By the end of my freshman year in college, I had acquired about as many friends as I expected to by that point: zero. So, when it came time to find a roommate, I had to rely on the trusty system of random assignment. This is where I would fill out that I was a non-smoker, went to bed early, and tended toward more liberal beliefs — and the university would assign me a gun-toting crackhead with night terrors who believed that the Jews were out to get him, and didn’t go a day without blasting his air horn — because apparently my college assigned roommates like MTV assigned the cast of The Real World.
Getting that letter with the roommate decision was exciting, though — because I got to watch my mother’s racism in action.
My mom, Susan: “Guillermo and Juan? Great, you’re living with Mexicans. They’ll probably be drinkiiiing and partyiiiing and gardeniiiing. They’ll put their beds up on hydrolics. And you know because they’re Mexican, you’ll have even more roommates.”
Josh: “Their girlfriends?”
Susan: “Their children!!!”
And then they both turned out to be Asian — because I went to UCLA. I don’t know what the “U,” “C,” and “L” stand for, but I’d be really surprised if the “A” isn’t Asian.
Guillermo, as it turned out, was wheelchair-bound, which made me really excited. Not because I was one person closer to getting that stereotypical picture where I high-five a black girl and listen to a smiling disabled person on a college lawn, but because I assumed this meant that our dorm room would be bigger.
Not so.
I walked in like –
Josh: “Dude, we only have a small, stand-up shower. Shouldn’t we complain?”
Guillermo: “What’s the point? I don’t play football.”
Josh: “So what are you going to do?”
Guillermo: “Swallow my emotions and say, ‘That’s okay.’”
Josh: “Oh.” {Pause.} “So do you wanna take the top bunk or the –” {realizing} “– ahhh. Sorry.”
Guillermo: {deep breath, then} “That’s okay.”
Guillermo hardly spoke and Juan hardly spoke English. Our introductory conversation went something like this:
Josh: “Hey. I’m your new roommate.”
Juan: “I’m from Taiwan.”
Josh: “Your name’s Juan, right?”
Juan: “I taking three classes.”
Josh: “Oh. Cool. What classes are they?”
Juan: “I’m from Taiwan.”
Josh: “Yeah, we’ve been over that.”
Juan: {something like this even though what I’m making up is probably racist} “My name is Quin-Qua-Shon-Shing-Ja-Bou…” {off Josh’s look of confusion} “…but you can call me Juan.”
He and I could never have a logical exchange. It was always like –
Josh: “Juan, is this your towel hanging here?”
Juan: {laughing} “Okay.”
…or…
Josh: “Juan, do you know if they have a vending machine on this floor?”
Juan: “No, thank you. I already have wife.”
…and my favorite:
Josh: “Juan, it is all right if I turn off the lights? I’m gonna go to sleep.”
Juan: {struggling, slowly} “Take off. Take it all off?”
Josh: “Aaaaallll right. G’night, Juan.”
Juan: “I’m from Taiwan.”
* * *
The next year, I did random assignment again; but by this time, facebook existed. Now I could stalk my roommates in advance. I sat down at my computer like –
Josh: {typing} “Alberto Ramirez.” {clicking all around} “Okay, there he is. Shaved head, angry-looking tattoos, …a knife bigger than my face.” {Moving the mouse} “So far so good. Let’s go to his favorite quotes section:
‘THUG 4 LIFE, N7GGA$!!’
{Scrolling down} “…and there he is, shirtless, with a huge pile of weed, cocaine and alcohol. C’mon, Alberto, you shouldn’t have that up there. Don’t you know your abs make me feel badly about my body?”
On the first day rooming with him, I woke up to find that he was sleeping with two different women, which, you know, blew my mind. I could not understand how anyone could get two women to agree to that simultaneously — unless they both had that split-brain condition and Alberto managed to keep them on opposite sides of the room the whole night. But even then, unless they were both silent…
Anyway. He apologized. He slid into his perpetual Boys II Men music video R&B pose and said –
Alberto: “Yo, sorry about the womens, Dick.”
He called me “Dick.” I think it was a term of endearment.
But, despite the apology, the guests just got worse.
Soon I woke up to find myself tripping over Alberto’s friends and family, all sleeping on the dorm room floor. And those rooms were already small. Getting to the bathroom in the morning was like maneuvering over an unexpected land mine of Mexicans.
Again –
Alberto: “My bad, Dick.”
Stepping on people was one thing. Stepping on glass was another. Alberto was a huge fan of banana cognacs — his facebook page verified this for me — and after he finished his bottles, he would throw — yes, THROW — his glass bottles into our trashcan. And sometimes he would miss.
I remember waking up one day, mumbling –
Josh: “Well, at least there aren’t any people on the –” {steps on glass} “– AHHH! GOD DAMNIT!!!”
I’ve never seen that much blood come out of a person before (except maybe in Kill Bill: Volume 1).
Alberto’s response?
Alberto: “Sorry ‘bout the glass, Dick.”
My mom got some sort of racist thrill from the whole thing, so I tried to tell her as little as I could. Nevertheless, I said –
Josh: “It’s like that movie where the guy’s trapped in the room with the other guy and he wants the other guy to get out or he thinks he’ll have to kill him.”
Mom: “The Odd Couple?”
Josh: “Saw III.”
Still, I could never get too mad at anyone as emotional as Alberto was. On Friday nights, he’d come back from the gym, shave his head to 2Pac records, and say –
Alberto: “Yeah boi. We gon’ get fucked up, motherfucka. We gon’ get fucked up and maybe shoot some bitches, ya heard?” {then, bursting into tears} “Because I am so lonely and I have a hole in my heart that needs filling. And if it can’t be filled by meaningful relationships, it’ll have to be with senseless violence.”
It may not have been that explicit, but that’s essentially what I remember.
Okay. I’ll admit it: I actually liked Alberto. I’m not convinced Alberto liked me, though. I think he thought I was a “fag.” I only think this because he called me the term a half dozen times. Other times, he didn’t have to.
Josh: “Alberto, what do you want to do when you grow up?”
Alberto: “I just wanna represent, Dick.”
Josh: “Just for clarification, are you talking to me or your penis?”
Alberto: “What do you want to do when you grow up?”
Josh: “I want to write screenplays that change the world. I want to be influential, Alberto. A real visionary who creates beautiful, staggering works of art.”
Alberto: {“Fag”} “Hm.”
* * *
Eventually, Alberto started dating. I knew this because he had all of his conversations on speakerphone. With every call, I tried to bring back my Spanish lessons in high school. I was like –
Josh: {flipping through a book} “What does ‘culo bueno’ mean again? …and what is this verb he keeps using? ‘Chingar?’”
After about a week of seeing this new girl, Alberto was notified that a gang was after him: Sueño 13. My first response was –
Josh: “That’s ridiculous. Doesn’t ‘sueño’ mean ‘dream?’ That’s a terrible name for a gang.”
The gang notified him via facebook, by the way. I imagined it like –
Facebook: “You have a friend request.”
Alberto: {clicking on the screen} “Ohh tight! Who is it?”
Gang member’s message: “We’re gonna murder your ass!!!”
Alberto: “Ah shit, Dick.”
That was not, however, the real message. The real threat was — and I quote –
Gang member’s profile: “That bitch is my girl. If you don’t stop seeing her, I will shoot off your roommate’s kneecaps.”
Josh: “WHAT!?!”
Alberto: “I know. It sucks, Dick.”
Josh: “You’re damn right it sucks dick. Stop seeing that bitch. She’s his girl.”
Alberto: “I can’t, dawg.”
Josh: “Why the hell not? Are you in love with her?”
Alberto: “Nah…bitch owes me, like, dollar sixty-nine.”
Josh: “Alberto, I will pay you two dollars and you can keep the change.”
Alberto: “Whoa. Did you just offer me a rim job?”
Josh: “What?”
The girl called a few minutes later. On speakerphone –
Girl: {maybe crying} “Alberto. I fucked up. I fucked up, baby.”
Alberto: “You’re pregnant?”
Girl: “I don’t want to talk about it.”
All the while, Alberto’s back in his R&B stance –
Alberto: {dancing over the phone} “Girl, I gots to know.” {singing} “Is you pregnant?”
Girl: “I screwed up, okay? I screwed up.”
Alberto: {singing} “Girl, you can tell me. I’ll be here to ho-oh-oh-old you.”
Josh: “Bitch, tell him ‘yes’ so I can keep my God damn knees!!!”
Alberto: “Dick, please…” {to the phone} “Yes or no, girl? Is you pregnant? Yes or no?”
{Long pause.}
Girl: “No?”
Alberto: {to Josh; satisfied} “See?”
Josh: {head in hands} “Agh.”
So they continued dating.
For weeks, I was paranoid. I avoided all human interaction and tried to switch housing immediately. The UCLA employee asked me –
UCLA employee: “Do you play football?”
Josh: “No.”
UCLA employee: “Then we have nothing for you.”
Josh: “That’s…” {deep breath} “…okay.”
I tried to sleep over at anyone else’s apartment. The only guy who accepted me was the dude who hadn’t showered in two weeks from his video game marathon.
He played a lot of WoW, which I thought stood for, “All of my friends are virtual.” Something like that. I’m not good with acronyms.
I didn’t know what World of Warcraft was — and one night, he left the room with the game still playing. Lying on the floor in my sleeping bag, I woke up to the sound of voices –
Voice 1: “We’re gonna kill him. Move in and we’ll kill him now.”
Voice 2: “We have to do it together. Remember to aim for his legs.”
Either I was still dreaming, I was having psychotic episodes, or –
Josh: {standing up, gasps} “Sueno 13!!!”
But, of course, it was the videogame. I discovered this fact after thrashing about, breaking two lamps and, ironically, my left leg.
Sueño 13 never showed up. You could say they really…sleepwalked through the whole ordeal.
Sorry.
And after all of this, Alberto actually asked if I’d live with him the following year.
I was like –
Josh: “Look, its nothing personal. It just wouldn’t work…with your personality.”
* * *
I saw Alberto a year later.
Josh: “Alberto, I gotta know: was she pregnant?”
Alberto: “Aw nah, Dick. She’s classy. She just made up that baby shit to get back at her ex-boyfriend for treating her bad.”
Josh: “Classy.”
Before he left, he gave me a man hug and patted me on the back.
Alberto: “Hey, sorry for putting your life in danger, Dick.”
I forced a smile.
Josh: “That’s okay.”
