Nobody likes me right now, and here’s three good reasons why

I think we’re all familiar with the term “putting one’s foot in one’s mouth” and I’ve been guilty of throwing out a zinger or two. 

But I said something lousy yesterday morning and for reasons unknown I was unable to stop. 

No. 1:  Doug and the pretty (not dippy) girl

I went downstairs to the package room off the lobby to add some money to my laundry card.  After I did so, I’m waiting at the elevator to come back upstairs and a very pretty young woman approaches and presses the (already lit) button. 

Oh well, I do that too.  She asks how I am, I say fine, how are you.  She points at the metal “planter” hanging beside the elevator doors and says “they have to put fake plants in there or else they’d rust.”

I laughed and said “Well, back in 1950 when this place was built that was no planter, it was still an ashtray.”  Pretty Girl laughs and says “That would’ve been one big ashtray!”  It suddenly occurs to me this young lady really doesn’t know. 

I said “No, really—that’s what these were back then.  So you could put out your cigarette before you got on.”   She said “Ohhh…kay.”  Then she frowned like she just remembered her stove was on and went around the corner.  Just then, Mary Jane (who lives on the first floor outside the elevator) opened her door and asked “Who was that?”  I said “Oh, some dippy girl who didn’t believe me when I said this thing on the wall used to be an ashtray.”   Mary Jane stepped backward and quietly closed her door.  What the—? 

Pretty Girl came around the corner again.  From the look in her eyes, I’m guessing she heard me.  Nice, Doug.

No. 2: Doug and the Borax Man

Not even an hour later, I’m in the laundry room moving my clothes from the washer to the dryer and in walks Rob, carrying a large white plastic bucket.  (Rob lives down the hall from me, around my age, probably half a foot taller.)  On the lid of the bucket it says this is Borax, donated by a former tenant, if you don’t know what it’s used for, google it.

I said “Is that from you?”  Rob says “Yep, I’m moving out.  Thought I’d leave you all with something to remember me by.”  I said “Why are you leaving?  New job?  Did you buy a house?”  Rob said “Steiner decided not to renew my lease.  We’ll leave it at that.  I found a nicer place and I bear them no ill will.”

I told him I was glad he found a nicer place, but we’d still miss him.  He said “I’ll certainly miss all of you.”  I said “You know who they should go after, that character on our floor who roams around up here without any clothes on.  Have you heard about this dude?  I’ve never seen him, but I know Sarah and Fernanda complained nonstop.”

Rob said “I know, they were complaining about me.  Goodbye Doug.”   Bye Rob

No. 3:  Doug and “she’s still got it” Opal

A couple hours later, I come home from the store and Opal is sitting in the lobby with her crossword puzzle book and iced tea.  She asks what’s new, I decide to tell her what happened earlier with Dippy—I mean Pretty Girl and Speedo-Rob.  Opal is laughing and clapping (I wish she wasn’t so demonstrative).

An older gentleman walks into the lobby then, wearing white Dockers and a polo shirt.  He looks like an actor from one of those retirement community commercials on tv.  He smiles and says hello to both of us, gets his mail, heads outside.  I said “He looks like a nice gentleman…”  Opal says “Maybe for you, he’s too old for me!” 

I said “Excuse me?  He couldn’t have been older than 75.”  Opal said “Have you seen the new maintenance man, who comes here Thursdays?  Doesn’t he look like a younger Sam Elliott?  Now he’s the man for me!”

I said “I’ve seen him—but he’s pretty handsome, don’t you think he’s out of your league?”  Dammit!  Half my brain was trying to stop me from talking, but my mouth kept right on going.  Opal said “I’m 70, not 700.  I’m going upstairs, I’ll talk to you later.”

Opal, I’m sorry.  Who’s next?