Yeah, Spaw, I hear ya. Once, in recovery, I apparently took to challenging people to basketball games, and yelled at a 5ft tall little Japanese nurse. He obviously didn't want to play one-on-one because he was afraid I was going to "kick his aaaassssssssss".

I'm not sure this qualifies as a 'roommate' deal, but after my surgery in March, I woke up in a private room. Wonderful, and "L" shaped, so all you could see from the door was the foot of the bed. Pure privacy, and I was digging it. However, the guy next door kept yelling "WHAT TIME IS IT???" every five minutes, and I finally got to thinking: "What time is it? Time for me to hit the morphine plunger again, you loud bastard." ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

I got some sleep, and when I woke up, he was at it again: "WHAT TIME IS IT?" and I'm thinking it's bathroom time because the liters of IV fluid they gave me had kicked in and I really had to pee. I was wrapped pretty tight, and had to do some strange contortions to get out of the bed, but I finally get up, get the IV pole and lines together and start shuffling for the bathroom. About halfway there the pole runs over the lines, snags all over the place, etc. The woman across the hall LEAPS out of her bed, comes over and simultaneously shuts the bathroom door, unravels me, and starts leading me out INTO THE HALLWAY!   

So there I am, in serious need of expurgation, standing in the hallway with some stranger, yards from my intended target, crying (not a drop of saline in my tears, it was pure morphine) "But I have to PEEEEEEEEE!!!!"   Then Mr. X. bellows again "WHAT TIME IS IT?"

We must have driven the nurses crazy.