If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you don’t need to be told that I posses a wild imagination. Over active and wild.
This week has given me plenty of fodder, too.
Witness the latest opportunity to doom forecast:
Yes, obviously another of my neighbors has died. Yes…obviously. There’s simply no other way to see it.
My only evidence? Those seven packages were only five yesterday when I left. Those five had been delivered late in the day on Monday.
Never-mind the reality that this dude works from home and always has work packages in the lobby. Nor my observation based on our floor’s recycling room that indicates he also has a wicked online shopping habit.
Who goes away for three days – and counting – when they are expecting an avalanche of packages? Or, when you’re that guy, who doesn’t try to make friends with one of their three cohabitants on the floor?
Ok, to be fair…he did suggest I come over for a beer after he moved in, but I didn’t even know his name. Like, bro – bro…introduce yourself before inviting someone over. Who’s teach the How to People classes these days? I have some notes.
Anyway, a few weeks after that odd encounter, I had cause to call the police on him after a prolonged screaming match between him and some female guest that spilled into the hallway. After that, I was happy never seeing him again, which is actually likely in my small building of 18 units. For what it’s worth, there’s been at least one other similar domestic occurrence, well, that I’ve personally witnessed. Remember, I work very late on the most probable domestic disturbance nights – Friday and Saturday.
Ironically, the oldest and longest tenured resident on our floor – I’m the second longest tenured resident – is an old lady living in 4B around the corner from this dude’s unit. She’s probably mid-70s at the youngest…but the way things are going, I’ll bet she outlived the other three of us middle-aged-at-best, fat white men. She who laughs last…
4 thoughts on “Imagination Run Amok”
Then again, it could be like my daughter who I’ve come to believe has agoraphobia. Except she leaves her house, just not for mundane things like food, booze, cosmetics and clothing. When she does leave her house I know to drive by every couple of days and pull the myriad boxes off her porch. In fact, an Amazon driver so familiar with her buying habits thae he called he called her when he smelled the gas leak that was setting off alarms in her house and could have blown the whole block sky high. Dad, could you go see what’s up with the house? And bring in the Fresh box?
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That driver deserves to be employee of the year. Holy (thankfully not literally) smokes! And I absolutely love how blasé your daughter sounded about the situation.
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We of the female persuasion know better than to invite the neighbor over for a beer, even coffee is suspect. I generally take a basket of home grown produce with my contact information. In my semi-rural neighborhood, it’s important to be able to contact each other so if you’re lying dead on the bathroom floor, you can call someone to cover you up and stash the sex toys before the paramedics arrive.
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Indeed, that’s a very practical approach to both situations!
I’ve been told by my best friend that I’m the first person in the condo when he dies and have instructions to grab his box of toys (which I refer to as the Pleasure Chest) and old laptop before his kids arrive.