A bad houseguest? Considering I practically live in a hotel (there’s always someone crashing at our house), I have a million stories. The most recent bad one? (shudder)
On a weekday evening about a month ago, my roommate (Kristofer, aka Krissy) and I were quietly playing dominoes and drinking beer. The phone rings and it’s Krissy’s parents (they live in the 'burbs). They tell Krissy, “There’s a guy from Latvia who has been living at JFK airport for the last four days. He doesn’t know anyone and doesn’t have any money. Go pick him up and we’ll find out a place where he can stay.”
So I’m picturing this 18 year old moron who can’t read a map but decided to “backpack through America” or something, right? WRONG.
We arrive at the airport. The guy turns out to be this 50 year old SUPER STINKY gross man with 8 pieces of incredibly heavy luggage and 16 fishing poles.
This guy smelled soooooooo bad that I had to unroll all of the windows to breathe. He also turned out to be a real asshole.
First he complained about my driving. Sorry, pal, cars and roads in America are fast. Next, he asked what Kris and I did. He found out Kris was a student (ignored him), and when he found out I had a job, honed in on me.
He asked me to buy him a pack of cigarettes. Then he (Stinky) asked me for money. I said, “You came to America without any money?”
He replied, “Well, I’m going to get a job.”
I asked, “You have a Green Card?”
“No.”
“How long is your Visa good for?”
“Six months.”
“How long are you planning to stay?” (Eyeing his baggage)
He said, “Ten years.”
I was laughing right at him.
“Oh, and what kind of work do you do?”
“I’m an architect.”
“You need to have a license for that here.”
He refused to listen (probably because I’m a woman) and told me that he’s very famous and talented. Yeah, right, buddy, Soviet architecture is really popular over here. He also got very angry when I told him that he might have trouble getting a job here.
Oh, did I mention he bought a ONE WAY plane ticket? I want to know how he got past Customs.
Anyway, so we get home. I buy him a pack of cigarettes while Krissy calls his parents. When I get back, Krissy is telling him, “You can stay here tonight and I’ll give you keys tomorrow while Mel’s at work and I’m at school.” I look at Kris and I’m giving him an extremely evil eye and motioning for him to go to his room.
I seethe, “That man is NOT staying here. We are kids and cannot take care of him. Give him a towel and some deoderant, NOW. He better be out of here by the time I get back from work, etc”. I was FURIOUS, especially because I am well educated in the reputations and thoughts of Latvians from Latvia. Let’s put it this way: Dollar bills and Greencards are mighty pretty to them. Theft is not a moral sin when the property belongs to a spoiled American.
When we went into the living room again, the dude was UNPACKING his stuff. I quickly informed him that he would be here for ONE night and not to bother.
I spent the rest of the night in my room booby trapping my favorite things.
When I woke up the next morning, the whole apartment smelled like a bar (he slept in the living room). He had chain smoked the ENTIRE pack and didn’t even crack open a window. When I openend the door to my room, the haze from the smoke was as thick as fog. It was disgusting. I went into the bathroom and took a shower.
After I toweled off, I put on my robe and opened the bathroom door. There he was, standing right there. He was smoking (surprise) and had his button-down shirt completely unbuttoned and was leaning on his outstretched arm over the door. The stench was overpowering. “Make me some coffee, will you?” he asked.
I said, “GOD. I just got out of the shower, give me a minute to get dressed, CHRIST.” And then I slammed the door of my room.
After I got dressed (it took me a very long time) I went to the kitchen. All four burners were raging. He didn’t even know how to work a stove!! I was like, “Are you trying to set this house on fire?” And then I showed him how to make his own damn coffee. This guy was getting dumber by the minute. Then, while I’m showing him modern conveniences, he starts putting his hands on my shoulders, etc. That is IT.
I stormed into Krissy’s room and said, “by the time I get back, he better be GONE.”
Well, of course, when I get back from work, he’s still there. At this point I’m in tears from frustration (I want my living room back) and Krissy knows I am about to have a nervous breakdown. He tells me to leave for awhile and he will somehow get this turkey out.
This is how he did it:
There is a Latvian Veterans home in The Bronx. Krissy’s parents had called them already but were told that there was no room, all filled up. But Krissy took Stinky there anyway.
I’m sure Stinky didn’t like the neighborhood (very poor, crack house right next door). Kris piled all of the luggage on the porch and rang the bell. Kris explained the situation to the Veteran’s house guy and was told that there was no room for Stink.
Stinky turned to Kris and said, “Ok, let’s go back to Brooklyn!” and Kris said, “No way, Jose” and ran back to his car, fired up the engine and zoomed off.
BRAVO!!
We burned the towel Stinky had used because it smelled so bad.
Later, we found out that Stink had been offered living space and a job with a family. He turned them down because it was “beneath him” to work as a janitor and he didn’t want to live in New Jersey. But he did ask them to buy him a car.
Formerly unknown as “Melanie”
