The guy downstairs from me needs help. Serious help.
Saturday a week ago, I was awakened at 4:30am to discover 4 carloads of cops and an FD cherrypicker in the courtyard plucking a guy off the adjacent 4th floor apartment balcony, not 5 feet from my bedroom window.
At the time, I am rather freaked out. Is this someone trying to break in? Is he trying to break in to *my* apartment? Eek.
I got the scoop when I asked next day at the apartment office. Apparently he lived in the unit directly below me. He had forgotten to take his security swipe tag out with him and was locked out of the building. Did he call the emergency maintenance number? No. Did he call a friend to let him crash? No.
He climbed up the outside of the building, to the 4th floor--even though he *lives* on the 3rd floor, and this is important later--and then found himself stuck because he couldn't find any way to get from the column of balconies he scaled to the corridors, where he could then get to his door.
Why he didn't have the forethought to simply put his swipe tag and key on the same ring, so he can't lock his apartment door without having it with him, I can't say.
But all that is merely preamble to the biggest fright of my life...
So, yesterday evening I am lying in bed, reading a very engrossing murder mystery and in the state of active imagination I always get into when I am reading.
Suddenly, I hear a sound that sounds very much like the latch on front door of my apartment opening and the door opening and closing.
WHAT! THE! FUCK!?!?
I shout the most intimidating imprecations I can imagine while foolishly rushing in the direction of the sound. No answer.
I approach the door, in a mixed-up state of fury and fright. My heart is beating quicker than I have ever known it to do before, even in my worst asthmatic attacks as a kid.
I peer through the peephole. Standing the like a dumbass, with his key still in the door, is my idiot downstairs neighbor. I know his vague face and blank stare from berating him previously when he has been "producing" very bad electronic music at wee hours of the night, at full volume and without headphones. So here he is, vague as ever, at my fucking door.
"WHAT! THE FUCK! ARE YOU DOING???" I inquire.
"Ummm...oh, um....wrong apartment."
"No shit, Sherlock. Had you noticed the ceilings are higher on the fourth floor?"
"Yeah, um, ok. Bye."
Not even a fucking apology.
Up until now, I had been plotting an elegant solution to the headphones problem. I was going to make a little booklet, like an elementary alphabet primer...A is for Apple, B is for Ball, etcetera, and ending with H is for Headphones.
Solving problems with design is, after all, one of my fortes.
But alas, now I am convinced this is *far* too subtle for him.
Pity. I was going to have such fun with it.
Anyway, the good news is, I was due to go out to a movie at the drafthouse cinema with friends only an hour later. So I had a whole bottle of claret and a barrel of laughs and felt much, much better.
However, word to the guys staffing the awful new coffee shop we went to after the show: Thai Iced Coffee is *not* the same thing as Thai Iced Tea! Thank you!
Saturday a week ago, I was awakened at 4:30am to discover 4 carloads of cops and an FD cherrypicker in the courtyard plucking a guy off the adjacent 4th floor apartment balcony, not 5 feet from my bedroom window.
At the time, I am rather freaked out. Is this someone trying to break in? Is he trying to break in to *my* apartment? Eek.
I got the scoop when I asked next day at the apartment office. Apparently he lived in the unit directly below me. He had forgotten to take his security swipe tag out with him and was locked out of the building. Did he call the emergency maintenance number? No. Did he call a friend to let him crash? No.
He climbed up the outside of the building, to the 4th floor--even though he *lives* on the 3rd floor, and this is important later--and then found himself stuck because he couldn't find any way to get from the column of balconies he scaled to the corridors, where he could then get to his door.
Why he didn't have the forethought to simply put his swipe tag and key on the same ring, so he can't lock his apartment door without having it with him, I can't say.
But all that is merely preamble to the biggest fright of my life...
So, yesterday evening I am lying in bed, reading a very engrossing murder mystery and in the state of active imagination I always get into when I am reading.
Suddenly, I hear a sound that sounds very much like the latch on front door of my apartment opening and the door opening and closing.
WHAT! THE! FUCK!?!?
I shout the most intimidating imprecations I can imagine while foolishly rushing in the direction of the sound. No answer.
I approach the door, in a mixed-up state of fury and fright. My heart is beating quicker than I have ever known it to do before, even in my worst asthmatic attacks as a kid.
I peer through the peephole. Standing the like a dumbass, with his key still in the door, is my idiot downstairs neighbor. I know his vague face and blank stare from berating him previously when he has been "producing" very bad electronic music at wee hours of the night, at full volume and without headphones. So here he is, vague as ever, at my fucking door.
"WHAT! THE FUCK! ARE YOU DOING???" I inquire.
"Ummm...oh, um....wrong apartment."
"No shit, Sherlock. Had you noticed the ceilings are higher on the fourth floor?"
"Yeah, um, ok. Bye."
Not even a fucking apology.
Up until now, I had been plotting an elegant solution to the headphones problem. I was going to make a little booklet, like an elementary alphabet primer...A is for Apple, B is for Ball, etcetera, and ending with H is for Headphones.
Solving problems with design is, after all, one of my fortes.
But alas, now I am convinced this is *far* too subtle for him.
Pity. I was going to have such fun with it.
Anyway, the good news is, I was due to go out to a movie at the drafthouse cinema with friends only an hour later. So I had a whole bottle of claret and a barrel of laughs and felt much, much better.
However, word to the guys staffing the awful new coffee shop we went to after the show: Thai Iced Coffee is *not* the same thing as Thai Iced Tea! Thank you!
he obviously likes your floor much, much better.
-/