Your roommate’s roster is airtight. You only know them as ’emo poetry boy,’ ‘manic pixie dream hoe,’ ‘that one girl who knitted them a sweater,’ Tonight, they finally gave one a name: “Eric.” For someone with such a repertoire, your roommate avoids personal details, like age, name, nationality, social security, and all the necessary items to stalk a person online. Bummer, but now you have your first lead. Who is Eric?
Welcome to Thursday night. Your roommate sneaks into the common room of your suite holding something– someone. They try to squeeze behind you and into their room, and then it happens. Tuna chunks and Mountain dew are everywhere. Your friend introduces the puking shape of a man as “Eric from Chemistry.” Oh, no. Not this. Never this. What can you see that they can’t? It’s time for an intervention.
Before, you couldn’t prove that “Eric” existed. He was a two-hour period every Friday when your roommate would scoot you out of the room, like a cat with a broom. “Eric” could be their alone time, their therapist, a really nice nap, or some other form of self-care, but now you know that he’s 5’7″ and likes Lego Batman. Everyone likes Lego Batman, “Eric,” you’re not fooling anyone.
Now you have to look your roommate in the eye and know that they’re smoke-bombing your side of the room with perfume for someone whose favorite color is blue. Obviously, something needs to change, so here’s how to stage the perfect intervention.
First, gather evidence of negative patterns: an abundance of stained high-school track hoodies folded neatly in their closet, hearts doodled around their notes, being recommended a podcast about sex positions. Seriously, what is the “Portland Corkscrew?” Assemble these items in a central place in the room, and grab a couple of chairs for your mutual friends.
Second, bring allies to your side. Anyone who is pessimistic and blunt enough to see the truth. We suggest the janitor who cleans the bathroom after “Eric” comes over (spoiler alert: he doesn’t wear shoes in the shower. He calls them “feet prisons”). Schedule a meeting with their advisor and lay out your complaints. Recruit the people who stand behind Eric and your roommate in the Ratty line. One time he dropped his couscous all over a group of first-years while trying to hold your roommate’s hand.
Thirdly, try a bait-and-switch method to lure your roommate into the designated location (your side of the room, the one that smells like a Bath and Body Works threw up). Do NOT invite “Eric.” You remember what he did last time he came over. Seriously, is that what the “Portland Corkscrew” sounds like? If you want to kill two birds with one stone, schedule the intervention on a Thursday night (while Eric’s probably throwing up on someone else’s couch).
Finally, assemble your team, evidence, and courage and present your roommate with the facts. “Eric” is the whole grain toast of people, and they deserve brioche– or at least a type of bread that appreciates good cinema, vegetables, personal hygiene, and most of all, them. Make sure that they can’t leave until they hear everything and make the right (read: only) decision. Afterward, comfort them with Ben and Jerry’s and a podcast on feminist theory. Good luck with your intervention. If all goes to plan, “Eric” can disappear into the sea of passé men your Chemistry professor likes– as it was before.
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