You should know that I never give the short version of events - you've been warned.
This story is not based on actual events - it is a full recounting of actual events. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent, cause it's my blog, damnit, and I can do whatever I want.
I do feel it necessary to add the disclaimer that I am in no way a mean person, and would never consider saying these things to anyone, let alone someone I share a place with - let that be an indicator of my frustration and his psychosis.
Uday came home sometime in October of 2009 having just talked to a friend of mine working at a coffee place. He started his usual bizarre string of words and then asked why she was working at a coffee place when she was supposed to be a teacher. I glared at him and told him to go away. He then asked the fateful words that would change everything.
Uday: Do you hate me or something?
Me: YES! That can't possibly be a surprise!
U: What?!
Me: I asked you to move out months ago and you refused - didn't that give a marginal hint as to my feelings about the situation?
U: But we haven't had any arguments in a long time.
Me: Yes, that's because we didn't talk. And that has been fully intentional. It was the only way I could tolerate your existence.
U: You know, I thought we could be friends, but I'm very angry with you right now.
Me: Friends? Are you out of your f*ing mind?? Let me reiterate - I hate you. Kind of a lot! I've been doing everything in my power to survive until March when you said you would move out as the lease would be up.
U: I never said that.
Me: Hold please. That was the deal. That is the only reason I haven't murdered you or had myself committed. You have GOT to be kidding me . . .
The rest of that conversation is kind of a blur. There were some key moments over the next few months, including him flashing my lights on my birthday at midnight to wake me up so I could blow out the candles on the cake he got me. He wanted me to smile for a picture, I told him to be incredibly careful because I had a sharp knife, I was tired, and I was angry. He didn't so much get it - that should have been a clue.
He went home to India for a blissful month while I continued my apartment search, basked in the glory of having my own place again, and enjoyed the peace that comes with being free of an annoying five year old. I found a great apartment (where I am still living), with the catch that the rate would only hold if I moved in the next four weeks. I sent Uday an email asking if he would be okay releasing me from the lease a bit earlier than expected. He gave a non-commital answer, but I went with it and signed the document that would free me from the tower of misery.
Uday came home in late January and asked his normal string of stupid questions, but it was not until Thursday of that week that he eclipsed even his normal level of crazy. He asked what was in a box I had in the hallway. I told him it didn't matter and stop being obnoxious. Over the course of the evening, he told me he thought someone planted something in that box, was convinced that his company had me involved in a reverse interview process (no - I still have no idea what that means), feared that the apartment was bugged, and went ballistic when I told him the reason his bathroom looked marginally different is that the maintenance men tried to fix his sink instead of the kitchen sink because of a miscommunication. He yelled that the maintenance men had planted microphones in the sink, how could I possibly let anyone into the apartment when no one was home, and that nothing was safe anymore. The next morning, he told me to speak very quietly and not to say anything to anyone because my phone was being tapped, his phone was being tapped, and his parent's phones (in India, mind you) were being tapped.
Given the bizarre people that have come into and out of my life, I have a very low tolerance for crazy. I went to work, immediately called a few people I know who might direct me to appropriate resources, and attempted to figure out the best course of action to deal with a person suffering from schizophrenia (yes, contrary to popular belief, I was qualified to make that diagnosis). After much deliberation, I went home that evening, put a bag together with stuff for the next few days, and high-tailed it out of there - particularly when I ran into Uday and the craziness had seemingly gotten worse. On the way to a karaoke bar in the middle of nowhere Illinois, a deer ran into my car. Yes - a deer ran into my car - not the other way around. It was about 7 degrees out that night - AWESOME! My friends came out to my car, looked at the damage, and joked about the deer-bris - including the tiny tuft of fur in the passenger door. I convinced a friend (conveniently the coffee house aficionado from earlier) to let me spend the night, particularly given the events that transpired in the previous 24 hours.
This time, with even more caution, I went back to my apartment, grabbed a few more things, and tried to make a quiet exit. Conveniently - not so much. Uday went around in a bit of a haze, seemingly looking for food. I told him there was soup in the freezer - take it- I could get more if the need arose. He (again) went ballistic, asking me if I knew the importance of good nutrition and soup, how could I not have told him about this, blah, blah, blah. I told him it was lentil soup (despite his objections) and that he probably would not get cancer by cooking it in the tupperware in which it was encased. He wanted proof of such, and I did my best not to throw the nearest object at him. He asked for the phone number of the friend who made me the soup so he could "thank her". I'm not sure if my response was "Not a chance in hell," but that seems like something I would say. He called several more times over the course of the evening (I didn't answer), thanking me for the soup, confirming that it was lentil soup - though it had more lentils than broth than he would have thought the soup would have, there did not appear to be any other (poisonous) ingredients, and, by the way, am I sure that no one else was in the apartment because the cable was kind of screwed up.
I went to work the next day, realized that I was completely useless because I was totally preoccupied with my situation, and asked for the rest of the week off so I could pack, move, and figure out how to get the hell out of there as soon as humanly possible. For the record, Thursday night (of the previous week) was the last night I would spend in my apartment. I went into full-on action that week, pushing my move-in date up a week, figuring out a moving company, finding packing materials, procuring funds from my 401k (don't ask), and devising a plan that would allow me to pack covertly so as not to frighten the animals (Uday - not my cats). Throughout all of this - there were the minor details of not being sure whether I could get out of my lease, calling the police only to find that being crazy is not, in itself, a punishable offense, and - oh wait - I'm broke and don't get paid until Friday (move-in day).
I'd like to say that the next few days (and weeks, and months) went off without a hitch - but, seriously people, this is me. My apartment complex is a little confusing, so I spent a full hour driving around a quarter of a mile radius trying to locate my building (in complete darkness) with my cats crying in the back seat. A kindly drunk man pointed me to my apartment, where I tied a (giant) piece of red fabric around the pole of my patio to make it easier to find again. I'm not so much organized, so when the movers came, it was kind of a disaster. I did manage to get more or less everything to my new apartment and slept beautifully on Friday night, finally free of the crazy that was my (soon to be) former roommate. This was the day before Super Bowl Sunday and Uday was quite worried that the TV would not be hooked up, allowing him to watch the precious game. Saturday morning, I called several of my friends (with great power and intimidating demeanors) to help me into the apartment and to protect me from the giant pile of crazy. One friend suggested I call the police if I was truly that afraid, but I decided to chance it and brave it on my own. Thankfully, he was not there the moment that I came in, so I was able to steal to my room pretty quickly to try and gather the last of my things.
Unfortunately, he came home at some point in the afternoon, but only after going to the leasing office to see his options. In the grand conspiracy theory of the week, the management was now in on the plot and would prey on his naiveté to cheat him out of the money that was rightfully his. No argument to the contrary would alter his opinion (and yes, I was stupid enough to try), so there were several 2 and 4 hour conversations, often consisting of my asking him what it would take for me never to have to see him again (perhaps not the best negotiating technique). Much frustration ensued, and I called on a friend to bring boxes and help me pack faster. We went pretty late into the evening until she had to start heading home, so we began to load my car. Let me also state, the passenger door did not open, thereby making the packing process all the more challenging. Uday kept trying to help, despite my objections. I finally told him that I would call the police if he didn't leave me alone. Surprise, surprise, he took offense and kept trying to help. I kept up my end of the bargain and called the police. A police car came to the scene in about ten minutes. Followed by another police car. Followed by an ambulance. Followed by a fire truck. Ummmm, crap . . .
I explained that it's probably not a great idea to throw a S.W.A.T team on a paranoid, schizophrenic foreigner, but they assured me that it was procedure, and he would only see them if he put up a fight and it was deemed necessary. I let the two police officers into my building, showed them my apartment, and waited in the hallway (on the opposite side of the door). They knocked on the door and explained that I was worried about him and wanted to make sure he was ok. He exclaimed that he was worried about me and invited them in. He asked them if they wanted to sit down and continuously offered them water. He explained that the main issue was that I said I would setup the TV so he could watch the game tomorrow, and couldn't they make me follow through on that promise. I should mention, Uday was incredibly loud (one of the things that made me particularly crazy when he had phone conversations in rapid Indian with his parents at 3 in the morning), so I heard the whole thing through two doors and a hallway. One of the officers eventually came out, assured me that they had spoken to Uday and he would allow me to get the rest of my things without getting in my way, and let me into my apartment. Uday (being off his rocker) still offered to help me; the cops kindly told him that I was ok and didn't need his help. He then had a hurried conversation with one of the officers, asking what he should do about the flier he'd received from the (immigration office?), and why would any one want him to stay in this God-forsaken country. The officer told Uday he could simply ignore the mailing, or even throw it away, should he choose to do so. Uday was concerned that this was against the law, and the officer assured him that it was not official government communication, and there would be no repercussions for tossing it. Somehow, I managed to get the rest of my things together as quickly as I could, forfeiting some frozen food and other items that wouldn't fit into my car. Late that evening, I made it home and cried, "Free at last! Thank God almighty, I am free at last!" Little did I know . . .
The short (ha!) version of the next few months is that Uday went even crazier, was convinced that it was the job of the apartment complex to serve as the mediator for roommate conflicts, and took a full 45 days to go to the leasing office (several times a day) and sign a new lease. Incidentally, at some point shortly thereafter, Uday lost his job (shocking, I know) and was deported - wait, I'm sorry, chose to go back to India where he would attempt to find a second arranged marriage (the first one called off before he came back to the states on the count of him being completely nuts and impossible to deal with). Prior to signing the new lease, there were a dozen phone calls, generally facilitated by the guy at the leasing office telling me he could feel my pain and he had to deal with Uday as well), and I finally told Uday that he could sue me for the rent due for the remainder of the lease.
Moral of the story - if your initial instinct is 'hey, it's kind of weird that this guy is more interested in CBS' Monday night line-up than seeing the apartment for the first time' - go with it. A lease is a binding document. Unless your co-habitor is violent towards you (in which case, you still need to remain in the residence and kick him out), there's no getting out of the lease. Being crazy is not a reason to be thrown in jail (with and in itself). Craigslist - good for furniture and other inanimate objects, bad for finding people to share a space with for long periods of time.
I end this story on the happy note that I'm pretty sure Uday's still psychotic, I just signed a lease giving me another year in my beautiful one-bedroom haven, and no restraining order was necessary to end my relationship with that great big pile of crazy.
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