A few months ago, some girl knocked on my door. Through the peephole she looked like my mom, which would have been odd and terrifying because nevermind. I opened the door and it was some girl. She said, “Oh, I’m on the wrong floor.” I said, “Yeahhhh, you do.” As she was backing away she asked, “Do you have a beer?” I stepped one foot out my door and said, “You on the wrong floor.” She proceeded to the elevator. So many things pissed me off about that encounter. For one, OF ALL THE APARTMENTS SHE KNOCKED ON MY DOOR! Two, she asked me for a beer. So I’m guessing if I was in the 98 percentile of men who think with their dick and said yeah she would have invited herself into my apartment, huh? Third, how she was dressed. She had her hair done and had a black skirt on, but the most alarming thing about her ensemble was SHE DIDN’T ANY SHOES ON. The detective in me said NO HOW NO WAY SHE HAD HER FOOT ON THE PEDAL LIKE THAT WHICH MEANS SHE WAS ALREADY ON THE GROUNDS, IN SOMEONE ELSE’S APARTMENT. Therefore, I deduced she had to be visiting to make such a mistake but I have seen her here before, like multiple times, so she has to actually live here.
Anyway, that whole scene pissed me off and I recall waiting in the lobby and in the gym hoping I run into her again to confront her. I wasted at least 30 minutes of my time.
I haven’t seen her since until today. I heard someone in the hall for an unusually long time. I paused my White Collar DVD and heard talking in the hallway. I kept my eye on the peephole. It was her! She was walking the hallway talking on the phone about resumes. DO YOU KNOW HOW BAD I WANTED TO OPEN MY DOOR WHEN I SAW HER PASS BY AND CONFRONT HER? I didn’t. I should have. But I didn’t.