My housemate has recently developed a nasty crystal meth addiction and isn’t paying his rent and his share of the bills. What to do?
Winehousemate, Fitzroy North
Dear Winehousemate,
As we’ve discovered before, when on a tweek-and-destroy mission the last thing any (in)decent trashbag thinks about is others. Things such as rent money, utilities bills and food take a back seat to the eternal quest to locate ice mites concealed beneath the flesh of their limbs. Being harassed in the street for forty cents to make a phone call is one thing, living with them is another. By now, you should be acquainted with Bitchface Milkshake, and with the benefit of a decade of hindsight (and pent-up literary retribution), I am able to proclaim that my sociopathic former housemate had an addiction of a different variety – food. She was a typical addict: the binges followed by the guilt; the purges; cold turkey attempts to kick the habit and then relapse. Unfortunately, the effects of continuous dieting, flesh/fat-measuring and deprivation were manifested in her mood swings and generally unpleasant disposition. Yes, she also had a real mean streak but having to forgo a mean steak made matters worse – girlfriend was hungry.
Like those battling addiction, sometimes her behaviour was erratic, manipulative and downright malevolent. Take for example, the time I lost misplaced my mobile phone down the back of a sofa at a nightclub, along with my dignity, decorum and around eight hours of my sleep. Now, I must remind you that this was ten years ago and Nokia ghetto phones that resemble a calculator more than they do a portable communications device didn’t exist; and a decent replacement didn’t come easily (or cheaply) for the average shop Sharon. Thus, I was significantly inconvenienced and almost unable to be contacted outside of a smoke signal or homing pigeon. Armed with this knowledge, Bitchface Milkshake went away for the weekend and I returned home to discover that she had hidden the home telephone (of which I paid half the bill), rendering me incommunicado. Surviving with the twenty-cent pieces I had accumulated, I was forced to use the payphone down the street like the crackie I was living with. As a result, I became very unpopular with the man who ran the local Indian video store when substituting one-dollar coins I had been saving for laundry day for an abundance of the smaller denomination in order to arrange my busy social agenda.
In a bizarre twist of karma if ever I saw it, I learnt that Bitchface Milkshake was struck down with acute appendicitis on her weekend in the country. The inflammation of her redundant organ I can only attribute to poor diet and not the poor behaviour of an iniquitous hosebeast, however, it was satisfying to think so. What wonderful news to learn that I would have the house to myself (without a telephone) while she recovered for a week in hospital; I guess my phone sex operation would have to wait another week. Then the lights went out. By candlelight, I discovered the pile of bills in the kitchen that remained unopened pertaining to the provision of our basic necessities. So, off I trundled to my favourite payphone, armed with a bucket of loose change, prepared for the long hold with the electricity company.
You shouldn’t have to pick up the tab for the inconsiderate behaviour of those you live with. Go out for a pub meal where you are likely to be surrounded by a tonne of burly men willing to come to your assistance should your housemate lash out in a meth-induced rage. Explain that you are unable and unwilling to be stiffed with the rent and the electricity and that you would appreciate their paying on time. If the situation doesn’t improve, you might be forced to find alternative accommodation or ask them to leave. Ensure that you have your/their exit strategy planned so you don’t find your belongings in the local pawnshop, and learn the location of your nearest payphone – you never know when you might need to use it.
Published on 22 July 2009 by Agony Uncle