The holidays mean lots of things to lots of people. One thing they mean to lots of people is houseguests, and everyone knows they can be a nightmare at the best times. These are stories from the worst of times.
"My father-in-law is, unfortunately, a pain who happened to stay at my home once. My SO and I cooked dinner (it was something with a tomato sauce), and after a dinner full of father-in-law making racist, bigoted statements, we went to clean up. The kitchen sink and dishwasher are maybe 10 feet from where he is sitting. I was taking my plate to the sink while making eye contact with and talking to my SO. He apparently held out his plate full of tomato sauce for me to take to the sink right there and I didn't notice. After I didn't take it, his response was to flip the plate upside down onto the white carpet. He didn't apologize or say 'oops' or try to clean it up. His response was to cross his arms over his fat body and frown. He has not been invited back since, although whenever we're frustrated we now say 'Whatever, plate flip.'"
"A friend of ours was visiting with her child. This was not really a child, but an 8-year-old menace who, after five minutes, made it obvious the lack of discipline she grew up with. My daughter and said psycho were playing in her room. The adults stepped outside to see/discuss something for a few minutes. We return when we hear a squawk to find her holding my dove. The little brat opened the cage and grabbed the bird to pet her. Did you know you can't squeeze a bird? It died from internal injuries less than two hours later. My daughter was heartbroken."
"So this happened around two years ago. A roommate's friend stayed over on our futon after a night out. My other roommate and I had never met her until the next morning. I was studying in the kitchen when she came in and asked for a dish towel. I thought that was kind of weird, but I handed her one. Soon after, she left. That was the only interaction I had with her.
We started noticing a really awful smell throughout the house. It smelled TERRIBLE. I went to the bathroom to investigate. The toilet was full of brown, poopy water. It took several attempts and lots of gagging to unclog it. We cleaned the bathroom thoroughly and thought that would be the end of it. This was just the tip of the iceberg.
The poop smell lingered over the next few days. We didn't know what to make of it. One night, after a couple drinks, we sat down on the futon (on top of the blankets we kept there) with a movie and some chips and salsa. A few minutes into the movie, we started getting whiffs of the smell. They became stronger and stronger. We pulled back the blankets and recoiled in horror at the sight of the poopetrator. This chick almost certainly had explosive diarrhea on our futon. Not only that, she covered it up and didn't say a word.
We were pretty happy to find the culprit, but also horrified by the events that transpired."
"A little preface to my story. During my first summer in college, I lived at home. My parents have a beautiful, massive house that has a very open floor plan. They leave me in charge of petsitting our dozens of animals for a week.
I decide to have some coworkers over for drinking games and hot tubbing. One of my rather annoying coworkers finds out and invites herself. She shows up and proceeds to drink more than anyone her size should ever drink. By 9 p.m., she is beyond wasted, and proceeds to vomit. She somehow manages to walk from my living room to the guest room, past three bathrooms and the kitchen sink, while vomiting the entire way. There was puke on the couch, carpet, walls, stairwell, and every piece of furniture between the living room and guest room. Once she stumbles in, she proceeds to take off all her clothes and throw her vomit soaked clothing onto the bed. She then begins to rummage through my closet and finds herself something to wear, despite me begging her to go shower and let me bring her clothes.
Obviously, she spends the night, and the next morning, as I am scrubbing the remnants of her vomit off of every surface in my house, she asks me 'what are you going to make me for breakfast? I'm too hungover to drive right now.' She didn't even attempt to help clean up her puke."
"I live in a Co-op, and we sometimes host couch surfers or friends of friends, and usually it goes over great. Positive memories include me taking four Austrian girls to Six Flags and having one of the most fun days of my life, and otherwise meeting interesting and awesome people.
The worst was a couple that came and stayed with us. They said they would only stay for two or three days. They came in a van, like, an actual hippy burner van that they lived in, parked in our tiny parking driveway, and brought an untrained puppy that they didn't tell any of us about. The puppy peed on everything and fought with our dog, and harassed our cats viciously. Every time the puppy destroyed something, peed on something or harassed another pet, I'd ask it's owners to do something about it and they would flip out on me. 'He's just a little puppy. How could we yell at him?' and would get super defensive while refusing to take responsibility at all for the fact that their animal was a menace.
They ended up staying two weeks with their huge stupid van in our yard. When the rest of the house got so fed up with their entitled ways and their stupid dog, they acted like we were the bad guys for making them leave, and that 'If you guys are a co-op house, it's not very in the spirit to force travelers to leave.'
I hate that nonsense. Just because we are a co-op doesn't mean we're a haven for hippy freeloaders. It's a home we keep clean and live in. Most of us have normal jobs and normal lives, we just prefer the reduced cost and increased companionship of a large house full of people.
"Christmas Eve 1997.
The previous year had been full of huge milestones. I graduated from college, got a good job, and got my first place -- a nice apartment in Omaha, which was about an hour and a half from where I grew up. As it was my first Christmas in my new place, and I had a guest room, my parents came to town to visit me and my dad's sister and brother-in-law (my aunt and uncle) lived not too far away.
My mom has a raging sweet tooth, so in addition to a delicious holiday dinner, my aunt had prepared her world-famous fudge, knowing my mom would be in town. My mom ate some fudge at the family gathering at my aunt and uncle's house - no more than anyone else - and once we were at my place, proceeded to eat about half of the tin of fudge my aunt had sent home with her.
'Don't eat so much, Jean!' my dad kept saying her. 'You know what happens!'
'Oh, hush!' was her only response. 'I'll be fine.'
She wasn't fine.
Around 11:30 p.m., after changing into our pajamas and settling in to watch the usual worldwide rebroadcast of midnight mass from Vatican City, my mom got a look on her face, accompanied by a gurgling noise.
'I told you not to eat so much!' my dad said to her sharply.
'What's wrong?' I asked. 'Do you need some water, or Pepto or something?'
No response. Mom was clutching her belly and wincing.
'I need the bathroom!' she said as she started to get up.
I was confused. I wasn't sure what exactly was going on. I hadn't lived with my parents for an extended period of time.
'Oh no,' my dad said, as he stood to help her off the couch. 'She's not going to make it!'
And she didn't.
She let out waves of diarrhea, all the way to the bathroom. Honestly, by the time she got to the bathroom, I'm pretty sure it wasn't even of any use, as everything had made its way to the beige carpet from underneath her flannel nightgown.
That was also the night I learned my mother never wore underwear to bed. I never asked why. Nor did I want to know the answer.
What was really incredible about it all was how far the poop traveled. Obviously, the carpet took the brunt of it. However, it was also on the walls, on the couch, some made its way into the kitchenette, and I'm pretty sure I even saw a brown spot on the ceiling. This was some gravity-defying poop. I was disgusted, but I was also a little bit amazed.
Baby Jesus did not escape unscathed. Neither did two sheep, a cow, Joseph, or two of the three wise men. Gabriel took it the worst, though. Balthazar, his camel, and Mary remained clean, but no amount of religion could make them unsee what had just transpired.
I was 23 at the time. How many 23-year-olds do you know who keep a steam cleaner and industrial cleansers in their apartment?
The correct answer is zero. Because if you did know that person, you'd be dead, because the only 23-year-old who would keep that sort of stuff on hand is clearly a serial killer.
We did our best to clean things up - and by we, I mean my dad and me, because she was sitting on the toilet, crying, I guess trying to coax out whatever evil remained in her bowels. We went through every towel I had in the place - paper or otherwise - and then drove around Omaha until 2 a.m. looking for someplace where we could buy any sort of chemical to make the horrors in my apartment go away.
We slept with the windows open that night. It didn't remove the smell, but it helped. Dad and I spent the whole night doing laundry, scrubbing, and trying not to vomit at the thought of the atrocity we had witnessed. Finally, around 6 a.m., we went to bed.
When I woke up around noon, dad had gone out to find more cleaning supplies, and mom was sitting in the kitchen, eating more fudge.
I walked over to her, took the tin of fudge, dumped what was left in the trash, and took it to the dumpster outside.
We never spoke of the incident again."
"We were going out of town for the weekend and a friend asked if he could stay at our house, since he lived with his parents in the country it saved tremendously on the commute to his job, plus that way he could actually go to a party and drink with the option of taking a cab ride home that didn't cost close to a hundred bucks. I jokingly said, 'Just as long as you don't nail a random girl in my bed.' He waved it off since he didn't have much luck with the ladies, plus he planned on sleeping on the couch.
From what I could tell when I came home afterward, there was a fermenting/rotting glass of our best stash in my bedroom. He was thoughtful enough to not want to leave a water ring on our St. Vinnie's dresser, so he used a white silk shirt from my drawer as a coaster for whatever red drink he had concocted. Then, judging by the state of my bedsheets, he and his lady friend slaughtered a chicken together in my bed. When I brought up these facts, he basically acted like I was a witch for not being happy that he got lucky."
"A few years ago, my cousin came to my house with my grandparents for my birthday, and we were supposed to hang out together. He is an extreme introvert and he prefers to be alone. He asked me if he can stay in my room alone and I agreed to it, wondering about his weird behavior. We didn't see him for the rest of the day. When it was time for my grandparents and my cousin to go home, we all waited outside my room for him to come out. Before we had the chance to knock, he burst out of my dark bedroom, red-faced and with his hair messy and matted. He sped-walked straight to the car, and we all said our goodbyes. I figured he was tired that day and took a long nap in my bed. It was late when they left, and I was partied out, so I got ready for bed. When I rested my head on my pillow, I felt a slimy substance in my hair and I immediately knew what it was. When I looked at my pillow, I saw a giant pool of white nastiness in the dent of my pillow. I was very grossed out, and vigorously washed my hair in my bathroom sink, switched to a clean pillow, threw the 'soiled' pillow into the washer, and went back to bed."
"It wasn't my home, but it was a beach house my family had rented.
First, this wasted guy pointed at a friend's stomach and said, 'You are too fat.'
Then, while talking to my brother-in-law and his friend (both Navy F14 pilots) he said, 'Think you guys could teach me to fly?'
'Sure.' They said in good humor.
'Ok, you teach me to fly, and I will teach you how to be an engineer like me.'
The guy did this kind of nonsense all night, including basically groping my wife and half the girls at the party.
At the end of the night, my sister had retired to her room. She said she was getting undressed when he barged into the room. She said, 'Get out of here!' And that he replied, 'You know you want me to be here.' At which point she screamed for help.
My brother-in-law and his friends were among the last people up (those Navy pilots can really drink), and so they ran into the room following the screams and grabbed the guy. I was coming out of my room by then, awakened by the screams, and watched as they dragged the idiot out onto the balcony (it was a three story house).
They pushed the guy against the railing and acted like they were about to lift him over it.
My brother-in-law's friend says to him, 'Either you get out of here and never come back, or your first flying lesson is tonight. '"
"My cousin (let's call him JC) was traveling cross-country for work and decided to make an impromptu stop in Denver for a few days. I didn't mind because I like having friends and family around. He was to arrive on a Monday, and I didn't take time off so I'd be working in the day but afternoons and evenings were mostly free.
The first day or two of him being there went fine until the Wednesday night that he tells me he wants to get out of the apartment. Mind you, it was already after 8 p.m., and I have to be up for work at 4:30 a.m. So, JC decides to call a cab and just go to a bar for a little bit. I wasn't really for it, but I didn't want to hold him back from seeing some of the city. I give him my address and a spare key. He leaves with the cabbie around 9 p.m.
Fast forward to 2 a.m.
I get woken up by a call from my cousin, messed up, asking to open the door. I'm like, 'You have the key!' And he responds, 'Open the door, I'm knocking!' I tell him, 'JC, I don't hear you knocking! Where are you?!'
This went on for about 20 minutes of trying to get a wasted moron to make sense on the phone.
I decided to throw on some clothes and drive around the community, simultaneously talking to him on the phone, and looking for a wasted idiot knocking on some random person's door.
After much circling around, I find a cop car with two cops walking towards an apartment building (not far from mine). I get out and walk towards them. The cop approaches me and asks if I know the guy, and I tell the cop the truth of how it all played out. They tell me to stay by my car while they talk to him. A few minutes pass and JC stumbles over while the cops tell me to take him immediately.
JC, in his wasted wisdom, was banging on the door of an apartment of a single mom with two children. He lost my stupid apartment key (which they were kind enough to replace without charge). He raged in my apartment and threatened to kick my butt. He then proceeded to pass out until I got back from work around 5 p.m."
"I share a house with several other people. I'm isolated from them by the layout, which leads to me going days without seeing my roommates. I find the situation to be ideal. We are friendly enough, but mostly see each other in passing.
A guy we'll call Steve moved into the big room upstairs. Seems nice enough, but turns out to have an out of control drinking problem. He doesn't get violent or angry, but I keep getting quizzed about why things go missing from his room or why his food is being eaten. I have no idea, at first.
It turns out he likes to get tanked up and make new friends. He gets hammered and drags strangers home to party. Substances come into play. Surprisingly, substance-addled hobos are not the most trustworthy individuals. They take things. They break things. Things get real.
At one point, Steve tells me he is missing an incredibly insignificant amount of 'party supplies' from his room. For two weeks, each time I see him, he brings it up. At first, I sympathize. Then I tire of the complaining. Finally, he theorizes that I left my side of the house, climbed the stairs, and ferreted out his stash while he was passed out. I blow up on him. He finally discovers that he threw the baggie out his window while paranoid and wasted, and laughs about it.
Things come to a head one night when he brings a scumbag couple over. They party upstairs well into the night. Around 2 a.m., there is a knock on my door. A stranger is holding out a ratty bath towel.
'Here. Sorry.' He turns.
'What is this?' I ask.
Turns out, buddy boy has been partying and drinking rotgut so long that his innards are rotting. He went to the bathroom to drop a deuce, and instead sprayed the entire room with the contents of his festering colon. The chunks of feces went everywhere. After the application of half-a-roll of toilet paper, he flushed. The massive clog caused the poop to be evenly distributed across the floor. He solved the problem by using my nice bath towel to clean up. When he realized the damage he had done to it, he took it into the backyard and threw it under a bush. Then he got an old towel that he had in his trunk for some unknown reason and delivered it to me.
Getting the whole story out of him took quite a bit of time and effort. When he led me to the towel's burial spot, I found that it had huge patches of poop covering it. It looked like someone had mixed plaster of Paris and chunky mustard together, then sacrificed a chicken over it. I was horrified.
I had it out with Steve the next day. He kept saying, 'I'll wash it,' and denying any responsibility in introducing this idiot into my world. When he left for a meeting, buddy boy showed up looking for him and wanted to hang out in his room until he returned. I told him to kick rocks before his head got caved in.
Things got much worse with Steve before we found him collapsed in the breezeway. His internal organs were in shutdown, and the prognosis is grim. His family arrived to start hauling away all the junk he had managed to drag to the house, and the very first entry into his room revealed massive damage, jugs of urine, rotten food, and worse. The landlady declared a biohazard and is contemplating legal action.
"My mother-in-law was staying at our house.
In the middle of the night, I hear her get up and then hear my garage door open. There being absolutely no reason for her to be out there, I get up to go see if she needs anything. I open the door and find her crouching over a cup peeing. I startled her which caused her to drop the cup, spilling her fresh urine all over my garage floor.
Her explanation was that someone (my husband) was in the only bathroom. That would fly except she didn't even knock on the door! She just saw the door closed and went straight to peeing in a cup in the garage."
"Just last year I let a couple live with me when they first moved to Los Angeles to get settled in and were all planning on finding a bigger apartment with them later. Her dad was best friends with my late father so even though we didn't know her personally we assumed the best.
The first thing they did was bring a golden retriever and a cat to my apartment that does not allow pets. After countless times of them not listening to me and us almost getting evicted - they finally listened - but then continued to bring the dog and cat back. It was exhausting.
They didn't pay rent or utilities and still owe me so much money.
The girl was completely insane. she was the moodiest person I have ever met. She got wasted one night, and threw her cat against the ceiling and threw my friend in a closet. Then took all my dishes and started smashing them.
The final month was coming up on our lease, and by this point, my other roommate was overwhelmed and moved out. The new guests were going to split rent with me. The day before rent was due they told me they were moving out and not giving me any money for rent.
I could not afford the $2,500-rent by myself, so within a night, I was homeless. I had to move out that night into my best friend's apartment.
When they moved out, they took a bunch of my stuff, broke the window and dishes, and never helped clean the place at all. I was so lucky my landlord let me out of the lease.
Never had I met such terrible people before in my life."
"A house guest at my parent's house stayed in my childhood bedroom. He was a serious drinker, and in the middle of the night, I guess he decided he didn't want the fan on anymore. Instead of turning the fan off, he broke every fan blade off the ceiling fan and hid them under the dresser."
"About two years ago, my cousin (who I had never met) flew to Arizona for an internship. My entire family pressured me into letting him stay at my home for an entire month.
The first thing he did was complain that I smoked (I never smoke inside, nor do I smoke in enclosed areas). The second thing he did was complain that the 42-inch LCD television in his bedroom wasn't big enough and that the Stephen Colbert poster in his room was 'tacky.'
The first two nights he was there, I invited him to join my (then) girlfriend and me to watch Netflix. The third night I invited him to play Xbox. He said that was smothering. A week later, he told me that I 'made him feel unwelcome' by ceasing to invite him to do such things.
The next week, he left a pizza in the oven for so long while he went outside 'for a walk' that it lit on fire. He blamed me for not checking on it.
After he left, his mother asked us whether he gave us any money for food or 'fun'. She had apparently given him $1,000 that he was supposed to give to us throughout the course of the month in return for food and other things to show courtesy. The entire month I had wondered how he, a 'starving college student' like myself, afforded a brand new wardrobe and shoes on a dime. That was the answer.
My cousin is a pain."