Robert was the eldest son, but also the most irresponsible and lazy member of the household. On the very day his younger brother turned eighteen and moved into his own apartment, Robert begged his mother to install central air in his childhood bedroom—the same room he'd occupied for all thirty-four years of his life.
"Honey, when are you going to get a job?" his mother, a retiree, asked with a voice stripped of all hope.
"I'm looking for the right position," Robert's answer was always the same.
If it wasn't the schedule, it was the company's reputation; if it wasn't the job title, it was the salary.
His father had long since given up on having a "man-to-man" talk or trying to nudge this overgrown fledgling out of the nest. It was the same story with women—the guy had grown into a completely spineless, infantile, and reclusive creature. Who would want him?
All of Robert's friends had been married for years, and some even had kids in high school. Robert, meanwhile, spent his days hunkered down at home, playing video games or binge-watching shows.
One afternoon, a friend of his mother's dropped by. Seeing Robert, she asked why a strange, bloated, bearded slouch in sweatpants was wandering around the house.
"Is this man holding you hostage?" the friend whispered after Robert raided the fridge and carried an entire pot of pasta back to his lair.
"Something like that," his mother sighed heavily, laying out the whole saga of her deadbeat son.
"You should just rent that room out to the parasite and be done with it," the friend suggested.
"How do you mean?" His mother was intrigued by the unusual idea.
"Wait until he's out, then put a deadbolt on the door. Give him one key, keep two for yourself, and set a monthly rent. And obviously, no more handouts."
"But how will he pay?"
"That, my dear, is his problem."
"But—"
"No 'buts'! It's either this, or you endure him until you're in the grave."
***
After the friend left, the mother shared the plan with her husband. They decided to give it a shot. For good measure, they also put a padlock on the refrigerator.
Robert returned that evening with a bag full of beer and snacks, ready for an all-night marathon of his favorite series. Instead, he found a locked door.
"Mom, someone stole my room!" the slouch complained.
"That room is for rent now. If you want to live there, you pay. If you don't have the money, you can sleep in the hallway for free."
Robert went through the three stages: denial, anger, and finally, acceptance. No matter how much he threw a tantrum or played the victim, his mother stood her ground, even though her heart was breaking.
Robert ended up sleeping on a makeshift bed made of kitchen chairs. It was a rough, sleepless night. By morning, he'd finished all the snacks in his bag and trudged to the kitchen. When he discovered the second lock on the fridge, he let out a howl.
He was forced to head over to a friend's place just to get some breakfast.
***
A week went by like this. Robert slept on chairs that left his entire body aching, while his parents constantly woke him up as they shuffled back and forth to the bathroom or the kitchen.
Gradually, his friends stopped letting him in, making up excuses or simply ignoring his texts.
Robert tried to apply for a credit card, but the banks weren't interested in the unemployed. Finally, he went down to the employment office and managed to get enough together to regain access to the fridge—well, two shelves of it, anyway. Then, one day a month later, Robert vanished. His mother called the police, but they told her he had to be missing for twenty-four hours, not eight.
He finally showed up that evening. His mother hardly recognized him. His hair was neat, he was clean-shaven, and he smelled of his father's cologne.
"I got a job," he said sheepishly.
His mother couldn't believe her ears, but she didn't go easy on him. Robert didn't move back into his room until he had his first paycheck in hand. He eventually found he liked the independence so much that he moved out entirely two months later.
Six months after that, he got married and took out a mortgage. Robert raised his own children to understand that nothing in life comes without effort. And whenever one of them started acting entitled, he would tell them a scary bedtime story about a lazy boy whose parents made him live in the hallway and rented out his bedroom.
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