A traditional part of communal living is the laissez-faire attitude to the contents of the fridge by some housemates. The rule is that there is always one. Poisoning them, whilst immensely satisfactory, is generally not wise, since you just end up communal living on a larger scale courtesy of Her Maj. We solved the problem with our crappy student flatmate by simply having no food other than teabags, milk, and a vintage tub of Stork margarine. Since the milk was generally so advanced into its cheesehood that it would have scared a French man and Stork is made from fish heads and industrial byproducts, he was welcome to them. Well, nursey flatmate occasionally brought packages home and left them in the fridge, but it was generally accepted they were body parts, and as such, not to be unwrapped.
His pinnacle of uselessness was his inability to pay the rent in any other fashion than random payments distinguished by the fact that those payments were always far less than the amount owed. Eventually, at the end of term, in collusion with another housemate’s parents, whilst he was out, we loaded everything he owned into a van and had them take it away. We retreated to the pub to write a ransom note. Oh, he wasn’t happy when he got back to a room empty but for the note pinned to the wall. He did call the police but they weren’t, once we explained the matter over a soothing cup of cheesy tea, entirely sympathetic to his plight.
About a month or so after the end of term, we all met up in a empty car park in Salford and did the exchange. All his manky belongings in exchange for an envelope of cash. Oddly, he never spoke to us again.
