Tasty, delicious crabs

by Jenny Saville

I made my bed, tidied up the dining table and countertops, mopped the floor, organized the non-perishables in the pantry, and, as much as possible, kept my small space in the apartment spotless. I don't like living in an uptight and unblemished environment. It suffocates me. But when you're somehow forced to live with someone you don't like, you squash a little bit of your pride and try to get along with the bitch anyway.

For 2 months, I did my best to get along with Linda but in the end, I threw in the towel. She was too much for me, Charlie. I could endure the wiping and the tidying up and the washing but it was her crass and overbearing passive-aggressive personality that pushed me to my boiling point.

Often her body language would hint discontent with how I perform my chores. Normally, I wouldn't care about her opinion of me but learning about her discontent with my cleaning through her sister, Brenda, already spoke volumes about her character. She's a coward. A damn lying, cowardly, two-faced sonuvabitch! She's already in her 50s yet she couldn't confront her 20-something housemate. What's more, her rants about me were over exaggerated and mostly bull…

Thanks to Brenda's big mouth, I learned that apparently I don't pay the rent, I don't wash the dishes and I don't throw my trash properly. Upon hearing about all these baloneys from Brenda, without saying a word, I packed my bags and booked the cheapest Airbnb I could find. I didn't care if I spent my holidays alone, broke, and starving. Heck, I didn't care if I slept on the cold street. My blood was boiling and I was desperate to go as far away as possible from that stinkin place Linda calls home. I took the apartment keys with me, intending to return them and address her fabrications once I had cooled down.

When I arrived at the Airbnb, I messaged Linda a picture of my pay slip, clearly showing that I had paid the full rent for two months, with her own signature as proof of receipt. Her initial response was defensive and nonsensical—a reaction only a sourpuss would have: "You are only allowed to stay in my apartment until the end of December. My son, James, will occupy your space."

Then, suddenly, it all made sense. She made up fucking lies about me just so she could find an excuse to kick me out so her son could, all of a sudden, move in with her. But it wasn't about her son. No. It was never about that, C. It was mostly about me. She hated me from the very beginning. I saw it in her prying eyes, always observing me, observing everything wrong about me. She didn't like me and favored a roommate who's miserable like her. Misery loves company, after all. Luckily, I’d learned to keep misery to myself.

I saw how Linda gravitated towards helpless and miserable people, presenting herself as their knight in shining armor, always ready to help. She knew I wasn't helpless and that I earned enough dough to support myself. She knew that she was dispensable to me and she hated that. She wanted to downsize me in the eyes of others that was why she made up those stinkin lies.

God. I shouldn’t have ignored yours and my other friends’ warning to me about this toxic stereotype prevalent among the Filipino community abroad called crab mentality—undermining those who get ahead. Pathetic. Really. That's all there is to say.

I knew something was up with her. From the very first day I met her, my instincts were already warning me to not trust a bitch who scrubs the toilet at 6 in the morning…