It’s that time of year again – you’ve got to start thinking about who you’ll be living… It’s that time of year again – you’ve got to start thinking about who you’ll be living with. Choose wisely, because barring your house burning down or one of you dropping out of school and running away to California, you’ll be stuck with your roommates for the duration of your lease.

I’ve never really thought very much about who I ended up living with. Freshman year at a different school, I filled out a little survey about all my preferences – smoking, partying, studying with music or without. “In 50 words or less, describe your perfect roommate.” “If you were a flower and your roommate was a flower, what kind of flowers would you be?”

The people at this fine institution in their ultimate wisdom checked out my answers, laughed hysterically, shredded the form and picked a name out of a hat.

The name was Sarah. Not really, of course, because names must be changed to protect the guilty. I was excited to meet her and imagined that we’d be the best of friends, forming a lifelong attachment as a result of sharing a room with dimensions slightly smaller than a federal solitary confinement cell.

Sarah was an early riser. I liked to sleep in.

Sarah liked to study with her Rent CD playing continuously in the background. I hated show tunes and needed total silence to concentrate.

Sarah was always hot, even in the middle of winter. I was perpetually cold. Sarah’s bed was nearest the window, so I learned to dress in layers – lots of layers.

Sarah was extremely religious and was up for church every Sunday, making sure to make enough ruckus in the morning to wake my sinful, non-attending self. Sometimes I’d look up from my work to find her glaring at me for no reason that I could determine. We lived in the same room, but would go for days without speaking to each other – not even so much as a “hello.”

Consider the preceding a cautionary tale. Do not trust institutions of higher learning to decide your living arrangements.

Sarah and I were not a good match. What’s more, the school wasn’t a good match for me, so come Christmas I bid them both farewell and decided I would never live with anyone ever again.

When I decided to transfer to Pitt, it was a given that I would live with two of my close friends from high school who were already living here. However, we’d gotten no further than apartment hunting before our bonds started to disintegrate. I bowed out of the arrangement and they found an apartment together, spending the next year in perpetual battles that destroyed their friendship.

Again, a cautionary tale. Do not assume that just because you’re great friends that you can live together.

Come August I was still homeless. I went on Pitt’s roommate finder and posted an ad. I’m not sure exactly how it went, but it was something like, “Artistic sophomore seeks roommates. Gender not important, but you must be kind, open-minded, and willing to talk things out.”

This is how I found KT and Carrie. They had a three-bedroom and a roommate who’d flaked out on them. I needed a place to live almost as desperately as KT and Carrie needed a third roommate, so we signed the lease and moved in.

I spent the first few weeks getting used to the city and my classes, tiptoeing around my new housemates. We each had our own room so it was easy to keep to ourselves.

Then Sept. 11, 2001, happened. I ran into KT on the street after they’d closed the University and we walked home together. When Carrie got home, we cooked a meal together and huddled in front of KT’s television set, wondering if the sky was really falling.

Something changed between us that day. We started to talk to each other. Occasionally KT would pop her head in my room to say “hello” or Carrie and I would chill in the kitchen while we were both cooking, even if she was preparing organic spaghetti while I was heating Spaghettios in the microwave. We were all very different, but it started to work.

It’s worked for the past two years that way, even though we lost Carrie to graduation in December 2002. I had no worries about moving in someone I’d found on the roommate finder to fill her empty room, even if he couldn’t fill the hole in our lives.

When you live with people you don’t already know, there’s a certain wary respect that develops. You don’t know how they’ll react to your dirty dishes in the sink, so you make sure not to leave them there. You ask before you borrow his or her hairdryer. You keep your music turned down and avoid blasting show tunes because your new housemate might hate Chicago. When you’re living with someone you already know, you’re more likely to relax and assume they won’t care if you eat his or her Cheetos.

Of course, the roomies and I have relaxed during the last two years. We have our spats over common areas and illegal recreational activities. But since we started out with that respect, it became the basis of a solid friendship. I’m quite happy to say that my best friend lives in the room next to me.

I guess the moral of the story is this: Perhaps the best thing I ever did was not think too much about who I’d be living with. I wouldn’t have chosen KT or Carrie otherwise, but I’m certain our meeting was a happy accident.

Beth Hommel will never move out of her North Oakland apartment, even if the toilet does lean to the left. You can reach her at [email protected].