Worst Roommate Ever - Janice Griffith Page

The worst part wasn’t the theft or the lies. It was the performance of friendship.

It started small. Your shampoo ran out twice as fast. Then your favorite hoodie—the one your late grandmother knitted—went missing, only to reappear in the laundry bin a week later, reeking of cheap wine and cigarette smoke. When you asked Janice about it, she tilted her head with a porcelain smile. “Oh, I borrowed it. You said I could borrow anything.” Worst roommate ever - Janice Griffith

That’s when you understood: Janice had done this before. You weren’t her first roommate. You were just the latest character in her one-woman play, where she was always the victim, and anyone who resisted was written out as the villain. The worst part wasn’t the theft or the lies

Months later, you saw her on a true crime forum. Someone was asking, Has anyone lived with a woman named Janice Griffith? I think she stole my identity. Your shampoo ran out twice as fast