1 Man vs. 6 College Sorority Girls

GUEST COLUMN:

Every morning, after getting ready for my day in the dirty third floor bathroom I share with my two floormates, I head downstairs towards the kitchen, trying my best to avoid the two full trash bags, what appears to be a vomit stain, and the several pairs of high-heeled shoes that are strewn about on the second floor landing. When I get to the kitchen, I find four dirty pans situated on top of our four burners, a sink filled to the brim with dirty dishes and silverware, a kitchen table covered with several shot glasses, bottles of alcohol, and inexplicably enough, two bags of rotting produce. To top it all off, the two trashcans in the corner are overflowing and spilling trash onto the ground. Discouraged by the state of our kitchen, I decide, as always, to forgo making a omelet in favor of grabbing breakfast from a food cart down the street. This routine is a part of my every day life, and my soul-crushing existence as the only guy in a small row house with six undergraduate sorority girls.

I can't help but roll my eyes every time some guy gives me knowing grunt of approval upon hearing of my living situation. For whatever reason, they think it must be really glamorous and awesome, like I'm some kind of swinging lothario in a house of beautiful women. The truth is much less exciting. I didn't even have much choice in living here. I stayed in a friend's college dorm room while she was on fall break, with the knowledge that I'd need to move out by the end of the week. I visited a bunch of places on craigslist, and this listing was cheap, immediately available, and in the right area. Sure, I figured it might be awkward as the only guy in a house full of girls, but at least things would be somewhat clean, right? Wrong. I can safely say that I have been in active fraternity houses that are kept cleaner than my house on any given day.

Though cleanliness is a major issue, it certainly isn't the only one. My landlord sold me on the place saying that my housemates were friendly and quiet, and that she rarely saw them. After being woken up at 4 am with drunkenly shouted accounts of the night's sexual episodes, I am beginning to feel misled. Overheard from a few nights ago: “If I'm pregnant, I don't even know who the father is!” Rock on. On another night, I remember opening my door and grumbling something about keeping it down. After momentarily quieting down, they gradually raised the volume of their conversation again... but had switched to Spanish. Apparently, they were worried about my hearing their lurid secrets and not as worried about keeping the peace at 4:30 am. Unfortunately, I also understand Spanish, so it was a pretty bad night for me, all in all.

Having lived the past year of my life in a third world country, I assumed I'd be able to get by living anywhere in the states. Certainly, I had a long list of first-world amenities that I had taken for granted. Hot water, a reliable power grid, easily accessible drinking water, etc. While I'm thankful for these amenities, living in my current situation has made me realize that maybe the third world wasn't so bad, after all. On days when things are particularly bad, I find myself longingly scouring craigslist and sighing deeply. Still, the hassle of moving and finding someone to take over my sublease, and the cost in time and money strongly urge me to stay put. Besides, if I can put up with ten months living in a third world country, four more months of this should be a piece of cake, right? … Right!?

I guess only time will tell.

-OddManOut

OddManOut is currently surviving in West Philadelphia. He's attempting to eke out a living as a volunteer research assistant and MCAT tutor