My last year in college I shared a house with three of my friends, one guy I barely knew who needed his own address because his girlfriend’s parents would have freaked if they’d formally lived together, and one guy I actively despised. We made a lot of noise.
Chow Man, chinese as you might guess, was in a Jewish fraternity.
Claude, the cat, was brain damaged from Ray, the guy I despised and a future veterinarian having fed him hash brownies.
Paul, my original freshman year roommate and with whom I lived all four years, opened his head on the edge of his stereo after he threw it back laughing at something that wasn’t funny while he was stoned. He also threw up unexpectedly, also while stoned, right on a largely uneaten pizza once; it was a Dominos though so nobody really cared. It probably wont surprise you to learn that Paul is the most successful and wealthiest of us.
Russ, the one with whom I still keep in contact, would only listen to Springsteen, South Side Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, Tom Waits, and Vangelis. Nothing else.
Chow and Ray and occasionally Russ, played multi-room darts.
I’m pretty sure I was the only one who smoked in bed.
But most amazing of all was the guy downstairs. Leonard Fishman. He was a graduate student who rented the basement. Unbeknownst to us all as we made our racket upstairs including routinely high jumping over our beat up sofa as others held it up above the ground, he was in his final year getting his PhD. Not one of us ever spoke a word to him. As surprising as it was for us to hear his name called at graduation - they called individually the PhDs - it must have been equally surprising to him to hear our yells of Fish in congratulations. We were proud of our boy. He never once complained.
Does sharehouse have some specific meaning or is it just an idiom there that means you’re sharing a living place?