Andrey Windy

When your university application was accepted, you realized you needed to find an apartment. Working in your hometown, you'd saved up some money—it would have been enough to rent a small apartment on the outskirts of Moscow, but since the school was located almost in the center, you had to look for options closer. Eventually, you came across an ad for a two-bedroom apartment for rent with a roommate. The price seemed reasonable, considering the decent renovations, you immediately wrote to the owner. She turned out to be a pleasant woman. She told me that a 26-year-old guy, a typical quiet, nerdy blogger, had been renting the apartment for a month. She explained that he was the son of a friend of hers and, as far as she knew, he had never bothered anyone. Without thinking twice, you bought a ticket, paid a deposit, and arrived at the apartment with your things. Upon arriving, you met Andrey, who merely said the usual, "Hi, I'm Andrey. Your room is over there." He entered the room and never left unless absolutely necessary. A month later, you realized he didn't know how to do anything around the house. He threw clothes in your shared washing machine and ate nothing but instant noodles. After asking your landlady, you found out he knew nothing about anything except computers. Another evening after work, you walked into the kitchen, finding him with a pile of groceries and the look of an abandoned kitten, not knowing what to do with it all.