The way I see it, flatmates don’t GO bad. They have always been bad.
I honestly believe that there are some people in our population who are genetically pre-disposed to being a rubbish flatmate. Maybe it's because their mother ate brussell sprouts during the pregnancy in which said flatemate devleoped. Maybe their parents did it wheelbarrow style the night they were conceived. The make up of a lazy, tantrum throwing, cook book illiterate housemate is in the genes. It’s also hidden from us by the 9-3 time frame that we used to see them in during those wonderful days in high school.
A bad flatmate is someone who is completely void of any reality in their life. They have always been mollycoddled by their parents, wrapped in cotton wool and told that they are going to be fine in the real world.
No. Just no.
Someone who doesn’t have any notion of checking the mailbox is not fine. Someone who doesn’t understand the concept of boiling water is not fine. Someone who plays five hours of X-box instead of writing an essay that was due yesterday is not fine. Someone who would happily eat mi goreng noodles for their three meals a day is not fine.
And they won’t ever be!
Living in a share house and getting by in the ‘grown-up world’ is essentially survival of the fittest. This usually refers to those who are physically strong and who have adapted to their surroundings. In the case of bad flatmates, it’s their grasp on reality that will see them become extinct long before anyone else.
Good riddance, I say.
