Fun_People Archive
19 Aug
FLAT WAR

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From: Peter Langston <psl>
Date: Mon, 19 Aug 96 12:05:40 -0700
To: Fun_People
Subject: FLAT WAR

Forwarded-by: Keith Bostic <bostic@bsdi.com>
Forwarded-by: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>

FLAT WAR
	Copyright (c) Simon Travaglia <spt@waikato.ac.nz>

So I get home and I know there's a crisis because the flatmates are all
in different rooms studying for that exam in about 10 years time.  I don't
know what the crisis is because no-one will tell me, and if I ask, all
I'll get is "What crisis?"  You're not allowed to say -- It's against the
crisis rules.

No worries -- not my problem.  Then I see that there's been an attack on
me in my absence:  someone has stacked all the stuff I leave all over the
house in a pile outside my door.  Like they NEVER go into my room when
I'm not around and finger through my back issues of "Hot Leather Nuns on
Harleys" Magazines!  Sure.  So that means that I'm under the gun as well.
I must have done something.

So who gives a shit, as a retaliatory attack I make a mental note to start
my stereo and 7am, and play the same song again and again until I'm ready
to get up.  Then play it some more.  (Even when I'm in the shower)

And turn the bass up too, so you can't actually hear the tune, just the
thump Thump THUMP THUMP!

I pick up all my stuff and put it in my room and go to watch TV, only one
of the flatmates has sneaked past and beaten me to it, which, by the
unwritten law of the flat means they control the TV till they switch it
off and leave the room.  Bugger!

No worries, it's my turn to cook anyway.  Besides, the batteries for the
remote belong to me.  I take them back and decide to use the mixer to make
something for Tea, cos it always puts lines across the TV picture and
pisses everyone off.  We'll see who cracks first...

The flatmate ups the stakes by telling me her boyfriend is coming over
and can I cook some more for him too -- and be careful, as he doesn't like
carrots or hot food.  I look up curried carrots in the cookbook, but
there's nothing there so I'll have to improvise.  We do have some cayenne
pepper...

So it was a really good dinner.  And even better, I dish myself out a
portion, mix in some mega-hot chilli sauce and leave it on the table while
I go to the toilet.  Sure enough, one of the flatmates swaps plates with
me.  His eyes are bleeding.  One down.  If you can't stand the heat, stay
away from my cooking..

I get up first in the morning because if I don't the first flatmate up
will use up all the hot water out of ignorance.  I have my shower and
leave the hot tap running to let them know how it feels.  This'll be the
third week in a row I've done this, so I guess they'll get the picture
soon.  I pause briefly to open the kitchen window to let all the warm air
out.  Beat that.

....

I get home and there's a definite chill in the air and not just from the
window....

There's a message on the fridge from the flatmate who's staying (it
appears) with her boyfriend for a week, and sorry, she forgot to pay the
power bill, but it should be reconnected by the time she gets back, and
also sorry, she accidentally told my girlfriend that I was out with my
girlfriend when she rang.  Fuck you VERY much!  I ring up and order them
two pizzas from the new firm that has armed delivery boys and notify the
drug squad of the new homebake unit that's in the neighbourhood at their
place, and how it's a shame that young people can't do good for a change
instead of staying up all night playing with automatic weapons...  95%
sure that it's Two down.

Right.  Two flatmates to go.

The war has escalated a bit since I got home as apparently B tied A's dog
to the fencepost right at the blind corner of the driveway just as A was
coming home, resulting a a large unneccessary dog food stockpile in the
flat.

No problems as with a bit of sauce and some chilli, one of the dog rolls
would look exactly like the meatloaf that flatmate B made to take to her
boyfriend's parents place for dinner...  If you can't stand the heat, don't
play with a flamethrower...

I give her boyfriend a call and ask him to ask her where that meatloaf
shaped dogmeat roll went that was in the fridge because they've been
recalled because of a food poisoning scare...

One to go.

Last is the flat recluse, who gets up in the early hours and does his
washing and is rarely seen.  He's a bit of a commando too, because he does
all his flat sabotage when no-one's around, like tying someone's dog up,
and adding wallpaper paste to the washing powder...

About 1am I hear the BZZZERT as he stands on the electrified shower tray
("Yes, officer, he had some idea about negative Ion Generation that he
never fully explained to me...) and meets his maker.

THIS FLAT IS MINE!

© 1996 Peter Langston