The Weasel

I had a roommate my freshman year in college named Bryce. And he totally fit the name. What a little weasel. We hated each other. I'd leave to go out and the Scorpions would rise in volume with each step I took down the hall. He blew out my speakers twice in the first two months.

He ate my food, and lied about it. Stole my liquor. Never left the room at all when I had my girlfriend over.

I came home one night drunk and turned on some music (very quietly) and sat up in my lofted bed to listen to it as I went to sleep. "Turn that off" the little weasel Bryce cried, "Turn off that noise".

"Go ahead and turn it off..it's right next to your bed", I said

But the little weasel Bryce kept whining that I should get up and turn it off. "you turned it on" he said.

"But it's bothering you..and it's right next to your bed" I said to the little weasel Bryce.

Finally I freaked out on the little weasel and told him I was going to get out of bed and kick his ass. I started shaking the top bed like I was coming down for him.

Pretty uncharacteristic for me, but he finally reached over and turned off the radio.

The next week the weasel Bryce moved out.