamental Ataşehir Travesti tailors.

– “And then you have to deal with the Jews …”

My eyebrows rose.

– “I’m Jewish.” I said.

Jim stopped dead. Then he started backtracking. “I was just … umm … I didn’t mean …”

I didn’t say anything. I just let him squirm. His buddy looked embarrassed. Finally Jim remembered that he needed to refresh his drink, and went inside.

– “I didn’t know you were Jewish.” said Sam.

– “I’m not.”

Jim’s buddy grinned. “Nice one.” he said. “Have to remember that.” Then he excused himself, and left us alone.

– “I don’t get it.” said Sam. “Why did you say you’re Jewish when you’re not? Was it just to make him stop? Oh … that’s it, isn’t it?”

I told Sam another story. “There was a kid in Grade 4 who got picked on, just because he was dark and had kinky hair. I didn’t stand up for him, then – but I knew I should’ve.”

“My uncle Ray lives with a woman from Guyana. Nice lady. My stepmother calls her names, makes fun of her. I call her on it. I can’t stand that shit. One more reason we don’t get along so well.”

Then I remembered something. “Sam, you work in clothing.”

– “Yeah. In a department store.”

– “Why did you ask Jim if it’s hard work? If anyone would know, you would.”

– “I know.” she said. “But … I didn’t want to start talking about my job. It’s not very important. Besides – I can tell … you don’t like it when I talk too much.”

“I know I’m not very bright.” she continued. “I say – and do – silly things. My sisters tell me, all the time.”

– “What about at work?” I asked.

– “I’m fine at work. I know what I’m doing. And if I have a problem, or a question, I can just ask Mrs. Maguire – my supervisor.”

This came as a revelation to me. Sam was … well, pretty dumb. But she knew it. In my limited experience, most stupid people have absolutely no idea just how ignorant they really are. On the contrary, many of them actually believe that they’re smart.

“I just … I guess I try too hard, sometimes.” said Sam. “I just want people to like me.”

– “I like you, Sam.” I said. At that moment, it was no more than the truth.

– “Really?”

– “Really.”

– “That’s nice.” she said, with a smile that didn’t look goofy at all. “You know, I was really impressed – what you said to that guy.”

– “Let’s get you another beer.” I suggested.

***

It wasn’t so bad, living at home while working full-time. I biked to the garage, or took the bus in bad weather. I was able to put some money aside, even after paying my stepmother’s rent. I didn’t do anything foolish, like buy a car, or a new stereo. The money I saved could be used to go to college next year. Uncle Ray gave me some good advice, too.

My ex-girlfriend, Anne, was showing signs that she might be interested in getting back together. I wasn’t so sure. I mean, she was the one who had broken it off … if we started dating again, how long would it be before she remembered why she had dumped me in the first place?

Besides, I was pursuing a few other options. No, not Sam. Meanwhile, Marty was still ‘courting’ Caroline, at his own glacial pace.

– “I think you need to see her more than once or twice a month, Marty.” I told him. “Have you even been out with her alone, yet?”

– “All in good time.” he said.

He dragged me out with him several more times to see the sisters. We ‘dropped in’ on them again, took in another movie, and – to my horror – an antique auction.

The next time we went over, it was to find that Sam had dyed her hair. Brown.

– “She thought it would make her look smarter!” howled Tanya. She was clutching her stomach, bent over double. “She said she didn’t want to be a dumb blonde anymore! Ah! I’ve been laughing for days – it’s killing me!”

– “I think it looks very nice.” insisted Caroline.

Sam had her arms crossed, but the expression on her face was easy to recognize. She was so vulnerable, at that moment – I could have slaughtered her with a word.

– “You look … so different.” I said. Sam bit her lip.”I never imagined you as a brunette.” I added. “You look good.”

The odd thing was … I couldn’t tell her the truth: somehow, she did look smarter. Maybe it was just because she looked so different from the blonde ditz I had become accustomed to. Or maybe it just highlighted how pretty her face was. Damn – I wasn’t going to say that.

Sam seemed happy enough with my answer.

A few weeks later, Marty persuaded me to invite the sisters to my cousin Ronnie’s Christmas bash. It was guaranteed to be loud, and fun. There would be plenty of opportunity for Marty to be alone with Caroline.

***

“Joe! Good to see you! You remember Laurie?” Ron’s girlfriend Laurie was artsy, quirky, funny, and too good for him. She had corn-coloured hair, freckles on her nose – and she was stacked.

My cousin Ron was a good-looking guy, with way too much charm, and brains to match. It never seemed fair to me that one guy got so many blessings.

Laurie gave me a quick hug, and said hello to Marty – he was flattered that she actually remembered him. I introduced the sisters. Ron scoped them out, horndog that he was. I don’t know why Laurie let him get away with it.

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