I live with two men and two other women in a charming, spacious, mouse-infested rowhouse in Adams Morgan.
It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s actually kind of poetic.
My roommates are all very unique. Mark just finished an M.A. program in Russian Studies. He can often be found sleeping on our living room couch in his boxers at 10 pm on a Friday night, Russian techno blaring out of the TV. Mark has been here the longest, so he usually alerts the landlord when a pack of mice declares war on our perishable food items.
Chris is really into fitness. We have several massive vats of protein powder in our spice cabinet that he regularly whips up into shakes after a hard workout. Unfortunately, the washing machine and drier are in Chris’ bathroom on the third floor, so sometimes when I’m heaving a load of laundry back down to my room, a pair of my underwear will grace his carpet. He usually just points at them awkwardly from a distance until I come back up to retrieve them.
Jodi and I are not the manliest of women, but we’re also not the girliest. Mark chose us from Craig’s List in hopes that we would regularly bake banana bread and keep the kitchen spotless. Instead, we throw huge parties and ask him to pitch in for the keg. Jodi and I only cook in other people’s kitchens because each night our stove gets a fresh new coating of mouse poop, and we just have better things to do with our time than to constantly wipe up fecal pellets.
Having just finished two years in the Peace Corps, Liz is used to mice, although we had to introduce her to the dog-sized rats in our back alley. Sometimes a car will blaze through and flatten one, so we have to step around the carcass to get to the coffee shop. The good news is, once a rat dies, the bugs decompose it so fast that all that’s left is the fur. Fur doesn’t smell, and it can’t climb into the hood of your car and chew through your transmission wiring like a live rat can.
Overall, it’s nice to come home to a bunch of eclectic friends after a long day of not having a job. City life is more than it’s cracked up to be.