A gun in my face is the last thing I want to see in my home.

Even if it's a puny BB gun.

I don't have much luck with roommates. Beats me why. They've either stolen my CDs, beaten each other up and bled on my sheets, sharpened knives at their desks…

Or pointed a gun in my face.

Here's the deal:

He seemed a nice enough guy at first. A skinny, quiet Asian American guy with glasses. He was a friend I had met from a part-time college job. Harmless enough, right?

Apparently he had a few habits that took some getting used to. Like wiping his ass and chucking the soiled toilet paper into the trash can instead of the toilet.

"What's that smell?"

"What? I don't smell anything."

"Here, in the bathroom. Smells like shit. What is that?"

He shook his head; he honestly didn't smell it he was so used to it.

"Yuck. Why does it always smell in here? It's coming from…"

[Sniff sniff]

"…from… HOLY SHIT!"

He jumped from his bunk bed and ran over.

"DUDE! What the fuck is that??"

"Oh, that."

"Yea! THAT!"

"That's toilet paper. So?"

"SO?! THAT is what's smelling!"

"I don't smell it."

I proceeded to let out such a litany of profanity that even my distant third-removed Grandma in China must have blushed.

Things had been getting tense between us in the days prior. There was a communication breakdown that was as much my fault as it was his. We didn't talk anymore, so slowly but surely those tiny Snowballs of Discontent rolled into Gigantic Boulders of Pissy Snowiness.

Then they hit a threshold and there was an avalanche.

Sparked by what later became known as the Shitted Trash in the Bathroom Incident, I exploded at him.

I can still see his response in slow motion in my mind.

He leaped into his bunk bed, pulled out his BB gun from underneath his pillow (apparently he slept with it), pointed it at me, and cooly stated:

"Don't push me. You don't know how far I'll go."

Silence.

The scene was an incredible one. Here we were, in a warm, safe college dorm with security guards outside. The bathroom smelled of shit. My scrawny, four-eyed, spiky-haired Chinese American roommate crouched on his bunk bed with a BB gun aimed at me standing next to the bathroom door.

I registered the situation in my head. Then I snapped.

"What the FUCK is your problem?! Are you going to shoot me with a fucking BB gun? Are you FUCKING crazy?!"

I punctuated every sentence with the Firetruck word.

After a few more heated words (with Firetruck sirens blaring), my roommate lowered his gun.

"All right, all right. Fine… Just don't push me," he threatened.

I turned and left the room thinking, "oh man I gotta pee." We didn't talk much after that.

That was the last roommate I've ever voluntarily had.

. . .

What's the worst roommate you've ever had?