My Roommate, The Published Writer, Is Very Smart.
Yesterday, I got home from work and boy, was I in a good mood. I had finally gotten this site up, I was on my way to see a friend at a reading series, and Christmas is just around the corner! I tell you this because my pleasant demeanor was probably the only thing that prevented me from going absolutely crazy with rage yesterday.
You see, I came home, turned on the television and went to the kitchen to get something to eat. When I opened the refrigerator I happened to notice that one of the burners on the stove was on at about medium heat.
“Hmm,” I thought. “Did I start cooking something in the 30 seconds that I’ve been home? Nope, pretty sure I haven’t.”
Then it dawned on me that it must have been someone else. Now, I’ve never claimed to be a world class investigator, but I have seen some Poirot movies, so I figured I would use my excellent reasoning skills to discover who left the gas burner on.
“A burglar, perhaps?” Probably not, I reasoned, as nothing from the apartment was missing and most burglars don’t leave obvious calling cards like this. On the other hand…
“We’re the wet bandits!”
That left only one other suspect: my roommate. From the clues left in the sink, I was able to recreate the crime scene. But first, a little backstory.
Because my roommate was an only child, he has a number of deficiencies when it comes to taking care of himself. I can’t count the number of times he’s lost his keys, he often wears mesh shorts instead of underwear because he can’t do laundry, and, most importantly to the present case, he’s only capable of cooking 2 things: hamburgers and spaghetti.
Now, back to the case.
The dried-spaghetti enrcusted pot atop the stove was a dead giveaway. Same thing with the small sauce pan in the sink. And the leftover spaghetti in the fridge.
Evidence!
Apparently my roommate made himself spaghetti, sat down and ate it not five feet from the stove, then left for work. All of this while the gas burner burned away because he never turned it off. Here’s the best part: He left for work around noon and I didn’t get home until 6:30! That’s 6 and a half hours of flames going unchecked!
Had I been in a worse mood, I would have taken a dump in his pillowcase to teach him a lesson in responsibility and apartment safety measures. Actually, I still might.
The firestarter, by the way, is the same person who has been published in a book that’s available on Amazon. So buy his book. But don’t let him housesit for you.
