Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Conversation With An Idiot

   This morning, while  I was getting ready for work and jamming out to Avenged Sevenfold, there came this loud banging on my door. My first reaction was "Crap, my music is too loud." So I went to apologize to whichever neighbor had come to complain. I try to be nice to these neighbors, because they are pretty quiet and have been good people to live next too. I will totally blast a neighbor out with my music, but only in retaliation to having to listen to their crappy music first.
   However, the person so rudely banging on my door was not a neighbor. The person banging on my door was some lady that I have never seen before, and this is the line she greeted me with, "I've been looking forever. You give really bad directions."
  "Excuse me?" I reply, because I have never spoken to this lady in my life, "Who are you and what do you want?" And my tone is a tad bit pissy.
   "I have an appointment," she tells me matter-of-factly.
   "Not here you don't," I say and I start to shut the door, but her damn foot is in my doorway. I am considering smashing her foot with my door when she starts whining, and I hate whining. With a passion. Unless I am the one who is whining, I don't want to hear it.
   "I called and I was told that the leasing office is 25B, and isn't this 25B? This IS the leasing office," she whines.
   Now, let me give you a little picture of myself at this time. I was in the middle of getting ready for work, so I have my work shirt on, but I am still in my pajama bottoms. Avenged Sevenfold is blaring in the background, I have no shoes or socks on, and while my hair is brushed, I don't have my hair clips in yet. I don't really look like a leasing agent at this time. To further paint this picture, let me explain my apartment door. There is no sign that says leasing office, no hours of operation listed, nothing that points to this door belonging to a leasing office and not a private home. Usually, leasing offices want you to know that they are leasing offices, and they don't try to blend in with all the other apartments.
   She's not right in the head; this seems to be the only explanation, so I take pity on her and say," The leasing office is the building by the main road."
   "No this is the leasing office!" she exclaims.
  Yup. That's it; the final straw. I am done with this moron. "Move your foot," I snap, " This is not an office, this is my private home, and you are NOT coming in here."
   She moves her foot and I slam the door shut, in her face since she has not bothered to back up. I go around to the window that looks out at the sidewalk and look out, and she is still standing there, looking at my door. This is why I shouldn't answer the door. I know that I shouldn't answer the door, but I do it anyway. I don't know why. The woman stared at my door for another minute or so, and then left, but I do wonder how long that woman would have stood there, staring at my door, if I had not answered though. 

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