Denis Story #143: Tuna and Cranberry Sauce
by kev on May 9, 2007 

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Denis was my dorm mate my freshman year in college. He had the personality of a door knob, but he wasn’t as outgoing or friendly as a door knob. Here’s one of our stories:

Those who know me know that I have an unholy hatred for tuna. I won’t eat it, I don’t like looking at it, and I absolutely despise the smell of it. Until I got to college, I didn’t like tuna, but I would eat it on occasion. Of course, that was pre-Denis.

The first full day together at our dorm, Denis had two items for dinner I had never seen together. Tuna fish and mayo (in a bowl, eaten with a fork), which my mom would eat on occasion; and canned cranberry sauce, something I had never seen outside Thanksgiving. I thought the combination was odd, but who was I to judge?

On day two, Denis had the same meal for dinner. Ditto day three. Ditto again for day four. The weeks passed on and Denis kept eating the same odd combination. For two months, Denis ate tuna and cranberry sauce every day for dinner. It was madness.

The boy ate it so frequently that our dorm began to smell like tuna fish. Cats would gather outside our window and meow at us. The smell was all over my clothes - I’d walk to class and the cats would follow. Granted, chicks love cats. But this was getting out of hand. I had to do something to stop it.

Putting Denis in a box and shipping him to Canada was my first idea, but the postage was too much. My second idea, the one I went with, was to tell Denis I was allergic to the smell of tuna.

It should be noted that Denis was not an intelligent individual. This is the person who once asked me if I was going to a movie even though I was dressed in full baseball attire. He is the same person who told me he wished Ross Perot was President. Convincing him that I was allergic was way easier than it should have been.

<"I just got back from the doctor. He told me the reason I keep getting headaches is because I am allergic to the smell of tuna."

"Really?," Denis asked.

"Yeah, I guess this means you'll have to stop eating tuna inside our room."

"Okay," replied Denis, a man of very few words.

For the record, I regret lying to the guy. Denis was disrespectful, odd, boring, humorless and borderline psychotic, but I should have been up front with him.

If you can’t tell your dorm mate, “the ocean called…they’re running out of tuna,” who can you tell?