I didn’t write about this before because I was worried she’d stumble upon it on my computer and I’d hurt her feelings, but now that she’s gone I can give you the story of the squatter.

Come on, don’t pretend you haven’t all been wondering what is going on over here.

Starting from the beginning…

Once upon a time…actually it was the first Friday of September…I met this girl at a soiree for the networking site I use here. I had had a couple of wines already and when I met her I found out she lives near the same metro station as me. For me, and my couple of wines, that meant we were instantly best friends. We made all sorts of plans to hang out and what-not, especially when she found out I had a car.

But then I never heard from her.

I even e-mailed her and asked if she wanted to get together. Remember, I was still trying to make friends at this time.

But after a couple weeks I completely forgot about her because I was watching the rugby and making other friends.

Then three weeks later I get a phone call from her in the middle of the night. Literally, it was midnight. So I didn’t answer.

When I listened to the message the next day it was her asking if I could help her move, you know, because I have a car and all.

“Fuck, why did I have to go bragging about my car?” I asked myself.

“Well, I’m not going to call her back. I don’t have time to be helping someone move anyway. I worked 45 hours this week, the weekend is MINE,” I thought.

But then she called me again.

And again.

And again.

So finally I just answered the phone. I told her I had plans and I would only be available from like 3 to 5 p.m.

“Oh, really?! Well, that’s fine. I can just pack all my stuff now and have it ready for when you can come at 3!”


“Um, alright. Sure. I guess that will work.”

So when I get there I find out that we’re not actually moving her stuff into a new apartment. We’re moving it into her friend’s basement because she hasn’t found a place to live yet.

Then I find out she’s staying with another friend of hers for the weekend. But her friend doesn’t have a shower.

So me, being me, says, “Well, I have an extra futon. If you want you could stay at my place for the weekend.”

Then Sunday night rolls around and she’s talking about how she can only find youth hostels for 25 euros a night. And I tell her that sucks and I don’t want her to have to spend a bunch of money. She can stay at my place for a few days while she continues looking for an apartment.

See, I’m admitting it’s my fault.

She didn’t ask to stay. I offered.

Big mistake.

A few days turned into an entire month as I slowly retreated to my bedroom, where I used my computer, read, ate, and pretty much everything else. I felt like my whole apartment was occupied and I had no space.

In addition, I only have one key to my apartment. So every day I’d have to drive it to her work on the way to my last shift of work. It was a real hassle. I felt like I couldn’t go out because if I did she wouldn’t have a way to get in.

Too bad she didn’t feel the same way.

I’d get home from work and have to stand outside in the freezing-ass Paris night in front of MY OWN apartment for half an hour while I waited for her to finish doing her laundry or grocery shopping.

But she finally found an apartment Thursday night and moved out asap. Mostly, I think this is due to the fact that I told her my boss found out she was living with me and said she had to move out. I don’t know, I just don’t have the heart to kick someone out on the street.

I did get in trouble with my boss though. Because the electricity bill doubled last month. Probably because there were two of us living here.

I’m just glad my boss didn’t make me pay for it.

Because it wasn’t like this girl was paying me rent.

Not that I pay rent, which I think is why she didn’t feel obliged to offer.

Anywho, that’s the story of my squatter. I probably left some stuff out, but you get the gyst.