Living With Lyle

Problem Number Three

Head Lice

            After years of watching movies like Animal house and Van Wilder, I had a certain expectancy for the way I believed the average college student would act on weekends. So believe me when I say that I felt pretty bad for Lyle when I heard that his acne medicine was too hard on his liver for him to consume any alcohol. However I was a bit thrown off when I heard he had also given up all his Saturday nights so that he could wake up on Sunday mornings to attend meetings with a Quaker society he joined out of the blue.

Yes, every Sunday morning at 6:00am Lyle’s alarm would go off, only so that he could press snooze every seven minutes until 7:00am when he actually had to wake up. He would then roll out of bed and shuffle outside where the shady van full of Quakers would be waiting to scoop him up and rush him off to a long day of prayer and apple picking (I like to picture Lyle riding shotgun with the Quaker’s oatmeal man singing gospel tunes).

            Don’t get me wrong, I have no issues with Quakers, I just found it a bit odd that someone who was never previously religious would give up all his potential wild Saturday night memories of freshman year (though on some level I do admire his independence).  And I really didn’t have any problem with this, until his “announcement.”

            “Dudes” Lyle said in a way that grabbed both the attention of myself and my other roommate Nate (who was buried in homework at the time). “I have head lice.”  I could swear I heard a record scratch as soon as he said it.  “No you don’t.” I replied (adding a “please please god tell me this is a joke” in my head). “Yea I got em pretty bad. I think they’re from the Quakers, But don’t worry…Actually Nate’s hair is too short, only you worry.” He said.

“Wow, thanks Lyle. That’s really reassuring.”

            He went on to suggest that I wash anything that is near his bed (which is the bunk above mine, so by extension everything near my bed) or the seat by the window (that currently had a freshly washed pile of my laundry sitting on it). To put things in perspective Lyle’s hats, shirts (and socks), are constantly drifting down from his bed and onto mine. So it’s damn near impossible for me to avoid him, though I sure as hell tried.

            But the very next morning when I was in the shower, I heard Lyle’s voice calling to me from just outside the door. I shut my eyes tight and hoped he wasn’t about to ask me to drive him to get his “special shampoo.” But sure enough the next words out of his mouth were exactly what I expected them to be. And given my vulnerable state in the shower I agreed to do it. Under the condition that he wear a hat that covers as much of his head as possible.

            The hour that followed consisted of a seemingly infinite trip to CVS, in which my head was as far out the window as possible, and Lyle constantly shifting his hat around as though he was trying to itch his head with his other strands of hair. I also distinctly remember watching the perky pharmacist’s smile drop and head jolt back as Lyle told her his reasons for being there. And even with the treatment, Lyle did end up shaving his head (one extreme paranoia filled a week later).

Although I couldn’t bring my self to touch my pile of laundry for another month or so, I did managed to avoid getting lice. And that’s about as close to a happy ending as a story like this can get. 

Living with Lyle

Problem Number Two:

Lyle’s special time

            About a month into the semester Lyle went home for the weekend, and generously offered up his bed to any guests. I decided to take advantage of this and have a buddy from back home come up and visit me. After a pretty decent night of showing my friend the campus and exposing him to the night life, we decided it was time for bed. My friend (who had grown up sleeping in the top bunk), pulled himself up with ease, but he almost came crashing back down when he pulled the blanket away. 

            “Awww dude, that is so wrong.” My friend exclaimed as I pulled my self out of the bottom bunk to see what got such a rise out of him. I looked over the gate (that Lyle had campus safety install because he was afraid of falling out,) and there lying flat in the center of the bed was single, large, and dare I say crusty tube sock.

            It would seriously shock you to know how fast I came to the horrible realization that Lyle was not in fact the restless sleeper I had thought him to be. And the violent spring squeaking I often heard above me wasn’t just him trying to get comfortable. It also put in perspective the good amount of photo’s of his long distance girlfriend he had hung up by his pillow.

            Unfortunately this problem did not die with that sock; actually I have thrown away a great deal of Lyle’s socks since then, mainly because they drift down from his bed to mine. Basically I cant imagine any other way a sock would be able to travel from the foot to the head of the mattress, and therefore it must go. One horrible afternoon I lay down only to find a copy the “Bare, the schools first sex publication” peeking out from his mattress.

            In fairness he typically tries conceal this little hobby. For example if I walk into the room, he will pull the covers up (occasionally too much, so that I might see his boxers are at his knee’s) and pretend to be sleeping.

            At the end of the day, masturbation is what it is. If you got to do it, then go for it. But have a little decency for the guy whose face is three feet below you.

Living with Lyle

Problem Number one:

Sleep talking

            We were not a week into classes when my fist issue with Lyle arose.  He sleeps talks. But not like gentle murmurs that can slip out of anyone’s mouth from time to time. Lyle sleep speaks. It’s clear as day. He’s typically a pretty quiet kid, but at night he speaks with much more inflection than he would during the day. I was once jostled awake to, “WELL HOW MUCH ARE THEY, because I don’t want to pay for all of them.”  

 Also, he seems to almost always be speaking to someone. He is not speaking for both parties like Gollem, but every night I hear Lyle’s half of a conversation. I distinctly remember waking up one of the first nights and thinking “who makes a phone call at 3:30 in the morning?”

            My other roommate is a large “international student” from Africa, who we’re going to call Nate. Nate occasionally struggles with sleep, and has now made a habit of filling in the other half of Lyle’s conversations. So from my perspective I hear something along the lines of-

Lyle: “WHERE IS SHE?”

Giant African Nate (from the other side of the room): “she is in D-hall bro.”

Lyle: “Well I don’t like her, who said I like her?”

Nate: “I think it was tom”

Lyle: “I’m gunna go tell her”

Nate: “Ok you do that.”

Being a third party, I must attempt to sleep through this.

            Lyle is also a frequent “napper” so his sleep talking isn’t necessarily confined to the night. And on certain occasions he will react to something happening in the room, but later he will have no recollection of doing so. One afternoon Nate and I were chuckling at an Internet meme, when Lyle rolled over and mumbled, “you guys are like two French fries.” Nate and I then looked at each other (not knowing what to make of this statement). “What?” I responded a few seconds later. Without skipping a beat Lyle blurted out (in a pretty commanding voice considering the depth of his sleep) “YOU GUYS ARE LIKE A COUPLE OF BEST FRIEND FRENCH FRIES.” He then rolled over and didn’t say another word.

            Only recently did this problem come to a head when I was awoken to a melody. Through the foggy vision of having just been asleep, I see Nate’s head lift in unison with mine. I could only see his silhouette but I can imagine he had the same confused expression I did. It took us a second but we simultaneously came to the realization that “oh my god, its 4:30 in the morning and Lyle is actually singing right now.” 

The days approaching your freshman year of college are an exciting time for anyone. However that is not to say they are without worry. Everyone has fears about the “big transition.” “Is the work going to be hard?” “Am I in good classes?” “Will I make friends?” I can’t, however, imagine that any of these fears quite add up to the prospect of being forced to live with a truly terrible roommate.  Like I was.

            For security reasons I have chosen to disclose my new roommate’s real name, so for the purpose of this piece were going to call him “Lyle.” Given that he did not have a Facebook (which I found a bit strange in this day and age) I knew very little about Lyle going in to the first semester. I had to go on whatever I could pick up from his few texts.  I knew that he came from a small town, played banjo, and the only appliances he planned on bringing were a teakettle, and a Nintendo 64 (released only four years after I was Born). For a good while I did not know what to make of him, but over the next few months I would get a pretty clear Idea that living in a small space with this kid is not the best of situations.

            Just to clarify Lyle is not a mean or bad person. In fact in most cases he can be pretty nice. I just find him to be an incredible character, and I think some of his stories are worth sharing with the world. But again, love or hate Lyle, he is not the kind of guy you want share a bunk bed with.