This was ten years ago. This guy was about the worst roommate I ever had. It was my sophomore year in college. His name was Fred and at 20 years old he was a raging alcoholic. There was always a bottle stashed somewhere in our room. He would buy half gallons of really cheap vodka and sneak them into the room in his backpack. Every morning he would get out of bed, run to the bathroom and throw up. Then he would come back to the room, open the bottle and take a couple huge swigs. Usually by mid afternoon he would be slurring his words so bad you could hardly understand him. And he went to classes that way. How, I do not know but he hardly ever missed a class.

He was at his worst on Saturdays and Sundays and would usually pass out cold by about noon, sleep it off for a while then get up and start drinking again and end up passing out again at around 8-9 PM. Some nights I would hear him get out of bed, open the bottle, take a swig then go back to bed. The worst of it is that at least once a week, without fail, he would get so drunk that he would end up passing out in my bed and I would find him there when I returned to the room. As drunk as he got, there was only one occasion where he threw up in our room. At least it was in his closet and not the middle of the floor.

He did some pretty stupid things too. One night I came back late, probably at like 1 AM and there’s no sign of Fred. I thought nothing of it and went to bed. Like a half hour later there’s a knock on the door. I got out of bed, opened the door and there stood Fred wearing nothing but a t-shirt. At some point he stumbled out of bed to go to the bathroom and forgot his key. He decided to crash in the janitor’s closet right across the hall from our room. Then another night I’m sound asleep and suddenly wake up to find a butt-naked, very drunk Fred trying to crawl into bed with me, calling me Cindy and telling me he wants to cuddle with me. Cindy was his ex-girlfriend.

He was always walking into the wrong room. Guys on our floor would be up late studying or something, their doors unlocked and in would walk Fred. The guys who lived in the room on the floor right above us actually put up sign on their door that said “WRONG ROOM, FRED!” Another thing he did was he would pass out sitting on the toilet in the bathroom all the time. You would walk in the bathroom and hear snoring coming from one of the stalls and there would be Fred.

Really early one Sunday morning, like at 4 AM I heard pounding on our door. I got out of bed and there stood Fred. Swaying back and forth, hardly able to stand up, butt-ass naked and soaking wet. He looks at me and slurs “I forgot a towel” then stumbled past me and collapsed in his bed. A couple hours later I got up, went to the bathroom and Fred’s clothes are piled on the floor in front of one of the shower stalls and the shower was still running.
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