I have a short, unpleasant one and I don’t mean my temper… yet

DISCLAIMER: There is nothing to be gained by reading this; I just needed to vent.

Earlier yesterday I was returning home from running errands up the street and was back in my apartment building, standing downstairs at the elevator, hoping to make it upstairs in time to watch Emergency! on Cozi TV.

So I’m just standing there, and this man sidles up beside me.  Do you remember Pat Paulsen from The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour?  The salt & pepper haired comedian who ran for president? 

This guy is his clone.

Well, sort of.  According to Google, Pat Paulsen was 5’8” but the man beside me can’t be any taller than 5’4”—and he can’t weigh more than 95 lbs.

I consider myself a pretty average person, but compared to this fella I’m positively hulky.  Anyway, I don’t know his name so I’ll just call him Pat.  Pat is wearing baggy shorts, a t-shirt that must be sized 4XL as it hangs down to his hairy knees, white ankle socks and leather sandals.  He looks around 70 years old.

He says “Do you live here?” I say “Um… yes.”  There’s no hellos or good mornings or introductions or how are yous… just this.  We ride up in silence.

We both get off on the 4th floor, and he says “I am not happy here!  I had the nicest apartment in Maryland, with a den and access to the roof.  I gave it up to be closer to my daughter who lives up the street in Bellevue, and I’m not satisfied at all, and the landlord won’t let me move to the vacant apartment on the quiet side of the building because it’s the same rent and I’ve only been here 5 weeks and I have to be here six months to even request a change!”

I’m confused and look to the left & right of me.  No one else is around, is he wearing one of those Bluetooth phone gizmos in his ear?  Nope, he must be talking to me.

He says “I told them they must not care too much about their tenants and I told my daughter I’d be surprised if I met anyone here who’s lived at this address longer than 1-2 years.  How long have you lived here?” 

I tell him five years… cough.

He says “I’m on the other end, 412.  There’s a hundred things wrong with it and I won’t even get into the layout.  It has this… WINDOW in the livingroom that fills the room with so much sun I tan while watching my tv!  I’ve got this little kitchen that is no bigger than the walk-in closet I had in my apartment in Maryland.  And there are NO curtain rods in the dining room or bedroom windows—only mini blinds!  I’ll have to install them myself!”

He proceeds telling me a dozen other things wrong with his place. 

I don’t say a word, but 412 is an exact copy of my apartment—only his unit has brand new carpeting and a new glazed tub and mine doesn’t.    

He says “Does your shower have a window?  I asked them to install a privacy-shutter on mine and they never answered my request.  My daughter likes my shower because she only has a tub at her place, but she’s got a chest like her mother, and my ex is a Swede if you get my meaning.“

Anita Ekberg suddenly comes to mind.  There is NO WAY this man was married to a woman like Anita Ekberg!  I say “That window is pebbled glass, you can’t see thru it.” 

He says “She showers with it open!”  How does he know?  I don’t ask, but tell him his side of the building is next to the church, his bathroom faces a stone wall.  He doesn’t say anything.

I look at my watch.  I’ve now missed the first half of Emergency!

Just then I see my friend Opal (who lives down the hall) step out of her apartment.  She sees the two of us at the elevator and hurries the opposite way towards the stairwell. 

When has Opal ever hurried anywhere, or taken the stairs?  I have a feeling she’s met this man before.

Pat says “Our property manager, what’s his name?  Nick?  Takes forever to return my calls.  Have you ever met this clown?  He sounds like one of these macho types over the phone.  I’m up to HERE with those types!”  

I said “There’s no Nick.  You must mean Nicole.”  He says “I bet you’re sorry you asked me anything!”

I NEVER ASKED HIM A DAMN THING!!  I furrowed my brow and tried to look like I was coming down with rabies or something, but he didn’t even notice.  Pat was now spinning in place, once, twice.   He thumped his sides with his fists and said “This place is the pits!”

I said “Well, good luck finding something out there that suits you” and began walking as quickly as I could towards my apartment. 

He called out after me “Who said I was looking??”