Who doesn’t have a roommate horror story? And if you don’t have one, maybe you ARE one.

Like in this story, when an unsuspecting Frenchman gets pranked three times after he leaves a mess in the apartment.

Clean up on aisle nine…

Third time’s the charm

Sharing a flat with 2 other guys back in student days in a three bedroom / one bathroom / one kitchen flat in Germany.

This is a tale of war, peace, skirmishes and ambushes…

Sounds epic. What happens?

The problems started when the guy that had been living the longest in the flat decided to pack and move. He was your typical German Law student.

Günther the Elder.

Elven. Stern. But effective. As if his absence will leave a hole…

Stuff is done this way or the highway.

The bathroom and kitchen shall be cleaned once a week by one of us in turn.

He was the backbone of the flat and was running a tight ship.

Once he moved out, the cleaning discipline went out the window despite my best efforts to keep it up.

O Captain my Captain… why have you left OP in a lurch?

The new flatmate turned out to be a goth recluse with limited housekeeping knowledge.

Oh boy.

The second oldest flatmate (now the Elder Flatmate) a Frenchman with a very conflicted relationship with general order and cleanliness – in short, a walking cliché – decreed that the age of clean was over, now was the time of free for all chaos.

And this led us to the First Crisis.

Dun dun dun…. what is crisis number one?

The Toenails Clippings Infestation.

Absolutely everywhere in the bathroom.

As if the man had hoof-trimmed a pack of feral horses.

A short discussion with shut-in confirmed my suspicions.

Ze Frenchman was the culprit.

I asked him – politely – to be mindful of the rest of the flat and keep his excess keratin to himself.

Ew. Will Ze Man listen?

Promises were made. And promptly broken. The retaliation was swift and violent.

One toothbrush was used to clean the toilet bowl (he did not notice but wondered at a sudden bout of stomach pain…

In my defense, this was the shut-in’s idea…I just did not stop him…) before being artfully decorated with toenails clippings.

Alright, well that’s… cruel and unusual. How can it escalate from here?

Marcel understood the subtle hint and the bathroom was henceforth horse hooves free.

The Second Crisis.

Dun dun dun.

The War of Dishes. A few weeks in the Age of Chaos, dirty dishes, pots and pans started sprouting in the kitchen.

The shut-in feeding solely on instant pot noodle ramen, an investigation was not required and Ze Frenchman was told in no uncertain terms that this would not be tolerated any longer.

Most likely upset by my lack of appreciation for his artful stacking of dirty plates, Marcel ignored my warnings.

Little did he know that vengeance, unlike dishes, is better served cold. I waited for the weekend.

I can’t imagine how this is gonna get worse than toothbrush in the toilet.

Marcel being a creature of habits, I knew he would come back wasted on Friday night. (Small but important detail – his bedroom was at the end of the flat with a few steps leading up to his bedroom door).

Come Saturday morning, a severely hungover Marcel stumbled upon a barricade of dirty plates and fell face down on a pile of pots.

For a very short time, Marcel was the Flying Frenchman.

Learning to fly, but he ain’t got wings. Will coming down be the hardest thing?

He did not stick the landing but his moldy leftover spaghetti certainly stuck to his face and hair.

The message was received loud and clear.

Not a single dirty plate or pot was seen afterwards and the shut-in, considering the kitchen a hazard free zone, came out and started cooking.

Turns out the poor creature did not feed on dry ramen by choice but was simply afraid of stepping in the kitchen…

I don’t know who’s got it worse here… but what will number three be?

Finally. The Third Crisis.

The Fridge of Discord.

Marcel, miffed by the repeated insults to his pride and injuries to his precious and smelly person, decided to get his own fridge and freezer.

He had the bigger room and had space for it. Common sense dictated that his share of the electricity bill increase accordingly. Marcel eructed.

Out of the question. Ridiculous.

What a silly notion. Never.

We can move out if we don’t like it.

Move out I did.

Gotta to keep moving on. Will there be a final act of revenge?

But not before I took out all his frozen food from his freezer, let it sit for a whole day and de-freeze nicely before putting it back.

I stayed in touch with the Shut-in who told me that poor Marcel spent a solid two weeks emptying his guts from both ends in the keratin free bathroom and never understood why…

Gross. I guess Ze Frenchman didn’t catch on to the uh… cultural differences here.

What do the comments think of this triple threat?

This user has a sprinkling of inspiration for OP…

Someone else says he is a poet and didn’t even know it.

One user says, très beau!

Another vote for, well-written!

Fool me three times… shame on everyone.

Ew.

If you liked that post, check this one about a guy who got revenge on his condo by making his own Christmas light rules.