Triscuitsniper, part two

When I left off, we were deep in the graveyard of potential Craigslist roomies. We still hadn't hit the queen of the failures yet.

Erin- Erin seemed fantastic, an eccentric home-grown artist character from Austin. She had come to Boston for a summer workshop on landscape design at Harvard. The teacher of the program offered her a job, so she decided to stay in town. Hey great Erin, sounds good. You play the accordion? Super. You make jokes? We're joke-friendly. You were in a punk rock synchronized swimming ensemble called the H2Hos? Um, great.

I liked her, then Jon liked her too after meeting her for beers and dinner a few days later. She liked us too (what's not to like?) and we all agreed it was time to live together. Excellent, twelve days from September and we were all set for a roommate.

As August progressed, Jon and I reveled in the fact that our decision was made, everything was coming up Summer Street. We pitied the fools who were still scrambling around, looking for some jerk to fill a room. We spent a lot of time high-fiving and performing impromptu anti-Craigslist dances. But then Erin disappeared.

Finishing move-
-Six days from the end, I sent her an email. I was light and jokey and told her I was eating rice and beans. I didn't mention signing the lease or anything unpleasantly businesslike. No response.
-Four days from the end, I left her a voicemail message. More jokes, but also a request she call us back so we could hash things out. No response.
-Three days from the end, another voicemail. My tone was all business, we needed to talk. No response.
-Two days from the end, I sent an email. Excerpt-
If this is what it's starting to look like, a complete flake-out, I would like to drive home the extent of how you have just screwed two nice guys over. In the past week, we have not continued to look for a roommate, we did not think we needed to. Because of this, we are now out a month's rent. If you changed your mind at some point, all you would've had to do was let us know- email, call, send a friggin' text message for that matter. We would've been disappointed, sure, but we would've coped. And we would've had just enough time to find a replacement. It doesn't make a difference how crazy your life is, what happened in the last week, etc, this is totally inexcusable behavior.

Later in the day, I got a glib and asinine response from assface. Excerpt-
The last thing I wanted to do is put either of you in a bad situation.
I got cold feet over the implications of moving my life to Boston. More like freezer burn. My reaction was to seek out a situation with less of a time-frame commitment. I thought it would take a day or two for the freezer burn + freezer burn reaction to pan out, and it didn't. And then it kept not wearing off, and I kept not calling, for fear of regretting my decision to say no to you both the moment after it was vocalized.......

you've inspired me to throw a nautical themed garage sail (get it--sail?) in Austin (I'm flying back for a few days this thursday). When I return on monday afternoon, I will hand deliver every dollar my garage sail brings in to help allieveiate the immediate fiscal burden I've created

I'm sorry I was not more direct with you both. You are particularly one of the most human people I've met in this city. (That is a very, very rare + good thing)

Her wit, compliments and the promise of garage sale riches was enough to wipe the slate clean, all was forgiven. No wait a minute, we hate this chick. This was my response to her epic piece-of-crap email:
It happened, and that's all there is now. You don't owe us anything but if you felt like you wanted to send something along, the address is:
209 Summer Street, #1
Somerville, MA, 02143
good luck,
Jesse

August 29, no roommate and we're out a months rent. Shockingly we never saw one cent from her dumb garage sail. And this story has a third part. Sorry charlie tuna fishes.