British Days: The Most Ridiculous Situation I Have Ever Been In

The most ridiculous situation I have ever been in happened when I was staying at the Forbes* residence in London. Late at night I was awoken from my sleep because I had to use the restroom, and rather badly. I was about to get out of bed when the door to my room flung open. My roommate was back. It wasn't unusual for him to come back late at night because he liked to stay out partying. But this time he had a lady friend with him, and they staggered into his bed, which was beside mine. It was obvious they were drunk too. They didn't even bother turning on the light so they could see where they were going. Passion and intoxication was their only guide through that darkness. And unfortunately for me I would be an unwilling voyeur of what transpired next.

The next thing I knew a lot of heavy breathing started to emanate from my roommate's bed. I didn't know exactly what was going on--and to this day I'm still not certain what they were up to--but I have a good idea because all those peculiar sounds are usually associated with people when they are engaged in sexual intercourse. Then the next thing I knew there was shaking going on in the bed and even some bouncing. Then--and this has to be the high point of the absurdity of the situation--whoever had decided to shack up with my roommate started to fake orgasms.

"Yes, yes, yes... oh, God, oh, God, oh, God," she said like a scratched record being played over and over. Once a succession of yes, yes, yeses and oh, God, oh, God, oh, Gods had finished she'd go through another monotonous succession of yes, yes, yeses and oh, God, oh, God, oh, Gods. And she'd say it in exactly the same way.

Like I have said before it was ridiculous, and the reason why I have reiterated it is because it is simply worth saying again.

And that is how it went while I stayed in bed contemplating how I should handle the situation. During situations like these I never quite know what to do, after all complaining to your roommate about him doing his sexual practices in your presence is bound to be awkward. Should I turn on the light and try to have a calm, rational discussion with them? More than likely that wasn't going to work because they were drunk. Should I turn on the light and get angry with my roommate? If I did that then I risked provoking my roommate, and I didn't want to get into a heated argument and wake up the Forbes. Or should I just let them do what they have to do and then talk to my roommate afterwards or just talk to Mr. and Mrs. Forbes? This seemed like the best option, but I never had a lot of time to think about what to do because the urge to use the restroom became too great, and I got out of bed and headed up stairs. I'm quite sure they heard me get out of bed, and therefore became aware that I was aware of what was going on. But the sexual festivities continued unabated--as if I didn't exist. I stopped at the top of the stairs and listened. I was amazed. 20 minutes had to have had passed and they were still at it and I could hear her fake orgasms all the way up there. And as can be counted on her yes, yes, yeses were quickly followed by her oh, God, oh, God, oh, Gods. She had to be faking; it would be hard for anyone to maintain that many orgasms over that stretch of time. My roommate was just too drunk to be able to tell.

I used the restroom and hoped I wouldn't hear them in the bathroom. 20 minutes of hearing fake orgasms was enough. But then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Great, I thought. The Forbes' room was beside the bathroom, and if it was my roommate I didn't want to have a confrontation with him and wake them up. And if it was the girl I wondered would I be able to contain my anger. There was a gentle knock at the door. I opened it, and standing there was this bedraggled, goth-looking girl. She looked at me in bewilderment, and I could tell from the look on her face that she knew I was not happy with her. I said nothing and went downstairs into the kitchen. When Mr. and Mrs. Forbes came downstairs I informed them both of the situation, and I can only surmise they said something about it with my roommate.

My roommate didn't stay for much longer in England because he was there to take a three week class; and once he completed that he went home. I can't say I missed him, and soon after my roommate's sexual adventure in England I got new housemates from Texas. When I introduced myself I told them what had happened. One of them told me what one of his friends would do when he was in a similar situation. Apparently, this friend had worked out a solution for such situations, which I sometimes have a hard time doing. Whenever one of his roommates decided to have a sexual adventure in his presence he'd cut on the light, go over to his roommate's bed and tell him "Dude, I think she's broke."

*The Forbes family was my homestay in England.

British Days: A Bad Day

Although London was a nice change for me I was still prone to having a bad day. One day during my stay in London was filled with a series of bad events, and each one was worse than the successor. At work all I did was put records accompanied with stickers, postcards and press releases promoting Fat Records in evelops that would be mailed out to customers. It took me about an hour and thirty minutes to complete this task. After I did this I was told I could leave or surf the internet. They didn't have a lot for me to do there, and Paul, one of my bosses, had told me this the previous week. Putting records in envelops was the only thing they could think of for me to do. I came all the way from Muswell Hill for that! It took me about an hour by tube to get to the office because it was on the other side of London. Now I was going to have to spend another hour of traveling just to get back to my homestay after only spending an hour and thirty minutes at work! I didn't want to feel like I had come all that way for nothing so I stayed around and sent out friend requests for their myspace.com web-site. But eventually I got bored and left.

By this time I was hungry, but I needed to eat somewhere inexpensive. I spoted a Turkish fastfood resteraunt. There are many of these resteraunts in London, and a person can eat a full meal at one of these places for an inexpensive price. I love the chicken shish and lamb shish they serve. I looked at the overhead menue and saw chicken shish. I approached the counter and told the woman behind it I wanted chicked shish.

"Chicken shish kebab?" She asked, not quite hearing me the first time.

I replied that is what I wanted. When my order was totaled it came to about seven pounds, much more than I had anticipated. Maybe the water cost more than I had thought? When I got my order I noticed I not only had chicken shish but I had another sandwich too. I turned around and looked at the man and woman behind the counter. They could tell something wrong.

"I only wanted one," I said.

The woman looked down at the food behind the counter a little frustrated.

"You order chicken shish! Then you order chicken shish kebab!"

I had thought chicken shish and chicken shish kebab were the same thing. I didn't know what to say.

"O. K." I said in defeat. I didn't want to get into an argument. The man behind the counter shrugged his shoulders. I sat in the resteraunt and ate my chicken shish, angry that I had wasted some money.

When I got back to my homestay I went to sleep. I didn't want to think about the days events. I just wanted to be unconscious. When I woke up I went for my routine run in Alexandra Park. The run made me feel better as I had hoped, but my stomach started to hurt after I finsihed. I went back to my homestay to use the toilet. But for some reason it wouldn't flush. Water would fill the toilet bowl but it wouldn't flush; something was clogging the toilet. This was embarrasing! I was reminded of all the times when the toilet overran at my house when I stopped up the stool by accident. One time when this happened the water flowed all the way downstairs. It was a disaster and it was disgusting. My mom had to get get the house dry cleaned because of it. I didn't want that to happen in the Forbes' household*. So I asked Mrs. Forbes if she had a plunger. She asked if the toilet was stopped up. I said yes, and she told me not to worry about it. This did little to relieve my worries. I was in the Forbes' household, and I didn't want to do anything disrespectful. The toilet overflowing would be a nightmare, and God forbid if that happened. So I stayed upstairs and waited for the water level in the toilet to decrease. I was going to try to unstop the toilet myself by flushing the toilet. I was hoping a flush would put enough pressure on whatever was stopping up the stool to go down the drain. That didn't happen, and I didn't want to risk another flush because the toilet just might overflow on that try. I went back downstairs to talked to Mrs. Forbes about the situation. I didn't know what else to do and I didn't want to leave the toilet clogged; it seemed rude of me to do. I could tell Mrs. Forbes didn't want to deal with the stituation. She had given me no answer as to whether they had a plunger and she had simply went downstairs after she told me to not worry about the stool being clogged.

"Is everything alright," she asked.

I told her the stool was still stopped up. We went back upstairs and I can only imagine what she must have thought when she smelled the bathroom. When we got in there Mrs. Forbes must have realized I was worried about this problem.

"Berkley, it's not like I haven't unclogged a stool before! Out!"

And with that Mrs. Forbes went to work to unclog the stool. I went downstairs to eat my dinner in the kitchen. I munched on my food while Mrs. Forbes slaved away upstairs to unstop the stool. I felt awful. This had been my worst day in England. I just wanted to forget about it. After I ate I went to bed hoping to find better things in my dreams and the next day.

*The Forbes family were my homestay.