I got a story for yall but it involves the most dramatic shit of my life so move along if that ain’t ya deal
So I’m currently working out of town, meaning I’m renting a room from a rather interesting senior, which makes for some really interesting interactions. It’s a very small town, so there’s that too.
The evil side of my family also lives there, and may have discovered I’m living in town, but that’s another story for another time.
So, the senior I’m living with is a very chatty man. When I say chatty I mean I have to close doors or just leave the room to get him to understand that the conversation is over I just came out for a glass of water and now it’s two hours later.
This senior has a very set way that everything in his home needs to be done. He has at least 6 kitchen towels in the kitchen, but the one beside the sink is NOT the one used to dry dishes, as I was instructed, that would be the one by the stove. The towel by the sink is for decoration only.
He rearranges the fridge daily. I have to search for my food every day in order to make a sandwich.
I have to play Tetris every time I want to use the stove because he has specific covers for each stove element and you can’t just put one on the side- it has to go in a very specific order and you have to stack them sometimes AND when done you have to make sure you rearrange again so that one of his three kettles can go on top of the hot element.
He counts the number of plates in the cupboard and knows when I have one in my room. Some people just have a lot of time on their hands. That’s okay.
ANYWAYS my senior roomie/housemate likes listening to lots of obscure music. He’s like the Ultimate Music Hipster. The entire living room is dedicated to all of his albums and music posters.
Note: he finds lyrics to be distracting ad silly and real music doesn’t have lyrics. He also prefers music that comes from places in Africa that I can’t pronounce and often tells me ‘you’ve probably never heard of it’
So I’m used to hearing random noises all the time because he blasts his music (I can totally dig orchestra pieces but sometimes I need me some words to sing along to) and while sitting in (musical) serenity listening to his music in His Chair in the living room, sometimes he will read. Mostly he just feels the music.
Also this man doesn’t believe in television. That’s ok. He also doesn’t believe in paying for Internet when we can walk to the library and use that for free.
The library is only open a few hours during the day, aka when I’m working. And when I can get in the man with the bearded dragon gives me weird looks and people ask if I’m there for the ‘Intro to email’ class.
Anyways, this means I have started to tune out music because it’s a constant noise on all the time.
Cue me taking a delightful post-work poop. I like to really relax and get in the zone. I usually don’t poop to music but it’s not mandatory. I like that it’ll cover up embarrassing noises.
I’ve got my phone on me because I plan on taking a little while. I’ve just finished a 12 hour day of work, I can afford to indulge myself a little bit.
I’m playing some panda pop, and getting really into it, when my brain clues into something. The music has gotten very quiet. I pause my activities because I worry that my housemate may stat wandering the home and realize I’ve been on the loo for longer than is socially acceptable and inquire if I’m okay. Then I hear some faint noises, realize the music is just quieter, and go back to my business.
Now I’m really in the zone, making sure I don’t let out any surprises in terms of noise, and all is going well.
I don’t know how familiar yall are to the musical piece: Hall of the Mountain King? You’ve probably heard it, but just don’t know what it’s called. It’s catchy, a little haunting, and INTENSE AS FUCK. I love it.
What I don’t love is that surround sound suddenly blasting the clusterfuck ending to Hall of the Mountain King when I am not expecting it, causing me to empty my bowels, scream, and drop my phone in one fell swoop. I have never felt such terror in my entire life. One moment all is well and in in my zone of serenity the next it’s like I’m experiencing all of the heart attacks and a stampede of raging beasts.
I do not recommend it.
I waited for my adrenaline rush to cease, finished my business (pretty damn easy since I literally was so startled I would have shit myself had I not already been doing so in the appropriate place) and crawled in a daze back to my room where I clung to my bed and prayed to never be startled again for fear I might die.
I’m now anxious every time I use the bathroom in that house.