The Woman Who Should Not Exist
When Siobhan and I returned to San Francisco from Manhattan (via Savannah and Bethesda) Gordon had lost a roommate so we moved in with him. He warned us about the remaining roommate.
The first time I saw Carol Mitchell she came home, put a frozen food-like product in the oven. She didn't remove the pasteboard box. After a few minutes it unsurprisingly burst into flame.
She had a frightening way with food and its simulacra. Her regular dinner was macaroni and mixed vegetables. She'd put it on the stove and fitfully stir at it for a little while. Then she'd eat it. Half-frozen, half-charred.
She had pre-shaped hamburger patties in the freezer. Mold was growing on them. I've known people to keep meat in the freezer for years without problem. This was a scientific puzzle. Perhaps her own horrific exudations had clung to the burgers.
Before we moved in Gordon had repeatedly warned me. Having known all sorts of awful people I just laughed at him. He was right.
In body and soul Carol was unsettlingly repugnant. It wasn't just that she was fat and ugly. Lots of swell people are and you never notice it. But Carol's body, her every movement, seemed malignant.
She did not bathe, preferring to just keep spraying scents on herself. It was like a garbage truck had collided with a perfume store. Odd splotches of filth were in the bathroom sink. We never dared ask what they were.
She kept girl's nurse romances under that sink. The girl's goal was to find a handsome Doctor, settle down to her real job, being a Mrs. rather than caring for the sick.
Her bedroom looked like it'd been in an earthquake with everything spilling over and leaning against everything else. But she knew where everything on. Early on I borrowed a book. A threatening note was posted to return the book.
She'd been married and had a kid. I don't know if she was allowed to see her child. There's no guessing how a mother like that would've affected a kid.
My account of her is cruel. It gets worse. Go to another page if you have a tender heart.
Once when going out for an evening Gordon left Lou Reed's <I>Metal Machine Music</I> on his record player. The record was designed to never end. It played for hours over and over again with her in the next room.
Even worse.
One evening Gordon and I got very drunk. In the late hours we regaled her through the wall (which was mostly dividing doors that were blocked) with our plans to cut off her fingers. I don't remember what else we said. It was probably worse. I've never done anything so heartless to another person.
She never said a word.
The last blow was our departure from San Francisco. We left a note taped to her door letting her know that we'd moved and the flat and all $600 a month plus utilities were hers. (Even though this was in San Francisco's Mission District it was cheap rent in 1983.)
Yep, this was mean. Awful. What have you. I don't feel a particle of repentance. Even Siobhan who was pretty tender-hearted didn't feel any pity.
The only use for Carol Mitchell would've been to sell her to Tobe Hooper or Wes Craven for another horror movie about sociopaths who delight in torturing people (with her as the sociopath).