Editorial: Be Nice to Your House Alumni, Frosh


Last week, I had to make my bed for the first time in three and a half years because my landlord wanted to take photos of my room to put on Kijiji for a room rental ad.

I got up extra early to clean my room. I picked up the five jackets on my bedroom floor and shoved them in my closet, so my landlord could have a place to stand. I threw a few T-shirts over the top of my pile of dirty laundry, so my neon coloured boxers and batman bra on top of the pile would not make it in the picture. I took my two floggers, two handcuffs, blindfold, and ball gag off of my wall display and into an empty shoe box. All this effort was because I still have some respect for my landlord as a person.

In the afternoon, a group of frosh arrived on our door steps, puppy-eyed and nervous as they stepped inside their first real people house (okay, student house…but my house is definitely no residence building). I put on my smile and my pantaloons and greeted them into my kitchen. I politely answered the questions from these innocent frosh.

“How’s the neighbourhood?” It’s good; the people living on the street have given me less trouble than the cats. There’s a cat owned by the house at the end of the street that follows you into your house. One time it went in my room and puked all over. But you shouldn’t worry too much; the cat is old and fat and will die in no time.

“Are the appliances new?” Yes, the fridge was brand new when I moved in, and now it is still semi-new after I have had cleaned out moulded vegetables dripping inside my fridge for the fifteenth time. The washer and dryer were also brand new three years ago, and they still work after I have cleaned by Highland Games clothes three years in a row, and after I’ve cleaned my shoes in them after I stepped on the guts of a dead squirrel.

“How is the landlord?” She’s nice; I have her on Facebook. She’s pretty attentive and would sometimes come over and make your bed for you. Her son is the one who would come fix the house when necessary, and he’s pretty attractive.

“Are the walls soundproof?” Well, let me tell ya. One night, my housemate who lived in the farthest room yelled across the house, and I heard clearly, “Is there an earthquake?!” It was actually just me having sex in my bed.

“How much are the utilities bill?” Well that depends. In the summer they are usually $100 for the whole house. In the winter, it’s about $800. One year I left for Reading Week and left my baseboard heater on in my room, and that month the utilities bill was $1000. No big deal; you go to Queen’s, so you must be able to afford it.

With all my heart, I think you and your friends are a nice group of frosh, and you should live in this house. When you move in, if you find out my secret stashes of weed scattered under my floor tiles, please don’t tell the landlord.