6 Feet Tall. 300 Pounds. And I Wasn't Giving Her The Padlock Key For The Fridge. Nope. Not After What She Did!

Dear Ether, 

He name was Carolyn.  CARO-LIN.  NOT line.  She stood over 6ft tall, had naturally white-blonde, thin hair and bangs. I remember her very swollen red face and that she could have invested in the company North Face (it seemed to be her brand of choice)—AND girlfriend weighed about 300 pounds.  

This was the first person who greeted me when I entered halls at University in London.  She was holding a large tub of Wine Gums.  She just kept shoveling them into her mouth without even looking at the candy first.  We stood at two ends of the hallway.  It was like a David and Goliath duel.  I was armed with luggage and she, with a projectile of confectionary.  She was sort of transfixed.  And, that looked like a shit load of candy, and she was piling it away like a model hungry for a garden salad.  Hmmm….

It was a bit strange to me that she was just standing waiting for flatmates to arrive.  I mean, it could have been hours until anyone else showed.  But I guess the Wine Gums kept her occupied.  I knew she was American by the way she was dressed (terrible stereotype, I know…).  I also knew she wasn’t from New York or L.A.  In a very heavy Mid-Western accent, through a gooey smile, she said “Hi.  You’re the last one to arrive.  Where are you from?”  When I told her I was from the States, she (seriously) began jumping up and down (I swear the floor shook) and told me we were the only two Yankees out of 10.  She gave me the tour (the kitchen) and then told me that all the cupboards had been taken—I had the crummy one on the floor.  I actually later found out she took TWO cupboards on the top tier (selfish git) and secretly cleaned out my area where the cleaning supplies were kept so I’d have somewhere to keep my food.

Now, you have to understand.  I really didn’t dislike Carolyn because she was overweight, or fit the hideous stereotype of a loud American.  I disliked her because she was a snoop, a thief and ANGRY!  I specifically wanted to go to a Uni in London that immersed me with the culture.  I didn’t want to hang out with Americans.  So, she glommed on to me, but I really had no interest in checking out the city with her.  I wanted to see what Brits were like—see insider stuff.  Not be a tourist.  This really offended her.  We also had NOTHING in common.  I liked fashion she liked food.  I liked theater and music.  She liked food.  I liked markets and clubs.  She like bloody FOOD.  And she was very possessive of the kitchen.  She was so huge, no one could cook when she was making her meals because she took up the whole space.  And, we had 2 tiny fridges and she used all the shelves.  And her meals—my god.  She must have spent a tenner on every dish.  Her lunch was a 12inch baguette with brie and bacon and…well you get my drift.  She used a fucking mixing bowl for her cereal in the mornings.  But, then things got bad.  Our food started to disappear.  First it was little things.  “Hey, guys, did you see the crisps I bought.  I swear, I got like a 12 pack?”  Then it was major things.  “Ummm….I bought a  ton of cheese….like 10 quid’s worth and it is GONE.”  And Carolyn would always, whenever you sat down to eat, ask for a “bite” of whatever you were eating.  Yeah, a “bite.”  She usually ate half.  And my folks would send me care packages with American candy or food—bullion.   And she would come into my room, plop down, and without permission eat a coveted Hershey bar or rip open a bag of Twizzlers and eat them.  She was a food bully. 

One day she popped out to get something and left her door open.  A few of us were eager to see her inner sanctum.   She never let us in her room.  When we opened the door further, what we saw amazed us.  Here room was a pantry!  She had a whole set up….a microwave, hot-plate, kettle.  And……..so much food……..it was like a convenience store.  But she got back before we had time to leave.  And she was MAD!  Like a giant beast, she wailed and turned crimson.  We tried to defend ourselves and told her of our suspicions of her thievery and her sampling our food—and how we were sick of it.  I swear to you, Ethers, I have never seen someone who appeared so jolly, become so vicious.  She picked on each one of us, throwing insults our way—calling me an “Anglo-fucker” (HA!) and sending all of us into a state of shock.  The next day, as if nothing happened, she ate her cereal, smiled and left for class.  It was like the food exorcist.  We all bought padlocks for our cupboards, put our names on post-it notes on our food in the fridge and ignored her.  

When it was time for her to go, she left silently.  But she did something that I still think is ingenious.  The next day we each received a package.  It was beautifully wrapped.  The note said, “Have a good rest of the year, Love Carolyn.”  Surrounded by dainty lavender tissue, was a plastic bag with a note that said “You’ve been sent a Crap-O-Gram.”  We had been informed that Carolyn had sprung for medium sized dog shit (you could go for a small pup  all the way to a bruiser) scooped out from the fine English countryside.  I think we were just grateful it wasn’t her OWN shit.  Because from all that food she had been consuming, I’m sure she could have made a “LOAD” of presents for us all.  

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365