Last night, I decided to take a break from petty theft, hard liquor, and my own catastrophic character flaws. I wanted to stay in and focus on clothes: conduct the Great Seasonal Wardrobe Swap (summer-to-winter, which involves a meticulous rearrangement of my closet), do some laundry, and peruse the latest issue of Lucky. Thing is, I have terrible luck with laundry.
6:45 Carry basket of clothes to basement. Note the existence of Mr. Creepy loitering by the Coke machine. Take very careful note of excessive facial hair, shabby attire, dead eyes, and the weird shuffling walk. Realize he resembles an extra from The Day After.
6:55 Dump clothes in washer, return to elevators. Note the continued presence of Mr. Creepy, who is staring at me like I’m a tasty dessert with a magical unicorn candy bar on top.
7:30 Return to basement to move everything over to the dryer. Note the continued presence of Mr. Creepy next to the Coke machine. Wonder if he’s just really, really thirsty.
8:00 Return to basement to retrieve and fold clothes. Mr. Creepy is still there. Decide to heed the heebie-jeebies and ask a neighbor in the laundry room if he’s ever seen that guy before. He’s never seen that guy around…and he has now been loitering by the Coke machine for more than an hour.
8:10 Walk up to lobby, take elevator from there. Feel like a resident of Mayberry/Tombstone/Camelot when a chivalrous neighbor offers to go “check out the situation.” Decline the offer.
8:15 Call Security. Call the everlovin’ heck outta Security.
8:30 Call Security to follow up. Find out that Mr. Creepy does, in fact, live in the building (great!). The guard explains that Mr. Creepy is “not right in the head” (even better!) and has a habit of hanging around the Coke machine (whee!), to the consternation of virtually every woman in the building.
Don’t get me wrong, I dig the mentally ill. Otherwise, I’d have no one to spend Christmas with.
But it seems to me my building could be doing a little more about a “not right” gentleman in shabby clothes, who hangs around a Coke machine in a basement for hours on end, staring at women. He's probably harmless, but I'm not going to bet my personal safety to find out. I believe in listening to my instincts, and Mr. Creepy was setting off all kinds of alarm bells.
In totally unrelated news, anybody wanna come over tonight while I wash the rest of my clothes? Especially if you're musclebound and intimidating? I’ll make you a lovely shepherd’s pie.