The Roommate

You ever stumble into the wrong room at a party and find yourself in some voodoo? Voodoo, black magic, I don’t know what the official practice was, but I ended up in the middle of a circle. I was only trying to find the bathroom. 

I grabbed hold of the person who’s party it was. I said, “You gotta check into who you share an apartment with. I’m almost certain your roommate stole some of my soul and spirit just now.”

I was in the roommate’s room for no more than 30 seconds, but that’s all it took. I entered the room in a stumble and was immediately in the circle, and then after about 10 seconds, I was out of it. My guess is that the spirits that temporarily occupied me, let me go because I was too intoxicated. They had to be total lightweights, because I phased in and out in just seconds. It was like I was doing a nod and about to fall asleep, but then I fell out of the circle and crashed really hard into the closet door.

I was extremely confused. My senses were all distorted. I regained my focus.

“Get out dammit— Before you fall over and break something! Just get out!” the roommate shouted at me.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick a candle across the room. What the hell is this shit?” I shouted back.

“GET OUT!”

“Fuck you, weirdo.”

I was heated after leaving the room. I had to, of course, go and find the party host immediately. While I was saying “what the heck?” and quickly, angrily escalating into a bunch of “fuck your roommate” business, the lights began to flicker.

I was still shook up over what I had literally just stumbled into. And now the faucet was turning on and off and on and off, and the same thing was happening with all the other appliances, whether they were plugged in or not. The kitchen cabinets flew open and shut, slamming every single time.

The party was under a curse.

“Yo, what THE FUCK?” I said directly into the face of the party host once again.

“I HEARD YOU. OK? I HEARD YOU. I MET THEM ON CRAIGSLIST! I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING EITHER!” the party host cried out, having a complete meltdown.

With an amount of force that I didn’t know I had in me, I shoved the party host across their entire kitchen and towards their roommate’s door. I forced them into confrontation. Or so I thought…

Knocking on the roommate’s door, the party host politely said, “Hello? Ummm..I’d like to remind you that you signed a security deposit, so lets try not to cause any damage to anything. Things have been shaking up a bit out here.”

I was disgusted by the party host’s conduct. Such soft words for such a fucked up situation. Absolutely no accountability on their part. I knew what had to be done, I had to take full initiative. I had to retrieve the inner parts of my soul and spirit that had been taken, and I had to do it according to my own plan.

“Let’s try not to cause any damage? What about the damage that’s already been done?”

I violently shoved the party host aside. It was obvious that some of my compassion and patience was what had been taken from me. But it gave me all the rage I needed.

Pushing the party crowd back, I gave myself a little space for a running start. In a decision that came to me on the spot, I ran and charged and jumped towards the door.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

This behavior was incomparable to anything I had ever done before in my life.

I stomped the door down and landed on top of it, standing straight up.

“You better gimme my fucking shit back,” I commanded, with light pouring into the dark room from all around me; I was striking a sick pose; I was making the night one to remember.

All the candles blew out and about a dozen gentle little plumes of smoke came rising up from the floor. I picked up a candle, and with the wax melted in a puddle around the wick, I hurled it at the roommate. I yelled, “Return me to normal. Return me right now.”

I bent down and grabbed up all the candles that were there; the ones that didn’t get crushed beneath the stomped door.

I raised my voice louder, “RETURN ME TO NORMAL!”

I was shaking with anger,”RETURN ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

The roommate cowered beneath their desk.

“You’re more powerful than me. You lost some of your restraint. You’re now a more perfect beast.”

I had them by their neck—literally, I wasn’t playing. The roommate went into their desk drawer and pulled out a pouch. They grabbed a handful of ground up animal bone dust, and blew it directly into my face. They said some horrible black magic nonsense spell, and I was free.

My world immediately regained color; I had a wave of calmness and cheerfulness come rushing into me. Still I was hammered. But I had more clarity. I had no more violent urges in me.

I let go of the roommate’s neck. 
I was the regular compassionate me again. Not the me that shouts in people’s faces, and kicks down doors, and tosses hot melted wax onto people. Not the me that grabs people by their neck.

When I think about that night, I think about fate. The roommate’s door was definitely kept unlocked on purpose. And when I came to the party, I was meant to enter that room. I was meant to be as drunk as I was; the dark magic, spirit hijacking was never able to complete; only a portion of my self and being and presence went missing. And I recovered it. I’ve never felt more completely like myself before in my entire life.

Ever since then, I haven’t been back to the apartment where the party took place. I’m not cool with the party host on my terms. Not only do I think of them as spineless, but they have a pretty reckless roommate choosing process, and I’m not OK with that either.

As for things between me and the roommate, it’s all good, I’m assuming. I’ve seen them working at the cafe as a barista. They seemed pretty embarrassed at the sight of me; they were deliberately trying to avoid eye contact and we’re cowering again, reminding me of when I had them in my grip by their desk…

But everything has been fine in my day to day life so far. I’m almost certain I’m not under any spells, or at least not any harmful ones.

My guess is that the black magic stuff was just a phase, and that they didn’t really ever know what they were doing. I was probably their only victim ever. They were probably just a dabbler.

It was such a strange but incredible night.

It’s hard to stop thinking back to it.

I’m sure this marks the start of some sort of promising new beginning for me.

Coming soon:

Part 2: They Weren’t Just a Dabbler, I’m Under Some Serious Spells

Tearing Down The House

Popularity is one fickle and elusive bitch. One minute your party is packed and bumping and you’re feeling like a hot shot Miami club owner, the next minute all your stuff is gone.

Your TV is detached from the wall and missing, your lap top is missing, your favorite mug is no longer in the cupboard… Every thing down to my refrigerator magnets was gone.

Hey, if people wanted to take just a couple of things, I’m down to share. I totally aim to please, it’s the reason why I threw a party in the first place.

But when you use force and literally take the shirt off my back and I then go up to my bedroom and see you’ve ransacked me for all my valuables and other clothes, and even removed my bed and other furniture…

It makes me start to think that maybe I shouldn’t throw parties at my place again. Sounds a bit extreme, I know, but this can’t be happening. And I bet it’s also a major bummer for those who did act appropriately, and came to my party for the right purposes. I just can’t throw another party like this last one again. Someone even took a crowbar and stripped off my crown molding.

I’m the type of person who would give you the shirt off my back anyways. Why wouldn’t you just ask for it nicely? I’m now bruised and in room all alone with nothing on the walls and basically nothing to sit down on except the floor. I haven’t been able to hear an echo in here since I first moved in.

“Wwwwwhhhhhhhhyyyyyy?!?!!!”

“Wwwwhhhyyyy???”

“Wwhhyy???”

I haven’t made up my mind for certain just yet, but that might be the first and last time time I ever throw a party.

Sal’s Club

The Sal Densen Is Not Allowed Club is the shittiest name for a club and I’m not just saying that because my name is Sal Densen. The name has no catch. It lacks flair. Nothing about it makes me want to go inside.

The word club means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. To many, the word club means an establishment that you show up to to have drinks and dance and socialize.

To me, the word club means a gathering of people who have come together for a common cause. And when people would come to Sal’s, (the original Sal’s, the only true Sal’s, the owned by me) they were coming, well, to be with me– Sal!

Me and the townspeople have had a few minor disagreements about the way things run at Sal’s over the years, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s always been great!

Some of the complaints were that I’m too buddy buddy, that I spill too many drinks, that I photobomb too much, that I talk too loud, that I only play music that I want to hear, that I’m overwhelming, etc. Small stuff, no big deal.

But then one night, this one guy, this one real big hot shot stood up and yelled at me,

“THAT’S THE 6TH FUCKING BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE THAT YOU’VE POPPED. EVERYONE’S SOAKING WET BECAUSE OF YOU YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

It hurts.

I can never forget that.

I hear constant echoes of it looping in my head–it never stops.

I run a club for years, never once ask a cover charge, never once close for holiday, never once cut a customer off for drinking too much. And then one night, after popping 6 bottles of champagne, 6 bottles of champagne that came out of my pocket for everyone’s enjoyment, you’re gonna then yell at me and call me an asshole in front of all my friends?

That was night everything started going down hill.

With my position in local politics once upon a time, I was in charge of everything. Everything went through me. All the permits went through me. If you wanted a liquor license you had to go through me…

And with that– I was on top of the world.

But then the people revolted.

I tried to change the town name to Saltown, and they said that that was the final straw. They dissed me. I said “What? You don’t like Sal?” They screamed and cursed at me more and then 96% of them went out and voted against me.

It started with that one guy.

And with me out, there was no longer only one bar allowed in town.

It used to be that if you wanted to go out and party, you had to party at Sal’s. Things were so much better in those days. I had so many friends back in those days.

But I guess people just don’t like having fun anymore.

They got this new club now. A club that is based in discrimination and hate and cruelty towards a fellow man. It’s sick how they’ve all turned against their caring, loving, and generous neighbor Sal.

And they never even gave a chance to look at the blueprints I had made for projects in Saltown.

Since then, I have turned the music down a few notches. I starting putting out bowls of peanuts, sometimes even pretzels. But rarely does anyone ever show up.

Travelers pass through and stop for a drink. They ask me where everyone is. I tell them, “You missed them. Everyone is dead. This town here used to be booming, but sadly, now it’s a ghost town.”

Sal’s Club is now just a relic of simpler, better time.

Everyone calls this new place Sal’s for short, and I know they’re just doing it to hurt me, and honestly, it’s working. The Sal Densen Is Not Allowed Club will only last so long though, I’m confident in that.

It lacks the one thing all club’s need–a Sal.