Battlefields haz drama? No way!
Most of you will be aware of my struggles with my current alcoholic housemate. Many of you have read previous threads where I have vented about him being a douchebag while on the piss, his bullshit and the bullshit he's brought into my life. Because I am a softie at heart, I've put up with a **** load of **** from him because he keeps telling me what I want to hear, that he's done fucking up his life and done with getting so sauced that he doesn't know what he is doing, that he will change and with my help it will all be possible.
Bit of background, moved interstate in to a great apartment not far from my gym with this guy that I worked with under the proviso that his drinking didn't interfere with my career, work or life. Within weeks it was interfering. Within three months he was fired for drunken sexually charged harassment suit brought by a 21 year old girl from work. He tried to deny it, but I heard the evidence first hand (over the phone). He's been unemployed for four months, every dole day he gets drunk for three days then is broke for the rest of the fortnight.
Last week was basically a typical weekend for this prick, he went out Friday night, got hammered, ended up in a cop shop trying to give the police a story about how he tried to stop a fight and the two guys turned on him. The cops reviewed the CCTV footage, which they had on hand and informed him HE was at fault. During this incident he lost his keys. The only other set of keys to the apartment, ones that cannot be copied.
Fuckwit calls me at my girlfriends house at 7:30am on Saturday morning. Tries a sob story about how he was assaulted and the "fucking pigs did nothing, **** THE PIGS", he kept repeating that which is in capitals like I was going to accept that he, the drunk, and his anarchist mentality was completely blameless. And on pressing him further the story didn't add up. Why would two guys fighting suddenly turn on someone trying to help out? Why would the "fucking pigs" review CCTV footage and conclude HE was at fault? Why is a 38 year old acting like a FUCKING TEENAGER?
I told him straight he needed to sort his life out, again. And he asked me how I did it, again. I told him, again. And he somehow convinced me he was "converted" to being able to be helped, again. More fool me.
As mentioned, the key he lost is one that is not allowed to be copied, it has to be remade by the owner of the property. So now I'm the only one with a key to the apartment. Graciously I offer to leave my key in the lock up garage to make it easy until he gets his key off the owner, provided the key remains either in the garage or in the unit. It was stipulated that the key had to remain in those two places and there was no fucking misconstruing of this point, as shown in my text on the 3/11/12:
Last week went off okay, he left the key, albeit in a slightly different place than originally agreed but still in the garage. Thursday he fucked me around a bit, saying he wanted my help to quit drinking, but then when I cleared my schedule for him, he told me that evening he wasn't feeling up to the task. The next morning he informed me he would seek the help by himself and I said it was probably for the best, in the case of helping yourself, you have to help yourself. I left for my office Christmas party in the morning in high spirits, happy that my mate seemed to have finally come to his senses.
Just so we're straight, you will not take my key anywhere but to and from the apartment from the garage and you will never forget them by accidentally locking them in the house because it will cause you great regret.
After the Christmas party (lawn bowls!) I went straight to sparring/ open mat and had a wicked stand up session followed by a sick open mat. My Friday night was turning out to be a good night, Christmas party, sparring, rolling then a chat to my mum on the phone before grabbing some Indian take away and a movie to watch by myself when I got home. Ready for a relaxing session, I rocked up at home and there was no key.
No fucking key.
And no way to contact him cause the douche lost his phone on another drunken evening the previous Saturday evening. I put a call out on Facebook saying if anyone has seen him, tell him to get home with the key. Within minutes I had several replies telling me he was last seen in the Valley, Brisbane's entertainment district, pissed as a mute.
I was fucking rope-able. I went to my girl's house and tried to chill out but my rage wasn't subsiding. I went to the Valley for a search but couldn't find him. Without a phone to contact him and the knowledge that the prick loses fucking everything he touches, I'm suitably concerned I will be locked out of my own fucking apartment for a long time.
Did I mention I was pissed off at this stage? Considering one of the reasons I moved to Brisbane was because I was denied access to a residence that I fucking paid for in Sydney, I am particularly, shall we say, sensitive about being restricted access to my abode and my belongings.
I stayed at my girl's place and eventually, despite having interrupted her plans with her friend to have a few drinks, she managed to calm me down enough for me to lay my head for sleep.
I received a message at 6:39am saying:
I'd realized that confrontation wasn't going to help, but I needed him to understand that he fucked up beyond repair this time. I figured I'd be all nice, grab the key and **** off so by the time he realized I had it, he'd either be locked out, or locked in. My goal was to be completely calm and act like I accepted what I assumed would be his apologies for the oversight.
At home with phone and keys this morning
Fuckwit is nothing if not unpredictable.
I rocked up with my girl because of the calming effect and he opened the door. I walked straight past him to my room and started putting together items I would need and want to protect, such as my laptop and camera. Here's where it went awry.
As I walked past him, the stench of alcohol thick, his expressionless eyes belying his drunken state, he made a crack that I "looked angry". So I told him I was in no uncertain terms, with the reasons why. He decided not to apologize, instead he told me I was being a dick by being angry. I was not amused. "**** you" was bandied around, "you selfish ****" was utilized once or twice, as well as a variety of other colourful examples of language that I had almost forgotten I had mastered as a youth.
He decided to match my intensity with threats of violence, picking up the ironing board, viciously slamming doors, indicating I should take a swing on him. I called him a *****, because that is his modus operandi, he tries to punk you until you make a move so he is a victim. Around this time I managed to ascertain the whereabouts of my key, which I pocketed. This allowed me to maintain my cool and return to my bedroom with my girl to pack as much stuff as possible. I would wait until he sobered up and realized he was the douche.
Again, unpredictable. He almost punched through my door, my girl had to hold the door and when he almost pushed her against the wall, I almost lost it. But she was a fucking god send, telling me to calm down, that we were going, if it weren't for her he would've been thrown off the balcony. I had a few bags and things and we started making our way to leave, him trying to get in my face and calling me out.
Being "from Belfast" and knowing "real violence", something he is at constant pains to remind me, meant that his threats of violence were not to be taken lightly, but the fact that I train relatively seriously in martial arts meant I wasn't exactly quivering from fear. Maybe quivering from the adrenaline, but not fear. As I walked out he made some threat to which I replied, "whatever, little boy", and walked out the front door as my girl tried to put herself between him and me so I could walk out with no interference.
As I stepped off the first step in the stairwell I glanced over my shoulder to catch in my peripheral vision him front kicking me in the fucking back down the two stairs into the wall.
I turned and returned up those two steps to him, who was still making threatening gestures to me while endangering my girlfriend. She recognized that kicking someone in the back was a move that she wouldn't be able to calm me down from and got out the way. I put two or three punches to his face, perfectly placed, he tried returning the first but as my second landed he covered up and instead of continuing fire, I put him against the wall, underhooked his left side and put his face into the desk with my left forearm, grinding it into the scattered change that had once been neatly piled. Completely controlling him I shouted, "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT YOU LITTLE PIECE OF ****?!?" into his ear.
I let him go, grabbed my stuff and started down the stairwell again, my girl struggling to keep the door shut because he was trying to yell **** like, "are you happy with what you've done?" and the more amusing "you just assaulted me" to which my girl replied incredulously, "you kicked him!!!"
I had to apologize to her for my language and actions, I really didn't want the confrontation, verbal or physical. I was somewhat surprised when she said she believed my actions were absolutely justified. Then again, everyone who knows me and this housemate has told me that they are amazed that I have lasted this long without snotting him, he is that obnoxious. One person went as far as calling me a saint.
As we drove off he chased the car screaming, "give me the fucking key!"
He was the unhappy recipient of the middle finger.
As I wrote that last sentence he just called me on the phone within a day to ask for the key because he needs to..."I don't give a ****", I cut him off and hung up.
If I hadn't had the training I have I still would've dominated the physical altercation, however, I wouldn't have had two things:
1. The self control to last the provocation as long as I did. In the past that story would've been a helluva lot shorter.
2. The ability to recognize when a threat had been subdued. Also, the ability to recognize during an altercation the necessity of utilizing different skill sets, so when he was covering up, instead of continuing to rain fists on his head, I closed the distance and used grappling to quell the decreased danger without inflicting more damage than I needed to. I didn't have that in the past.
This incident heralds another fucking era of instability in my life, I'm on the lease for another 6 months and will not stand for anymore ****, thus I will have to move out.
This isn't a "did I do the right thing?" thread. Nor is it a "look at me, I'm bad arse" thread. It's a "fucked if I know how my life is so drama filled" thread and there's no conclusion.
Battlefields haz drama? No way!
Shame. A lot of landlords over here won't except housing benefit. I was hoping there'd be something in the tenancy agreement that you could use to get him turfed off the lease rather than you getting shafted again.
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Battlefields haz drama? No way!
Even better if he has damaged something that's covered on the inventory. Explain to the landlord that you would rather he was off the lease before he loses more of the deposit.
Can't have a chap struggling if I can help. Good luck.
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