The eight types of housemates you invariably find in a share house

An Anthropological Study Of Hierarchical Structures Within Share Households Occupied by Adult Humans in Their 20s (Katz D, 2018. Australasian Ethological Journal of Communal Urban Habitats, pp 77 – 81).

Upon entering the share household, one may struggle to observe much because the interiors are so dark and labyrinthine, like a rodent burrow, or underground sewerage piping. In fact, there appears be no sign of any lifeforms until one steps into “the living room”: a tiny musty space with milk-crate furnishings and a rug made of sporing mushrooms and beard-trimmings.

Here you will encounter the dominant member of the share household, The Apex-Housemate, seated in the prime living-room position – a styrofoam Esky that has been ingeniously transformed into a couch with the addition of a second styrofoam Esky.

The Apex-Housemate will exhibit a variety of distinct characteristics: arrogant pouting, intimidatory glaring, and a smug sense of self-entitlement, as they rest their feet upon a sleeping stoner named The Veggie.

Positioned alongside The Apex-Housemate will be the second-ranked beta-housemate, perched upon a beanbag with no actual beans in it. Known as The Chuckler, it is their role to chuckle at everything The Apex-Housemate says, even if it isn’t particularly funny, in deference to The Apex-Housemate’s dominant-status.

This “Snivelling Sycophantic Sidekick Effect” was first identified by Yamamoto and Goldberg in their landmark research paper, The Pecking Order: A Perspective On Squalid Inner-City Digs (2012).

Peering further into the room, the existence of tertiary-ranked housemates will now become apparent. In the corner will be The Mating Couple who share a back bedroom and spend most nights making loud, unpleasant sounds.

Also in the living room, The Unemployed Drummer, whose role it is to play the drums from 10pm to 4am every night. And sprawled on the floor, The Veggie, who lives on nothing but Nutella scooped from a jar, which helps maintain their soft comfy footrest-puffiness.

Beyond the living room, one finds the most lowly-ranked members of the share householding society. Lurking in the kitchen will be The Feeder: a small, unattractive vertebrate who does all the cooking, cleaning, shopping and toilet-roll-replacing just so someone will acknowledge them now and then.

In an upstairs bedroom, you’ll hear the rustle of The New Zealander: nobody has seen them, nobody has spoken to them, nobody is even sure if they’re paying rent (refer to Goggin et al, The Kiwi Backpacker: Interpretations of Non-Social Behaviour and Antagonistic Scent-Marking, 2002).

And as exists in every share household, there will be The One With An Actual Job. This housemate is not at home today. They are at work. Of course they are. It’s 2pm on a Tuesday.