Back when I had roommates, I was lucky to have good ones. But one was almost too good. I'm a neat freak, but this guy took the cake. We would rearrange the pens on his desk to see what would happen, and a few hours later, they would all be lined up in echelon again. We split the bills, and he would write the check for his share within minutes. This was annoying, because the last person to put in their check had to put on the stamp. Every workday morning, you could set your watch by him. Shower, bedroom door closed, thump de-thump de-thunp down the stairs, coffee, whisk-whisk-whisk around the yogurt container with the spoon, out the door and off to work. Every day, the same thing, over and over and over...
Then, one day, all this happens, and then something new. "THEY STOLED MY SEATS!!!" He had gotten out to his car and his front seats had been stolen out of the car. In the street. In rampant suburbia. I don't what was funnier, the disruption to his routine or the fact that he said "stoled".
(Yes, it was funny. We were gainfully employed, he was appropriately insured, and his car had been broken into multiple times in the past. Of course, in the past, they just took his spare change, not his front seats...)