Work today was looooooooong. Everytime I was about to go home for lunch something would happen (I'd get a rush incident, torrential downpour would begin outside, someone would get me started ranting on something) so I ended up working 7 and ¼ hours straight through with no real break and no food.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted and cranky, looking forward to a small bowl of curried fried rice, and maybe some cheese eggs and toast.
I forgot my key, and the door was locked. I laid my head against it and pounded three times. I had a very singular vision in mind: I had to nuke rice. I had to do it now.
Melissa answered, all smiles, as per usual. You can count on her to be upbeat. Abie greeted me midway through the hall and scratched my back. It's one of her superpowers. It has the greatest, most soothing, stress releasing effect for such a simple action. And to top it all off: the Indian was in the kitchen, making food. Making fettucini alfredo with homemade sauce and grilled chicken. Melissa was steaming zucchini and broccoli. They were going to feed me. I was going to have a real meal, my first real meal in at least a week. One that didn't involve rice or cheese eggs. This was officially the Best Thing That Had Ever Happened To Me.
Well-nourished and full of vitamins and protein, I was able to get some laundry done, go on a beer run to Wally World and take a long walk with the Indian. It was a good night, the most charming part being when my straight but very metrosexual best friend spied the maroonish shoes next to my bookshelf and exclaimed with masculine delight,
“Are those Steve Maddens?”
They are. I was promptly scolded for not wearing my very cute shoes more often and had to put them on right away.
...
Three am. There is a long series of loud booming noise outside in the hall. Having become accustomed to loud disruptive noises of all sorts due to construction, I fully ignore it for five minutes until it dawns on me, it's three in the goddamn morning. No one gets started this early.
I go to the front door and look out the peep hole. This is the only thing I have ever used the peep hole for: checking out the door of #5. I'm laughing at the scene in the hall for another four minutes, also concerned about the noise—which is ongoing and is now accompanied by some very loud and violent cursing/yelling—when Melissa awakes.
“Jenna, what's going on?”
“The drunk bitches across the hall are locked out of their apartment.”
These two girls are pounding, kicking, screaming at the door, no pause. The one who obviously orders the other one around (that's always the case in a pair of bitchy girls) has a cell phone, and she keeps getting irate and shouting at her cell phone to the person who is not answering her calls. (“Motherfucker pick up the fucking phone.”, “ARRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHH!”, etc.) I do not know what she thinks that will accomplish.
Pretty soon Catie is up, ready to start throwing things at them.
“What is it about this building?!? Why do we get all the crazy neighbors?!?”
Easily 10 more minutes into pounding/screaming/cursing, we are seriously thinking about calling the cops, and then the Indian is up, and is the only one ballsy enough to actually open up the door and say something.
Indian: “Fucking quiet down, people are trying to sleep.”
He shuts the door. The Noise continues. He walks back and opens it again.
Indian: “We're trying to get some sleep over here!”
Drunk Bitch #1 (squawking): “Yeah well we're trying to get into our fucking apartment!”
Indian: “I don't really care. Just shut the fuck up already.” Slams door.
DB#1 (through door): “My ass!”
Catie (facetiously): “That is absolutely the most appropriate response in this situation. ‘My ass!’”
30 seconds after that someone showed up/answered the door and finally let them in.
I think it's safe to say we will not be making friends with our new neighbors in #5.
You are reading the life, times, and general musings of Jenna Tollerson. I am a web developer and consultant living in downtown Athens, Georgia, USA. [read more]