The Worst College Roommate:How I Became a Reluctant Voyeur

I have had my share of less-than-ideal roommates. God knows, college is difficult enough without coming home to a space the size of a closet, stuffed with two beds, a fridge, hotplate, and tons of books and papers. If they gave out frequent-stayer points for the library, I certainly would have racked up enough credit to buy my own house off-campus. I always seemed to get stuck with the homesick, boyfriend-missing, wretch who decided to leave after a year to move home and commute, or transfer to a campus closer to home. I began to think it was I who drove them away. Nevertheless, each year I had a new personality to get used to. My freshman roommate went home every weekend, leaving me lonely at first, but grateful once I had a boyfriend. I dated a pre-Med student for three years, so the peace and quiet of a roommate-free dorm room was great! The rest of the time, we went off to the library. Dating a pre-Med student was definitely my salvation, since I doubt I would have been so studious if I had paired up with the dorm pothead.

I find it hard to pick out my worst experience. That freshman-year roommate who went home every weekend, made up for the weekend peace, with endless phone calls every weekday evening to her best friend, mom, and boyfriend, during which she cried and counted down the days when she would go home again. No surprise that she left after that year to go to the local college near her home. Enter the severe asthmatic my second year. She was nice, but the poor thing chose a school in the worst ragweed territory in New York. After many asthma attacks and sleepless nights spent pacing the floor, she too went home to live. The third year I got the loud snorer. "If you hear me snore during the night, just roll me over on my stomach", she told me. She was big; rollng her over was not easy. Besides, I didn't feel like re-positioning a full-grown 19-year-old who woke me at three in the morning. I was afraid to approach her bed, lest I satisfy my temptation to smother her with a pillow, silencing her snores forever, and putting me in a jail cell with an even worse roommate.

Senior year held promise. I found a roommate who was a late-night partier, but so was I . We were almost out of there, and determined to have fun. By that time, I had broken off with the future doc, and man-hunting myself. She was a lot more active and brought guys back to have sex. But I didn't mind sleeping on the couch in our suite sitting-room a few nights a week. When we both signed on for student-teaching the second semester of Senior year, and had to wake up at 6:30 every morning, I figured the sex in our room would stop. Wrong! So I secured my place in room and in bed by 10 every night, while she entertained her men-friends out in the sitting room, a little miffed that I was already inside and in bed. Ha! Got you there!

Or so I thought. Until one night I awoke to loud moaning. Oh no. I thought. The snorer can't be back! But this wasn't snoring, and it wasn't coming from a female. I could not, would not believe that my nymphomaniac roommate was having sex in the next bed! When I brought up the subject the next day, she told me I was free to go elsewhere. Yeah, right! Try finding a new room, and a new roommate, in March if your senior year! She was unembarrassed that I heard. But wait -- it gets worse. A few nights later, I heard whispering. "You can't stay all night in my bed; you have to leave and go to your own bed", I heard her telling her semi-steady sex-partner (she had other "johns" too, but this one was pretty regular). So this time I heard loud banging. This time they were standing against the room door, hebce the bangng. Oh great!, I said to myself. All through, she maintained her attitude, "So leave!:" she would tell me. So, bleary-eyed, I would face my students, praying for May, and graduation. Thankfully, time flew as it always does. I went my way, and my libidinous roommate went hers.

It's so hard to believe more than thirty years has passed. About five years ago, I received a message on my classmates.com profile from a guy who lived in my dorm during my senior year of college. I recognized the name and chuckled. We chatted by instant message on AOL. I reminded him of those hot steamy sex sessions he had with my roommate, and to which I was an unwilling "entendeur" ("voyeur" comes from the French "one who sees". I was only "one who hears"; hence an "entendeur"). Well he was so embarrassed. My raunchy roomie had him convinced I was a deep sleeper, and hadn't heard a thing! How stupid horny a 19-year-old can be, when caught with his pants down, in front of some lying vixen. "If I knew you heard everything, I never would have banged her right in the room with you there". I tended to doubt that. I don't think it would have made a difference. He shot over a digital picture of a paunchy, balding middle-age man, his wife (not my college roommate), and two grown sons. I wondered if that woman could ever imagine that her hubbie honed his skills surreptitiously in a bed, or against a door, within earshot of an unwilling observer who just wanted a night of sleep before honing HER skills in the classroom the next day.