Patrick Walsh: June 2004

There's a lot of new readers lately, and I haven't done one of these in a while, so let me explain. Basically, these entries are a collection of stories from my time in New York City. To catch up on the "Story of My Life" entries, use this link, also available on the right hand side of the page.

When last we checked in, I was living in Jersey City, had just quit my bulletin board-censoring job at Kaplan Test Prep, and had been on The Worst Date of All Time. Most excitingly, I had been accepted into the NBC Page Program.

Before I begin this chapter of my life, the Page year, let me just take a moment to put some minds at ease. I'm still very close friends with many ex-Pages. Several read and comment on this site. Those I'm not still close with, I'll see down the line I'm sure. Rest assured, I'm not interested in sullying the good names you folks have created for yourselves. I have seen some of you so drunk you couldn't stand. I have made out with some of you, and even seen some of you naked. Some of you did some pretty embarrassing things over the course of that year -- even more embarrassing than hooking up with me. These incidents will not be written about here. I'm just going to take you through what happened to me personally, mainly to avoid any paternity suits. Here goes.

I started the Page Program a fresh-faced, eager-to-please boy with a frequently ridiculed southern twang. I left the Page Program looking a good ten years older, with bags under my eyes and Bud Light on my breath. To quote Charles Dickens (or was it Richard Simmons?), my Page year was the best of times, and it was the worst of times. I made some of the best friends and had some of the greatest nights I've ever had and will ever have. I got to live out my lifelong dream of working at a major television studio, on some of my favorite programs. But, outside of work...my God, it was a rough twelve months.

It was a year of humiliation, degredation, deprevation, desperation, dislocation, separation, condemnation, revelation, temptation, isolation, desolation...I could go on.

You might all remember that I had been sleeping with my roommate, and that it had turned extremely sour. Here's where we left off, with me giving her half the money to buy a refrigerator for the apartment, despite the fact that we were barely speaking. Mistake.

Being around other people, warm people with "human emotions," helped bring into focus how far I had fallen from my moral ideal since moving to New York. The girl, the tension, Jersey City -- it had hardened me, and not in the good way. When I told my new friends about me and my Jersey Girl and our loveless sex and icy silences, they would look me coldly in the eye and say "This isn't you, Pat. Get out of there."

Things had reached whole new levels of tense around the apartment. Thinking I was out one morning, my roommate sat at the kitchen table and talked to her father on the phone about what an asshole I was for over an hour. She really tore me apart, said some terrible things, and I heard every word. The second she hung up, I opened my bedroom door and strolled into the kitchen.

"How's the old man?" I asked. "What'd you guys talk about? Anything good?"

Red-faced, she ran into her room. It was bad. Even our note-writing had stopped. We did not acknowledge each other's existence. My new friends were right. I had to get out of there.

A female friend of mine from Missouri had recently moved to New York and started dating a gentleman my age. The three of us went out to dinner one night, and I hit it off with the gentleman immediately. He was looking for a new apartment. I was looking for a new apartment. Our eyes met. The music swelled.

The two of us eventually found a place in Brooklyn, and I'll go into that next time. For right now, I'd like to bring this relationship saga to a close. 

I knew breaching the subject with the roommate would not be easy. But I also knew she couldn't have been happy with our arrangement either. Yes, she had access to one of mankind's most breathtaking feats of genitalia, but I was not any easier to live with than she was.

My heart pounding, I knocked on her bedroom door, and she unlocked it. Yes, unlocked it. She hated me so much at this point, she locked her bedroom door for what I guess was fear I would take a dump in the middle of her room. She opened the door, and greeted me as she usually did at this time -- arms folded, a scowl of disgust across her face.

HER: What?  

ME: Um. I'm going to move out.

HER: You can't.

ME: Excuse me?

HER: You're on the lease until January 1st. You can't move out.

ME: I already cleared it with the landlord.

HER: You're unbelievable. What the hell am I supposed to do?

ME: I'll gladly find you another roommate. That's my responsibility, I know. I'm just not happy here. You understand that, right?

HER: I'm not going to let you choose who moves in with me.

ME: That's fine. You can pick somebody if you want. I'm just saying, I'm here to help you find my replacement if you need me to.

HER: You're unbelievable.

ME: OK.

HER: Unbelievable.

ME: Got it. So...you're going to find someone?

HER: Yes! Jesus!

And then I pushed it.                                                                                                                                                                                                          ME: OK. Also, I was thinking maybe I could get my money back on that fridge? I haven't even gotten a month's use out of it, it just doesn't seem fair -- 

Rolling her eyes dramatically, she shut the door in my face.

I checked in with her several times over the next month to make sure she was actively seeking someone to take my room when I left. After all, I already lost that fridge money, I wasn't about to lose my $1000 security deposit too. She repeatedly assured me that she was looking. Considering my room there was a staggeringly cheap $400 a month (!), I knew she'd have no problem finding somebody. It wasn't really a concern.

And then came moving day.

I had everything packed and ready to go when my alarm went off that morning. I was genuinely excited to move out of this pit of despair and into my new place, to put these miserable days behind me. I popped out of bed, did a little shimmy, and headed for the bathroom. And then I saw the note.

I couldn't find anybody to take your room. I'm going to use your security deposit to pay next month's rent.

--S 

I tried my best to remain calm. She had repeatedly told me she was handling it and that I shouldn't bother. She had over a month to find my replacement. My room was so dirt-cheap, she could have stuck her head out the window and yelled "Apartment for sale!" and gotten somebody in there.

My hand shaking as I dialed, I called her at work and asked how the hell she could not have found anyone. She was irritatingly calm and matter-of-fact as she told me she just "hadn't seen anyone she liked." I asked her if she had even put up an ad. Unbelievably, she had not. It was clear that she hadn't even tried, she just wanted to screw me over.

ME: What about my $1,000 deposit? I need that back in order to move into my new place!

HER: I talked to the landlord. I told him not to give it back to you because you're breaking the lease and you didn't find a replacement.

I had kept my voice in check, but I started yelling here.

ME: I didn't? I could have found one in ten minutes! You told me not to!

Months of pent-up tension and rage came spewing out of us both. Things were said. Bad things. I closed the "conversation" with this:

ME: You could have avoided this! You could have picked whoever you wanted as a roommate! But not anymore! I'm going to get on craigslist right now and get the nastiest, smelliest, creepiest son of a bitch I can find to move in here! Somebody I can't even stand to look at! You'll regret this!

I slammed the phone down. On my moving day, when I was supposed to be picking up the rental truck, packing up boxes, starting my new life, etc, I wound up sitting on the floor at my 1987 computer, posting ads online for my replacement. I got responses immediately. I called the landlord, and explained the whole situation. I told him about how it all began, about how the two of us had been having sex and it turned ugly. He understood. Laughing, he said "This is why-a you don't have-a sex with the roomate!" We talked it out, and he assured me that as long as the rent continued to be paid, he would give me my deposit back, no problem. What a relief.

I calmed myself down, called her back and tried to reason with her.

ME: The landlord is willing to give me my check back. There are several people interested in the room, and they all want to come by this evening. Can you please come home right after work to meet with these people and pick one? 

HER: No. I'm going out. Can't do it.  

ME: I don't want to fight with you anymore. This is our last day. Please. Please, come home and meet with these people. They seem really nice, and you can pick somebody you genuinely want to live with.

HER: Told you. I'm going out. Can't make it.

ME: I'm leaving a huge list of potential renters on the kitchen table! I need you to call them when you get home! I need you to set up appointments! And I need you to get a replacement. If you do, you'll never hear from me again, I swear to God. Please. I'm begging you. I need this money. We used to have fun together. We used to like each other's company. Just try to remember that, and do me this one thing. Please.

She didn't respond.

ME: OK. I'm hanging up now. I have to pick up a truck and move. Please get somebody in here, I can't afford to lose a thousand bucks.

I hung up. I never heard from her. Two weeks later, I got a check in the mail from the landlord for the full $1,000. I called him and asked if she had gotten a new roommate.

LANDLORD: Yes. And it's a girl. Probably good-a thing. That way, no-a sex, and no-a problems!"

That landlord was a very smart man. Much, much smarter than me.