Flashback: Flat 3.
My Flat in the Uni has 12 bedrooms, representing 12 nations or 11 (I have a fellow Filipino Friend on the same flat). Our kitchen during dinner time is almost identical to a United Nations Global Security Meeting. And the Smell would probably confuse even Pentagon Intelligence. It doesn’t help that it’s not sound proof much more smell proof. I never complained. I always like the diversity and I always get a spoonful of whatever they’re cooking.
Then there’s the question of Fridge Security. Marking your territory. Until when could somebody use your pan and fork? Until they graduate? And would that be the bachelors, masters, or until their doctorate degree?
I have a flatmate that never wash the dishes she used from Freshers week onwards, I still saw some of her stack lying around as I was hauling out of my room after graduation. Don’t get me wrong, school sent cleaners to clean common areas, but they don’t send nannies, and nobody from my flat bothered to clean up somebody else’s stuff just for the sake of social utility and world peace.
And the bin, of course. I hope they would invent a bin that would walk out automatically to the skips once they’re full ‘cause that would have saved so many friendships and marriages.
And then come people burning food. Flat 3. Burned Egg. Seriously? But then I forgive him. I am not sure if the absolution of the sin is because he’s drunk or he’s a HE. It caused a fire alarm, and that means 20 minutes of whole building residents out in the cold, while security officers assess if burned egg causes idiocy.
And the Flat specialties. Each Building/House consists of about 15 flats and each is usually known for something. There was a flat that is soooo popular for kitchen parties that when security tried to ban them for noise, they started the silent party- meant Shut up and Drink. In my building, Flat 1 is our Starbucks, nice group of guys that invite you over for a cup of hot chocolate. It does help that they’re on the ground floor and closest to the main door. It does help that they’re good looking too. I think anything taste good when you’re looking at something nice.
I miss smelling flatmate’s cooking cause it’s a smell of a year of carefree laidbackness, recklessness, and ignorance. Pre-recession days, back when I don’t pay the bills yet, back when my only worry is to hand over my 2000-word report and the world will be ok.