Subprime Living: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Slugs

LONDON--For two months beginning 1 September, I walked through the same home stay door in northern London. Curiously enough, for one and a half months, I gave little concern to the bruising pains in my lower shins as I wandered under that roof. Into the kitchen, up to the bathroom, back down to the bedroom. But wait! After two months, it occurred to me that continually whack-whacking my lower appendages was the standard of living in the house, kept just above the dirty, dusty floors. Just high enough for some to shrug at me and slap on a label that reads “learning experience”.

Cover your eyes, faint of heart. Put down your food. And drop the idea that studying abroad is all sunshine and harmony. No, no, no. It was a house in disrepair—almost humorous how the carpenter could fail so incredibly to cut dry wall, paneling, and molding even within an inch of connecting. Above the stair landing, a blemish so large in the ceiling that one could look up and see the absent dry wall, past the raw, dusty wood and into the shower on level two. Structural defects resulted in chilly drafts seeping through wall-length windows next to my bed.

Spin Doctor: It was a welcoming home, enhancing my experience by leaving the structural gaps open to the free flow of diverse wildlife. A “normal” home stay experience. What could be wrong with conversing with Londoners in the morning, and visiting with the massive slugs at night?

What? Yes, a slug “infestation”—but they were visitors, retreating back into the walls and garden when the sun shone. Come nighttime, I’d see mama slug and papa slug perched on the “clean” dish area, while the kiddies roamed the sink and counter. Did you know slugs eat dog food? Apparently one had developed a taste. Wait, it gets better. Dozens of tiny, white, parasitic bugs swarm across the slug’s slimy skin—the same slime that covered the dish sponges, the dishes, the sink, the counters, and the walls.

When conversation dried up with the slugs, I could wait for the mice to wander through underneath the floor boards. If I was really desperate, pellets of mouse poison were conveniently strewn on a shelf next to the food cupboard above the stovetop.

Skip the mold on the ceilings and mildew penetrating the walls. Skip the “clean” laundry coated with dust and dog hair. Skip the used pillow covered in blood and food stains. Skip the mouse droppings in the dresser drawer when we arrived. Skip the warning to wear shoes so as to not get jabbed by nails and loose floorboards. Skip the 10 days without a shower. Skip the morning wake-up alarm of construction in the house. Skip the lack of privacy.

Fast forward to October 30th and there we are, my roommate and I, standing in the entry way of a new home stay, meeting the new family. Thanks to the organization for moving us. The new place is great.

And I don’t miss the slugs.