My roommate spends most evenings opening and closing cupboard doors. One evening, I went out to the kitchen to see what meal could cause such a ruckus, and I found him pulling three bean burritos from the microwave.
Just beans and tortillas.
But I counted at least 10 to 12 cupboard blasts. This implies that (a) my roommate had one helluva time finding a can of beans; (b) he used anywhere from 10 to 12 cans of beans in 10 to 12 different locations; or (c) he simply enjoyed opening and shutting cupboards between the hours of 5 and 7 pm.
My other roommate is my immediate neighbor, and he opens and closes his bedroom door more than anybody ever. His day typically starts with an aggressive opening of bedroom door, followed by a brisk shut, and, in perfect rhythm, a slightly less aggressive opening and closing of bathroom door. He then clears his throat several thousand times, hocks a few loogies in the sink, takes an unnecessarily loud shit, then washes his hands for approximately 22 minutes.
The bathroom door opens and shuts. Then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Then it opens and shuts again three seconds later, after he grabs a smoke and claps his slippers off the tile, all the way throughout the house, like Eeyore playing hop scotch, until he reaches a smoking spot just outside my window, where he’ll clear his throat several thousand more times. Maybe even grunt.
The patio door squeaks open and slams shut, and his slippers clack off the tile again, all the way back to his room, where he opens and closes and opens and closes his door again. He then opens and closes the bathroom door.
Because now it’s shower time.
After shower time, both the bathroom and bedroom doors will open and close two more times, as he’ll have to brush his teeth and clear his throat before finally opening and closing the front door, on his way to work.
Earlier in the morning, Roommate One has a routine that involves less opening and closing of doors. He doesn’t eat breakfast before work, so cupboard slamming is virtually zero. But he does take 1 hour and 15 minutes in the bathroom to get ready.
One morning, I went out to the kitchen to get a glass of water just as he was heading out the door. I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to catch a glimpse of what such a morning preparation could do for somebody. Hashtag inspired. But he looked the same as he did on a weekend morning. Which wasn’t bad, as he’s a naturally handsome man indeed. However, much like I couldn’t comprehend the need for 10 to 12 cupboard slams in order to microwave three bean burritos, I also couldn’t wrap my head around 1 hour and 15 minutes of bathroom time resulting in no noticeable change in appearance.
I did have a theory.
If you were lucky enough to wake up between Roommate One and Roommate Two’s Three Act Morning Routines and slip out an urgent piss, you would find a tsunami had been triggered from Roommate One’s contact lens container. The flooding affected all parts of the counter and surrounding areas and wouldn’t dry up until sometime between 1 and 2 pm, or whenever I didn’t need to set my phone down on the counter to wipe my ass.
My theory was—and this was only based on the one time I saw him loading a dishwasher—that he was just fucking winging it when he put his contact lenses in, resulting in gallons of gushing water and panicky hands, only to safely plop his lenses in at the last minute.
When the house finally clears at around 930 am, I order food through Grubhub and Uber Eats and Postmates for all three meals, as to not risk running into the same driver for brekky, lunch, and din-din.
One time, I had the same driver deliver me wings and breadsticks for lunch, then Carl’s Jr. two hours later for dinner. The driver almost admired me. But he mostly looked like he was disappointed in how I turned out as a person. And that was fair.