Let's face it, moving sucks...
...It is a chaotic, sweaty, and smelly endeavor. But you know what trumps the physical anguish of lugging your stuff to a new place? The mental and tedious turmoil of finding a roommate. There are several critical criteria to consider before selecting a potential mate with whom you will room: Will they be weird? Will they be messy? Will they be annoyed by my watching The Thing multiple times a month? Will they leave dirty dishes in the sink? The usual stuff.
To simplify an already complicated and stressful task, I pose the question: Which of the Universal Monsters would be the best roommate?
Roommate candidates must adhere to the following criteria:
-Able to consistently pay rent.
-Capable of inflicting minimal property damage.
-Possess the ability to be somewhat normal around guests.
Creature from the Black Lagoon
As far as monster candidates' body of works goes, The Creature from The Black Lagoon is easily my favorite film. Elegantly unsettling, with unique costume design (shout-out to unsung horror hero Milicent Patrick) and hauntingly technical underwater-shots, allow it to hold up remarkably well. Its premise is simple: Nosey white people on some Christopher Columbus bullshit, infringe upon the Creatures' territory, and it responds in a fashion that any apex predator would.
And while I'm a massive fan, the reality is that I can't afford a lagoon property on an educator's salary. Granted, if I could, I would pretty much have a two-bedroom apartment to myself, which would remove the chances of him damaging the unit. I can't imagine the Creature leaving a comfortable lagoon for a queen-sized bed, can you?
Maintaining a lagoon would also be a massive headache, on top of having to put up barriers dissuading locals from attempting to swim in it. I'm pretty sure the headline "Kids killed by watering hole monster" would put me at odds with the community (and local game warden).
I could let it come inside during the winter to stay in the bathtub, but that would be both expensive and pretty unreasonable. Hard to coordinate showers with someone who lives in a tub five months out of the year.
There is also the predicament of how would the Creature maintain a job? I guess there are water-based professions, but unless Hellboy's Abe Sapien shows up to translate, I reckon the Creature would be an HR nightmare.
Even if I could afford a unit that included a lagoon, the Creature would still stick out like a sore webbed thumb. Perhaps, if I get a pay bump, a private lagoon property would be more feasible, but until then, the Creature is out.
Editor’s Note: While the Monster's name is not actually Frankenstein, for simplicities sake, The Monster will be referred to as Frankenstein in this section.
Listen, when it comes to the easily enraged giant, I couldn't be more sympathetic. Brought into this world against his will only to be manipulated by his creator and hunted by man, Frankenstein has had a rough go of it. And while I believe in lending a helping hand, I am not willing to do so at the cost of my security deposit.
Allow me to explain.
I can't, in good conscience, room with someone who is frequently enraged or terrified, and as a result, prone to smashing, bashing, and hurling things. While this isn't always done in anger, his frequent mood swings complicate things more than I'm willing to endure. Imagine he's caught off guard by the microwave going off, alerting me that my tasty Trader Joe's taquitos are ready, and he launches the microwave, along with my taquitos, out the window.
Furthermore, imagine my 6 AM alarm rings (signifying another day of slogging away at a job that ensures I can retire at the ripe age of 85), and the monster barrels through my door, smashing my clock to pieces.
You get the idea.
Frankenstein as a roommate would be a constant detriment to the structural integrity of any apartment unit we'd occupy.
Complicating matters further, I doubt he can hold down any sort of job. Perhaps a Walmart greeter? But what happens the first time some mouth breather forgets to remove a security tag from their Tigger sweatshirt, triggering an alarm?
I'm sure that would end well.
While I am sympathetic to Frankenstein's plight, I am not willing to endure his lack of income or his propensity for destruction at the expense of my security deposit….Or taquitos.
The Wolf Man
As a single guy, having a roommate that won't make things uncomfortable when I ("If" would be more accurate) bring dates home is a big priority. While The Wolf Man may be able to hold down a DAY job better than the rest of the monster candidates, the likelihood that he'd be able to keep things chill around the apartment are absolutely nil.
Contracting a curse that turns oneself into a ferocious werewolf whenever there's a full moon has got to be a big life adjustment. Making matters worse, during these manic flesh feasting periods, he loses all sense of his consciousness and preys upon anyone who carelessly crosses his path. There is also the unfortunate side effect that he wakes up naked, often covered in blood once this furry period has concluded.
The most problematic symptom of rooming with such an individual would be my continually needing to explain to guests why our apartment is coated in thick fur. Naysayers might say,
"But, JAY! If you get a dog, this could be easily explained!" And to them, I would say,
1. You are assuming we live in an apartment that affords us the privilege of having animals.
2. The last thing I need is for the Wolf Man to transform, only to be greeted by a furry friend who he misreads as a furry foe.
Furry friends are hard to clean off of carpets.
Furthermore, the issue of any possible dates that come over might run the risk of being traumatized by seeing a naked, likely covered in blood, man on my living room floor. Hard to explain bloody naked dudes just casually snoozing in your abode.
Again, you might say, "Well, Jay! You shouldn't bring people over on nights when there is a full moon!"
And to this, I would say,
1. I don't dictate when Applebee's 2 for $20 date night is offered.
2. I should be able to walk into my house without having to explain why there's a bloody naked guy on my floor.
Based on his inability to keep things even remotely normal, The Wolf Man is most definitely out.
The Invisible Man
A roommate I'll never see? Sign me up! While initially a very tempting offer, under scrutiny, the practicality of having an invisible roommate quickly becomes problematic. After accidentally creating a potion making him permanently invisible, Dr. Jack Griffin begins to exhibit mania and destructive tendencies.
Not exactly star qualities for a roommate to have.
Continually worrying about pissing off a homicidal roommate is a stressor I don't see as a viable long-term living arrangement. Violent tendencies can make things SUPER awkward. And when I'm not worried about him going on a rampage and leading the police straight to our apartment, I'm concerned about him trying to drive me insane.
Is he hiding in my room? The shower? The pantry? Given The Invisible Man's mean spirited nature, I am confident he'd wage psychological warfare on me over the most trivial of matters.
"It seems Jay forgot to knock when entering my room again. Mhmm, I suppose hiding naked in the shower will serve as an adequate punishment!"
There is also the Invisible Man's appearance, when he chooses to be seen (also known as not being naked). Maybe we could update his wardrobe from race car goggles and head bandages, so he wouldn’t resemble a fire-ward escapee just wandering around the house.
That would be fun to explain to guests.
As for his ability to hold down a job, I foresee his mania and ego completely doing away with any notion of gainful employment. While he could most likely steal enough money to cover his portion of the rent, his knack for murder at the slightest provocation further complicates his ability to maintain employment.
For these reasons, The Invisible Man is most definitely disqualified.
Listen, of all the monsters, Dracula seems like the most rational of the lot. Sure, he drinks blood and sleeps in a coffin and has to avoid sunlight and garlic and crosses and holy water, and….While he has his host of problems, Dracula seems like the easiest to converse with, which would make negotiating a mutual living arrangement that much easier.
I'm not ignorant that living with Dracula would be a drastic life change, requiring numerous and contentious conversations about boundaries. Boundaries such as not drinking guests blood, refraining from morphing into a bat when company is over or making moves on any hypothetical girlfriends. Per our arrangement, I would supply him with blood bags that I'd borrow from a nurse friend, thus ensuring he isn't feeling aggressively peckish.
The most problematic living issue I foresee would be having to clean his bat droppings periodically, but in the grander scheme of things, I could handle it. Dracula sleeping all day and working nights would make it convenient to invite guests over or to avoid him altogether.
Even if Dracula couldn’t hold down a job, I'm pretty sure he has amassed a small fortune in the 5000+ years he’s been alive. In a pinch, he could sell his Transylvanian estate, which I'm sure some Youtuber couple would buy in the name of CONTENT! If worst comes to worst, and he finds himself light one month, it's nothing a night shift at The Waffle House couldn't fix.
As far as potential damage Dracula could inflict to the apartment? The guy spends 12 hours a day in a coffin. How much damage could he inflict? A well-fed Dracula is a happy Dracula, and his need to hunt or lash out would hopefully be nonexistent. A bonus for our collective security deposit and my own personal sanity.
But what I am most excited about in rooming with Dracula is the amount of square footage I'm going to gain by shoving his coffin into a closet as soon as he falls asleep. That cape-wearing dummy thinks I'm going to let him take up an entire room with just a coffin? Sure, keep dreaming, pal.
By Jay Krieger