Deep breath. Objectivity first, and then we can pass judgement. GAVEL!
When Andy left, or was kicked out – and I know there are a bunch of unanswered questions like: “What happened to your laptop?!” – it was taken from Andy's room either by the Agency (because they took everything) or by the cops (as evidence), I have no idea which is the true scenario, and I'm not going to bother digging, because I don't care enough. I needed a new laptop anyway, I bought that thing in July 2011. “How is he allowed to come back?” – his bail conditions barred him from returning to our flat, but after two weeks he got them overturned on the grounds that this is his residence, and the residence stated on his arrest record (probably somewhere in the fucking Cayman Islands) was incorrect. He knocked on the door that afternoon after coming STRAIGHT from the Magistrates' Court. “Why the fuck don't you move out?” – because the rent is super cheap and it's central and honestly I am an out-of-hope person who is clearly not in control of his life. JOKING EVERYTHING IS FINE!! HAHA LOL! Funny.
...when Andy left, or was kicked out, or whatever the fuck happened, I felt like I'd lost a friend almost. I mean, not really... like not an actual friend or anything... to be honest I'd have been perfectly content to never see him again. That's how it was going to be in my head. It was melancholy, and bittersweet somehow, but it was done, and wrapped up in a nice little bow that I was very proud of... I didn't care about Andy, but I cared about the story, and the bittersweetness came from conjoined sad-happiness that it was over. There you go, there's your ending. It's perfect isn't it! Put that in your little bloggie and away he goes from your life taking all his bad things and people and noise with him. Eeven the guy who snoresE BYE BYE!! “Peace, Taco.”
But it doesn't fucking work like that does it? Life, does not fucking work like that. And just as soon as I'd said good bye to him, he was back, storming around the house just like he used to, and yelling about conspiracies and betrayals and who the fuck knows what because no one is listening and no one cares. It's just you mate. You're the only one who gives a fuck, Andy.
This time, it's not a quaint little dance. This time it's awful.
One of my best friends in London is a fat girl named Rosie (don't worry, she just laughed her ass off reading that. Seriously.), I've known her for years but she moved into Abersham a few months before Andy did, and lasted through a lot until finally breaking and moving out when things got really bad with the broken sink and everything. Andy was actually the reason she moved out in the end, and her and I once had an argument about him, because she absolutely hates him with every fibre of her being, and I only hate him a little. Sometimes, as I'm sure you've picked up, I actually kind of like him, and I was trying to explain why to her, which was a strange position to be in, because I don't even really understand why myself.
She kept telling me that I always try to see the good in people and that it's a nice quality I have, but that I need to quit sometimes and admit when people are assholes. I disagree slightly, because I know there are people out there who I have no fucking time for and actively despise, not because they are bad people even, but just because I think they are worthless, boring cunts. I think what it is is that there's a certain genre (“if you will”, ahaha) of loser that I really identify with for some reason, and Andy perfectly fits that specification. The hopelessly driven, stars-in-their-eyes-and-destined-for-greatness type of loser. The one who the world is always out to get, and who never seems to be at fault for a lifetime of bad decisions. For some reason I always look for an excuse to trust this person, or at least let myself drift close to them. What is that?
Maybe it's just because I look good by comparison? But I'm not standing next to Andy. Am I? He's just here, and I'm just here, but this isn't where my life is. This house. My life is in comedy, and in writing, and in the friends that I spend my time with and the people I love. But Andy is still here lingering around, for some reason that I have to do with. WHAT IS IT FUCK!!!!
And then, what is it that these kinds of people always see in me that they are so drawn to? Maybe because I'm ambitious in my own way separate to theirs (and hopefully less deluded), and fiercely independent, and not stuck in the same negative loop of a lifestyle that they are, so they see my acceptance as somehow redemptive to them? That is if they're self-aware enough to realise that they need redemption? Probably not. Andy thinks he's Jesus already... but I feel like I'm onto something there. It feels gross to think about a relationship with someone in terms so simple as the things each person gets out of it. It's making my face clench right now, and my skin crawl a little. I want to run away from it.
Anyway, Andy isn't a good person, because he said to me long ago of Rosie that, “That girl's biggest mistake when she moved in 'ere was gettinn wif that guy in THERE (gestures at the old room of a housemate Rosie once got off with) instead of me when she moved in. If she'd 'ave sucked my dick the first day I met 'er I'd 'ave followed 'er rawnd like a little puppy-dog for ever and she'd 'ave never 'ad a problem wif me.”
Now that's fucked, and disgusting. What a way to see people, right? Like their mistake was not making you happy as soon as you met. Fuck you Andy, you fucking piece of shit, and fuck me for not punching you in the face when you said that. Even though that's not what I do. Fuck me for being around you. Sorry Rosie.
I don't know what any of this means, but I think I've had just about enough deliberation time and pondering in my little chair here to figure it out. I've decided to get involved, as of tonight. After the arrest I had to go down to the property agency for a meeting with Louis (owner, Andy's ex-father-figure) – the other housemates did too, but they've all since moved out, because unlike me they did the intelligent thing and ran out of a burning building rather than going back inside to have a sleep first and maybe watch some Simpsons.
In my meeting with Louis I got the vibe that he was and is a fairly reasonable person. He did tell me that because I've been in the property for over a year my bond has been whittled away by council tax and blah blah, so I'm going to have to pay another £435 bond on top of the rent that I'm currently paying. I mean that sucks, but to be fair I've not signed a single piece of paperwork in the 14 months I've lived here, and as much as it sucks having to pay bond again, I would have paid more in rent by now living pretty much anywhere else in London. That $435 though adds on to the £350 I paid two weeks ago for a new laptop... so I'm fucked for money, but who can I blame, really? Andy for kicking up the fuss? The agency for being crooked? Or myself for choosing to inhabit the retarded corner of space and time I optimistically call my 'life' in the first place? In the end, I have to blame myself, and accept that Louis is just doing what he do. Property managers are crooked, let's not stop the presses for that one.
But I called Louis when Andy came back and he gave me the landlady's number – Ms Cantremember – and told me to call her. It feels like he's trying to use me as a pawn somehow, because why wouldn't he just call her himself right? It's not my job to squeal “piggy” on Andy for coming back into the house, I'm just the guy who nobody should care about living here. So I didn't call her. But now I'm going to I think. Tomorrow, when the hour is reasonable. I'm going to call her and explain what I know of the situation, and then I'm going to call Louis and offer to help however I can in getting Andy out. I guess this means war? A more confused declaration has never been uttered.
Andy once tried to tell me – in a much longer and less poetic manner just before passing out in the kitchen probably – that evil only prevails when good men do nothing. I'm not a good man, I'm just a guy who wants to live in a cheap room and write dumb stories and do comedy and sometimes I like have sex with people and he's FUCKING THAT UP. As far as I'm concerned, that's evil... so I guess I have to make a stand.
Also as an aside, the new guys in Andy's old room are actually Moroccan, not Spanish. Crazy! They're lovely though, they just smoke weed, and sometimes we speak Spanish to each other. So it's not all bad.
And yeah I know that line is from Batman, but Andy said it too. Maybe that's where he got it from EVER THINK OF THAT NERDS?!! So shut up.
Click here to read the next part - Fear Not of Man