In case you come over and there are signs posted everywhere

Lately I’ve found myself getting increasingly annoyed with my roommate, whose name really isn’t Igor but I’ll call him that anyway, for both his being a half-hunchback and the incessant hand-washing motion he makes while trying to make conversation. The irritation is such that I want to start hanging bitchy signs all over the house:

“Jeff and Jordan are not the only ones who use the dishes, therefore they should not be the only ones washing them.” The past few days, Jeff and I have experimented with not doing any dishes other than our own to see if Igor will do them on his own, or at least put away the items on the drying rack. Needless to say, our sink is filled to capacity with dirty plates, glasses and silverware.

“When turning off the air conditioning unit, please open some windows so the whole house does not become a furnace.” Apparently, Igor does not enjoy having the house at a comfortable 70 degrees when it’s 80-plus outside. He’d rather sit with sweat running down his face than have some airflow through the rooms.

“Toilet does not usually flush everything down on first try. If it’s No. 2, flush twice, please.” Igor doesn’t flush twice; rather, he seems to think that putting down both the toilet seat and cover solves the problem. Out of sight, out of mind, until the next person — usually me — comes along.

“Just because you go to bed at 10:45 every night does not mean you exercise complete control of the room’s lighting after 10:45.” I really don’t try to piss the kid off, but if I want to read in my bed after he goes to bed, I’m going to turn the light on and no matter how much he tosses and turns — if he’s thinking, Turn off the light, it’s so hard to sleep in here right now, how is he still able to sleep when the sun comes up just after 6 a.m.? OK, I partly do it to piss him off, but it’s mostly because that’s my only time to sit and read all day, and if I want to do it in the comfort of my own bed, too bad for him.

I’ve bitched in the past about how not-adult-like I am in some areas of my life, but I feel I don’t have to worry too much if there are always people like Igor around. He’s just barely 21 years old, but has the social skills of a toddler. He makes ramen without breaking up the brick of noodles and has almost set the kitchen on fire when trying to make spaghetti (thankfully, Jeff came home right as the stovetop was doing its impression of the Olympic Torch). He has enough Cup o’ Soups to feed Ethiopian villages for a month. He also wraps a baby blanket around his head while he sleeps. If that’s not creepy, I’m not sure what is.

I’m sure many things I do annoy him as well, but I don’t try to make his life a living hell — which is equal parts me being a nice guy and me not wanting to be his first murder victim. I’d talk to him about it, but it’s impossible to have a conversation with the kid. One good thing that has come from his presence is that the rest of us have bonded over stories of the funny and awkward things he does on a daily basis. I’m a firm believer that every group of strangers needs that one person, whether inside the group or out, to collectively dislike and bond over. And if that makes me sound shallow, so be it — I’m also a firm believer that some people just aren’t meant to be liked.