We all have horror stories of our old college roommates. I’d like to share my own–but don’t worry, it has a happy ending. When I was 18, my parents packed up the SUV and drove me four hours upstate for my first year of college. That’s when I first met Kelly (which isn’t her real name, FYI). The swim coach had set us up as roommates. It seemed like a great match at first–we had lots in common (we both loved swimming, sushi, ice cream, and boys) and we stayed up until one in the morning talking, watching Disney mashups to romantic pop songs, and having random dance-offs. But after weeks of eating every meal together, living together, working out together, and travelling together for swim meets, tensions began to rise. Okay, okay. We couldn’t stand each other.
I refused an offer to switch roommates after the fall semester, thinking the cat fights would subside. I was wrong. Neither of us were mature enough at that point to actually try to get to the bottom of it and solve the underlying problem (which, obviously was the fact that we spent too much time together). We somehow got through the year without killing each other. Sophomore year Kelly got a room to herself, and I roomed with an incoming freshman. Me and Kelly didn’t hang out much at first, but we couldn’t avoid each other forever. Swim season was in full swing, plus we were both enrolled in Jazz 202. So we began to hang out again. A few sushi-and-ice cream dates later, we were best friends again (minus the drama).
A lot of my friends in college graduated before me or transferred to other schools during those four years, but Kelly was there every step of the way. From move-in day freshman year to the late nights in the library studying for our last set of finals, she is part of almost all my college memories. So, just because you can’t be roommates with someone, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends. And possibly vice versa… I’d love to hear your roommate stories!