Posted by: cousindampier | 26 August 2013

My Roommate Chris

I can think of zero funny things to write about at the moment, which is the fault of my college roommate, whom we shall refer to as “Chris.”

“Chris” is tall and works at Wells Fargo, so basically he’s destined for higher management and therefore a future criminal. Fortunately for “Chris,” he loves data and spreadsheets. These kind of people are often not promoted to higher management, due to the general perception of them living in their parent’s basement and eating hot pockets. “Chris” does neither one of these things (boy loves his hot pockets). He is actually the proud new owner of a house, which is somewhere within a 700 mile radius of San Francisco and causes his commute to be the approximate time it takes the Catholic Church to elect a new Pope.

Chris and I only communicate by email. I don’t really know why this is, except it is the best way for him to send me news links and the best way for me to send him snarky one-line responses. Occasionally my responses even have something to do with what he sent. I rather appreciate the news he sends me, because otherwise I’d have nothing to do in the bathroom, on the bus, or walking around Spokane.

A lot of it is political. At one point in his youth, Chris was intent on proving voter suppression in Ohio (I think this was the 2002 mid-terms, when the Democrats got hammered), and in some archive rests the remains of the website he spent a decent week of time putting together, and then promptly never updated.

My favourite Chris stories are unmentionable because they are horribly embarrassing to me him. Definitely, definitely him, and I can’t embarrass him in a public setting like that. It’d be wrong of me to do.

* * *

One of my favourite books as a kid was Treasure Island – I think I hit the fireman phase and the pirate phase at the same time. Even then, I knew two things. One was that I wanted to see the world, and the other was that I forever would be totally incapable of choosing between two things I really wanted.

(This would continue into the football player/astronaut phase a few years later. I was the first quarterback who’d been to space).

Chris fits into this story like this: My sophomore or junior year of college, he went to Italy over Spring Break and didn’t take me because he’s a dick. He would occasionally text me, and I received something like the following text on March 15:

‘Ides of March. Drinking wine out of a bag on the steps where Caesar died sucka.”

The ending of that text aside (it reveals obvious brain damage), it was the most perfectly annoying text I’ve ever received and made me determined to do similar cool things as my older roommate.

So I find myself in Kazakhstan, 13 time zones away from Spokane, a place so far from home I’m drinking beer as everybody is waking up, and Chris is at least .001% of the reason why I’m here. But not any more than that.

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Responses

  1. […] Greatest Cities Vancouver, Canada – I can get something like four things crossed off if I go here. San Francisco, CA – Because I feel like making earthquake jokes for the better part of a weekend. And I haven’t had the pleasure of driving Chris crazy for a while. […]


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