When intro­ducing my roommate to anyone, I like to tell them that he is the “only Greek, Catholic, student athlete, RA on campus.” I think my description of him qual­ifies as what Plato calls a “true lie,” as it is not entirely truthful (nor at all truthful for that matter). I like to con­sider it an image of the truth.

After all, he did turn in a bid from a fra­ternity for about a week, proudly bran­dishes his Catholic Society sweater, plays club hockey (“plays” is a strong term for him, but he is showing a lot of improvement), and has been fre­quently referred to by guys in our dorm as “assistant to the Res­ident Assistant.”

When you’re someone’s roommate for two years, you learn a lot about them. For example, I know my roommate’s favorite fic­tional char­acter is Lightning McQueen (“I am speed” is basi­cally his life mantra), he has a habit of making “Finding Nemo” ref­er­ences in class, his favorite movie is “The Dark Knight Rises” he likes very over­sized clothes with immac­ulate dad vibes, his favorite pair of shoes that he owns is his Sperrys, and he has the most remarkable ability to sleep any­where, anytime, regardless of how loud or bright it is in the room.

Seri­ously —  it takes so much to wake this man up. His sleep has even per­se­vered through the Simpson fire alarm. This is actually a rather con­ve­nient trait for a roommate. I can get away with making almost any noise while he’s asleep. There are draw­backs, however.

For starters, he won’t wake up to the default alarm on his phone, so he has an app that makes his alarm even louder. Yet, he still some­times finds a way to sleep even through that alarm as well. The Horn of Gondor could be blasting through our room, and he wouldn’t budge.

As a result, he has turned to alter­native methods of getting himself to wake up. He inten­tionally will sleep in uncom­fortable spots to make it harder for him to go back to bed. The sleeping spot he fre­quented most last year was the floor. He refused to use either his bed or our couch for most nights, opting to sprawl out right on the ground instead.

Despite all his quirks, life is never mundane or unex­citing with my roommate.

I’ve wit­nessed him spon­ta­neously shave his head to show sol­i­darity with a friend a week after paying 30 bucks for a haircut. One time when my mat­tress was stolen by freshmen, I watched as he donned roller blades and a raid weapon before storming out of the room on a crusade to bring the guilty party to justice, loudly declaring, “these freshmen need to know that they don’t have rights!”

These instances also demon­strate another quality of my roommate: he is incredibly loyal. Though his methods of showing it might be unorthodox, he is unwa­ver­ingly dependable.

He is my closest con­fidant, my most trusted partner, my best friend and one of the most benev­olent and reliable men I know. The lengths he will go to help a friend supersede that of any roommate.

My roommate is weird, and even he would acknowledge this as well, but he is also the best of room­mates and the best of men.