Living on the bottom floor will ruin your life
Forget diplomacy – do not agree to it
When it comes to first world problems, this one trumps the lot.
Deciding bedrooms is exciting. That is, until you land yourself with the shitty downstairs bedroom. At this point things go one of two ways:
a) You take the moral high ground, taking it for the team in the name of good spirit and diplomacy
b) Erupt into bitter hatred for the corrupt system that landed you with the cesspit of despair
Take the latter option and fight for a reshuffle at all costs.
It’ll be the coldest room in the house
Apparently some sort of evil science (I think they call it physics?) means hot air rises, leaving the ground floor bedroom in a constant state of Arctic temperatures.
You’ll need at least two duvets, and if you go to bed with wet hair, count yourself lucky if you haven’t frozen into an ice cube come sunrise.
If you’re not a fan of hyperthermia, avoid downstairs at all costs.
You will never, and we mean never, have any privacy.
Your room is the display window for passers by. Rest assured, if you enjoy wearing your birthday suit all it takes is one slip up and you could find yourself gracing the pages of Tell Him/Her.
Along with the need to constantly hide yourself from prying eyes, there’s always the worry your room is the showpiece of the house, and therefore your cleanliness and neatness must be that cut above other house dwellers.
Noise control? There’s no such thing
If you end up downstair,s every waking moment will be spent listening to the monotonous drum of ovens, tumble dryers and extractor fans.
That’s not to mention the never ending chit-chat coming from your beloved housemates, who insist on socialising in the designated lounge area.
If you want peace and quiet, head to the library, and kiss goodbye to the idea of an early night.
Sex, lots and lots of sex
You’re housemates have finally buggered off to bed, you sigh a breath of deep relief, it’s time to sleep.
Then it begins.
Silent at first, but then louder, faster, until the ceiling begins to shake. You try to shut it out, to conjure up a distant place in your head, and that’s when the moans, groans and unspeakable noises begin to filter downwards.
There’s no going back, no place that can save you from this nightmare.
You know exactly what’s going on, and even blasting music through headphones won’t help you forget what’s going on above you.
Unless you want to bare these emotional scars, make your stand.
They say bad things come in threes, but if you live downstairs, they often come in a large group of bumbling idiots returning home shit-faced.
Expect the doorbell at 3am – at least one housemate will always forget their keys.
And even if you are spared the effort, you’ll still be woken up by the cacophony of stumbling, late-night cooking, loud swearing and the occasional bang when somebody falls over the coffee table.
If they’ve brought a stranger home, you then have the added pleasure of listening to the previous point, over and over again.
If your house gets burgled, rest assured, they’re coming for you first.
No burglar works from top to bottom, meaning your prospects in such an event are never going to look great. What’s worse, that front window of yours is often more of an inviting entrance than the door. Splendid.
It should be a mandatory for the toughest housemate to occupy/guard the ground floor, so make sure you don’t fall into this category.