A little prayer for my ceiling--and a bigger one for Josh

The other night I was talking to my sister Shawn on the phone (an uncommon thing, we don't do a lot of phone calls) and she was giving me updates on family members like our brother Steve and my 21 year old niece Sophia, and the talk came around to my apartment--and she remarked how much she liked it over my last place, and I said yes I did too.  It's had its share of issues, but I love its character.  I've always been more comfortable here too.

After we hung up, I went in to use the bathroom and saw this nasty water stain above my shower head.  I took this photo, went on the Steiner website, posted it and requested maintenance.

I knew it was going to be a tricky thing.  Our bathrooms have drop ceilings for easy access to pipes.  The back half of our bathroom ceilings contain heat & cooling pipes for our own apartments--but the front half, where my shower head is, contain bathroom plumbing for the apartment above you.

The next day, Steiner contacted me and said James was on his way.  I like James, he's a trim black man, 60 years old, loves to talk but is very courteous and very professional.  He came with a replacement ceiling tile and all kinds of pipe repair tape, clamps, etc. and told me the leak looked like a small one, and I was lucky.  If it had been a more serious one, I'd have to wait for ED.  ED is Steiner's "master plumber", a larger than life character in high demand.

After James completed his repairs and installed a new ceiling tile, I thanked him and walked him to the elevator.  He said "If you see the SLIGHTEST indication of another leak in the next month or so, let us know right away.  But you should be good for a couple more years at least."   I said okay, went back to my apartment (had to use the bathroom) and saw this:

I ran back into the hallway shouting "WAIT!" just as the elevator doors shut.  I called Steiner and said the leak on the right side was repaired but now there was a leak on the left.  They said they'd get someone back out here as soon as possible.

The next morning Steiner contacted me and said that James said there might have been some residue in the pipe, and asked if it was worse.  I said yes, it was worse alright.

They said okay, they would be sending ED the master plumber, tomorrow.

So the next morning, Ed shows up with his helper in tow.  (Ed's a tall bald man with a ring of wild white hair on the back and sides of his head.  He's 67 but looks 77.)   I said "Hi Ed, you look different than the last time I saw you."  He said "How far back was that?"  I said it's been 3-4 years.  He said "Oh sure, I've lost 60 pounds since then.  I can't be carrying all that extra fat into my golden years!"

As Ed and his helper started dismantling the ceiling, hooking up large tools and barking back and forth, I went into my bedroom and shut the door.  My head and face were on fire.  I can talk to someone on the phone for hours--but being around people and noise sets my long covid into overdrive.  When I woke up today, I spent the morning with pretty bad shakes.

When Ed was finished, he knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to come see.  The ceiling looked great.  He apologized for the bathroom (the floor was covered with grit, dirt & plaster--the tub streaked with oil.)  I said it was not a problem.  He said "Are you alright?  You look shaky."  I said I had a neurological condition that's been slow to heal.  Then I said "I almost forgot, where's your other helper?"  (I couldn't remember his name, it's Josh.  Josh is 26 year old and a plumber's helper, anxious to learn the trade.)

Ed said "That's a sad story.  Josh got covid back in...January.  Came back to work a couple weeks later, ready to go.  A couple weeks after that, he got sick again.  His parents took him to a couple specialists.  They said he has something called long covid.  He told me he has a good day here and there, but mostly he stays indoors.  It's going on 3 months.  He doesn't see an end in sight."

I said "I am so sorry.  Do you have a couple minutes?  I want to share something with you."  Like I told Ed, at least I'm in my sixties, retired.  Josh is a young man, just starting out.   I'm not a religious man, but I'm praying for him.  

A dirty secret no more, the return of Barb Wire & a paper sack for retirement

20+ years ago, I worked alongside Mike Cullen, a guy my age who was single like me.  He was also twice as good looking, in much better shape and dressed twice as nice.  He even had better hair than me.  Normally I avoid guys like this but I loved Mike.  He was a rascal, but kindhearted too.

One time he told me we should sign a pact.  Whoever dies first, the other would enter the deceased one's home and remove any embarrassing things.  A key to get in and location of the nasty stuff would be supplied in advance.

I didn’t really have anything but didn't want to let Mike down, so I said I had some adult stuff on an old laptop in my bedroom closet.  When I asked Mike what he had, he just laughed and said I'd find everything hidden in his oven.  Surprised, I said "Don't you cook?"  

He just smiled at me and said yes, but not in the kitchen.  

Anyway, it seems that every time I put something in my oven I think about Mike because of the nasty stuff I've been hiding in mine.  About 5 years worth of grease and grime.  How did I let it get this bad?  I bought rubber gloves, large sponges and oven cleaner a couple months ago, but was waiting for the weather to warm so I could tackle this with an open window and plenty of ventilation.  So with Spring arriving this week... ta-da!  

I thought this would take about an hour and I wound up spending almost 3.  But this turned out better than I hoped for.  Y'know, I have an air fryer in my cupboard (a small one).  I'm going to try and cook more with that going forward, every chance I get. 

A couple days ago I ran up the street to Kuhn's to get some eggs and other things.  When I walked down the dairy aisle, I saw Barb--aka Barb Wire--looking at the cheeses.  I wrote about this woman last August, she's in her upper 70s, maybe 80.  She always wears the same thing; a skin-tight black jogging suit and black baseball cap with her ponytail coming out the back end.  She's pretty fit.

The woman has some peculiar issues though--the first time I met her at the Senior Center last summer, she asked me if I grew up in the city or somewhere else.  When I said in the country, she snapped "I think you're too soft to be a country boy!  I think you're a liar!"   

But I haven't seen her since September, so I figured I'd let bygones be bygones and say hello.  I walked up and said "Hello Barb, do you remember me?"  She turned around and frowned, and said "You look familiar..."   I told her I used to be a regular visitor to the center but haven't been there since last fall because of health issues.  She said "How did you know it was me from behind?  BECAUSE YOU WERE CHECKING OUT MY BEHIND!"

Sigh... I'm looking forward to returning to the center, hopefully this summer.  I'm not so much looking forward to that. 😣

Finally, I've had this paper sack with "For retirement" written across its front for umpteen years in my old apartment's storage locker and now my current one, and I honestly can't remember what I put in here.  

It's pretty heavy, I'm guessing a stack of books.  I decided it was time I opened it up and took a look.

Inside were unopened dvds of Babylon 5, a sci-fi tv series from the 1990s that I've never seen.  There are 5 seasons in here, plus a box labeled Babylon 5 Movie Collection.  

When did I buy these?  According to Amazon, they were purchased in November 2007.  It's a little kooky that I can remember conversations with my friend Mike from 20 plus years ago, but draw a blank when it comes to these dvds.  

Are there any sci-fi fans out there that have seen and liked this show?  Is it worth watching?  These hologram boxes are pretty cool, but there's so much here and frankly I feel done with 90s television.  I don't know what the me from 2007 was thinking. 😐

Meanwhile, at the Tiffany: Some of the people in here are pretty out there

Recently, a woman who lives down the hall from me knocked on my door.  I’ve seen her a few times on our floor, rode the elevator with her a couple times, but we’ve never spoken to one another.

So I said hi, can I help you?  She asked me if I ever smelled marijuana in my apartment.  I said no, never.  She said “I smell it in mine sometimes, could it be coming from upstairs?” 

I said that was certainly possible.  Whenever the woman who lives above me cooks something with garlic, I can smell it down here—it must come down through the heating vent.

She said “I haven’t smoked pot since I was 19 and that was over 50 years ago, but it’s not a smell you forget. Have you ever smoked it?”

I was pretty surprised she asked, but said no, I never did.

She said “If I got some pot would you like to smoke it with me?”   

What the--!!  I said no thank you, and she should be careful.  Steiner has a strict policy regarding marijuana.  Not even for medical purposes unless you ingest it, like those cannabis gummies.  She said she hoped she didn't upset me.  I said of course not, and asked if she was an undercover cop or something.  She laughed and said no.

Later that night I told my (very Christian) friend Diana what happened.  Diana said "She probably thinks you're a real square." 

There is another woman on my floor (a little younger, name unknown) who keeps to herself, talks to no one—but she recently hung a sign in our laundry room that read:

Below her loud words she taped 3 tiny pieces of fuzz on the bottom of the paper.  Even without my glasses I could see it was just dryer lint—is she crazy?  Steiner does not like crazy.  They do not like reports of bedbugs either.  In the 7 years I’ve lived here, 4-5 tenants on various floors have reported bedbugs—and all 4-5 tenants were gone in a couple months time.

I don’t know what happened to them.  I don’t know if it was their choice to leave or Steiners.

Lastly, I recently had a couple run-ins with my 70 year old neighbor Dee.  The first was a couple weeks ago, when I was exiting the building as she was coming in, and she asked if the recent ‘door slams’ from her apartment bothered me.

I said they made me jump a couple times, but it was no big deal.  She said “That’s Rosa, honey!  She’s my housekeeper.  She’s here one day a week, I’m not going to say anything.  Good housekeepers are hard to find.”

So are good neighbors Dee, and you are taking yours for granted but whatever.

The second time was a couple nights ago when her tv was louder than usual.  When I knocked on her door, she shouted “YEAH?” without opening it.  I said it was me and asked if she could turn it down a little.  She shouted “I CAN’T HEAR A WORD YOU’RE SAYIN’ HONEY!”

I shouted back “NEVERMIND I’LL CALL STEINER AND LET THEM HANDLE IT.”   Jeez Louise!

She opened her door then, just wide enough to peek out and asked if her tv was too loud.  I said yes.  She said she had hearing aids but often forgot to put them in.  She added “I don't know how far my tv is from my couch, probably 20 feet."  I said “I have a pretty good idea.  The same as mine, 7-8 feet.”  

She said “No honey, Steiner told me when I moved in all the apartments are different.”

Oh Dee… they meant there are 3 layouts: studios, 1 bedroom units, 2 bedrooms.  We both have 1 bedrooms, yours is a mirror of my own.  I was friends with the tenant who lived there before you, plus I caught a glimpse of your stuff the day you moved in.

I wish I could show Dee this layout I came up with showing my apartment and hers, but she might not appreciate my view on things.  Especially when my view includes her things.  The End!     

In a world without Star Trek...

(Friday morning, 9am.; there's a gentle knocking on my front door.  When I answer it, there's a young woman there.  Very attractive, Afro-American, mid-twenties.)

HER: Good morning sir, am I disturbing you?

ME:  Good morning, not at all.  Can I help you?

HER:  Yes--hee hee!  I moved into #412 this week and wanted to get my wash done.  Steiner told me to pick an empty block of time on the calendar in the washroom, but there's no one using it right now, and your apartment number is on there for this morning.  Do you need it?

ME:  Actually, I'm 402.  My neighbor Dee is 401, that's her block of time right now but she isn't home.

HER:  Do you think she would mind?

ME:  Well, she left a little while ago to run a pan of noodles up to the Catholic Church on Lincoln Avenue for their Friday fish fry.  She may want to use it when she gets back.  But I don't think anyone else is scheduled on there after her today.

HER:  Okay, thank you!  I like your door sign, is that Jewish?  I love the Jews!

ME:   Thank you... no it's not Jewish.  It's uh, Vulcan.

HER:  Oh.. Balkan.  What country are they from?

ME:   I think that's a bunch of countries but not Balkan.  VUL-can. 

HER:  Oh, Vulcan!  What country are they from?

ME:  Um... a tv show, Star Trek.  You know, Mister Spock.  He was a Vulcan.

HER:   I don't, I'm sorry!  But you seem very gentle!

ME:  Ha, okay... thanks, and nice to meet you.  Welcome to the Tiffany.

Later, after Dee comes home.  Another knocking on my door.  This one is pretty loud.

ME:  Hi Dee, what's up?

HER:  Can I use your phone?  I let my daughter borrow my phone up at Assumption, and the ding-a-ling left and took it with her!

ME:  Sure--here ya go.  Just tap the phone icon on the bottom.

(Dee calls her daughter and tells her she needs her phone back right away for her pills.)

HER:  Here y'go, thanks.

ME:  You're welcome.   Hope you have a nice--

HER:  Why do ya got a man on your phone?  None of my business.  Is he a soccer player?

ME:  No, that's Captain Kirk.

HER:  Did you say Catherine?  You know I wear a hearing aid.

ME:  CAPTAIN.  Captain Kirk.

HER:  Captain Cook?

ME:  No Dee, forget it.  He's a character on Star Trek.

HER:  Sorry, I don't watch the Disney Channel.  My granddaughter does though.

😢😢😢

Silly but True Stories, Volume 1: The Bionic Woman & The Man who drank Coffeemate

NOTE:  I've decided to start a new blog category, Silly but True Stories.  It's for when I have something weird or dumb I want to share, but it's small and not really worthy of a "full blog post".  So if you'll indulge me, here we go...

If you visit my blog regularly, you know I'm always talking about my trips to Kuhn's, my local grocery store.  There's a cashier there I like greatly named Carol.  She's in her mid to late sixties, loves to chatter but is a little ditzy.  I'm not fond of that word, but that's what she calls herself.  "Ditzy Carol, that's me!"

In the last few years she's had several medical procedures done: she got a knee replacement 4-5 years ago, then a hip replacement, then another knee replacement.  Two years ago she got some kind of ball bearing inserted into one shoulder, then last year an operation on her collarbone.  She wears something now on her lower arm, for an upcoming wrist operation.  Awhile back I began calling her the Bionic Woman.  (You know... the woman from the 70's tv show with the replacement body parts.)

So one day recently, I went shopping and got into her checkout lane.  (I just aim for the first empty lane I see.)  When it was my turn and I began loading up the belt with my groceries, she smiled and said good morning, then held up my bottle of Hazelnut Coffeemate and said "Sir, is this the only one?"

I said yes, and she said "Ok but there's a sale on these right now--buy one get one half off!"  

I said that was okay, I only wanted the one.  I added "Besides, I'm pretty sure I got the last one on the shelf."

Carol said "Oh really?  Uh-oh!  That spells trouble!"  I asked why.  She said "We have a man that comes in here 2-3 times a week.  He never leaves without one or more of these bottles in his cart!  Personally I think he must drink the stuff!"

I laughed and said wow, that's a lot of Coffeemate.  She said "Well, I don't wanna be here if he shows up and that shelf is empty, that's for sure!"  I said "Is he an angry person?  Does he have a temper?"  

Carol said "Oh, he's nice enough.  I got a bunch of medical stuff done and he likes to call me the Bionic Woman!  Isn't that a hoot?"

Yes Carol, he sounds like a real hoot.

A sleepy Doug & The not-so-curious case of the Compulsive Master..nater

Good morning!  This was me Thursday morning, August 28 at 7am; I was just getting ready to run out that door to catch the bus downtown for my jury duty.

When my alarm clock went off at 6:15, I literally jumped up in shock. I set it “just in case”, never expecting it would rouse me from a deep slumber.

(But I was up for over an hour in the middle of the night with aching legs, so I was excused.)

I was worried about my recent leg & feet issues, but at the same time I was excited to be catching the 7:05 19L again.  That was my bus to work for many, many years.  It’s been years since I last rode it.

I was dismayed when we got downtown though; everyone was getting off at Liberty Avenue.  I asked the bus driver if she was still going to Mellon One (right across from the Allegheny courthouse) and she said “Sir, this bus hasn’t done that route in years.  Where have you been?”  

Anyway, there’s not a lot to tell.  There were 63 prospective jurors, we were there for the case of Nate F, a fortysomething man with one of the best comb-overs I’d ever seen.  Apparently Nate had a habit of public lewdness which included acts of masturbation.

Oh Nate, you look like a nice man in your nice suit and everything.  Why?

They selected 25 prospective jurors for his trial, and I was picked as No.11.  We were told we’d be questioned by both attorneys.  When it was my turn, they asked me if I’d ever been a juror before.  I said yes.  They asked if I remembered when.  I said yes, March 2010.

They asked me if I remembered the particulars of that case.  I said “Yes, I remember the judge, the state’s attorney, the defendant, the defendant’s lawyer, what the judge told the defendant when he admonished him after the not guilty verdict.”

The defense attorney said “I’m loving this—how?”  I said “Er… I have an online blog.  I wrote a blog about the experience after the trial.”   They seemed to get a big kick out of that.  They asked me if I had a problem with society’s view on public lewdness (no) and would I object to being shown recorded video evidence of these acts.  

Oh I don’t have a problem with that at all!  Let’s see what you got. 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t chosen.  Halfway thru questioning the jurors, they took a break for lunch.  There was only 4 or 5 of us that brought our lunch, I wish I’d taken a photo of mine. 

(A roast turkey and smoked guoda sandwich with red onions, and a Tupperware container of steamed broccoli & baby carrots—you would’ve been proud.)

An older woman (Carol) asked if she could join me as she’d brought hers too, and while we ate one of the women who coordinate everything told us “Letting you know, you weren’t chosen and will be going back into the jury pool after lunch.  The attorneys liked both of you, but worried your medical issues could be a distraction.”

We still had to stay until 4:30 (in case another case rolled in).  I was glad for the experience, it got me out of the house for the whole day.  But I was never so glad to be back home again.

 

Lunch with Evie & friends and some (ugh) barbed wire

This past Wednesday, I went out to lunch with a few people from the Senior Center.  We went to Red Lobster on McKnight Road, and I wasn’t sure I was going to share it here as I blogged our trip there a year ago. 

But as long as we’re on the subject of seniors and the like…

Evie with a quiet smile, we were waiting to be seated

There is a woman at the center who feels the need to confront me every chance she gets.  I’ve been brushing her off, chalking up her meanness to her age or one too many bar fights, who knows.  But I do know she is asking for it. 

This all began several weeks ago, when we went to a restaurant she recommended, the Rockefeller Grille.  She sat at a table across from me, kept trying to get my attention.  Every time I looked her way, she’d say “Having fun yet?  Then why aren’t you smiling?  Smile!”  and prop up both corners of her mouth with her fingers.   

Who is this woman?  I knew she was older than me, and in much better shape.  She had a tough exterior, like those prison matrons you see in movies about women in jail.  We’ll call her Barb Wire.

At our next outing, I’m at the center chatting with Dennis while waiting for our Access shuttle.  Barb Wire comes over and says “Where did you grow up?  City or country?”  Dennis says city, I say country.  She looks at me and says “I think you’re lying.  You’re too soft to be from the country.” 

I shrug my shoulders and ask Dennis if he wants to wait outside with me.

A couple Fridays ago, I’m chatting with Melvin when she comes over to us.  She asks if either of us had ever seen a snake up close.  We both say yes.  She tells us how a snake got in her house once, and she held a broomstick next to it until it curled around it, then she took it outside.

She turns to me and says “I bet you would’ve run out of there screaming like a little girl.  Just admit it.”  

She’s so awful it’s almost laughable!  If I was a woman, I would’ve socked her one.  I tell Melvin I’m going to the mens room to wash up before lunch. 

Getting back to our lunch at Red Lobster this week… I sat in a booth with Evie, Dennis and Wild Irish Rose.

Dennis got the shrimp linquini, Rose got the steak & lobster.  (I got the crispy flounder, Evie got the Admiral’s Feast to have extra for her dinner.)

We’re having a good time, laughing & kidding each other.  Barb Wire gets up from her table in the back, comes over to ours and asks if we heard her fish story.  The time she went fishing at some lake near some prison.

She tells us after she cast her line, a man walked up and asked if he could leave his wallet and wristwatch with her while he took a swim.  She said yes, he jumped in and swam across the lake but didn’t come back.  She waited an hour or so, then approached one of the prison guards patrolling the area.  Yes he saw the man.  He told her the man was so tired after his swim, he walked home.

Um… where was this mystery man’s clothes, his shoes?  Did he walk home in his skivvies?  This story is pretty fishy.

She says there was no ID in the wallet, and it took her a week to track the man down and return his items.

If Barb Wire was nicer, she'd look very similar to this person cap included 

She then asks us what we would’ve done in her place.  No one said anything, so I said “Well, if there was no ID I would’ve checked the wallet for cash then tossed it in a corner mailbox.  And added the watch to my collection.”   Barb Wire glared down at me and said “THAT TELLS ME WHAT KIND OF PERSON YOU REALLY ARE!  I WILL NEVER TRUST YOU WITH ANYTHING OF MINE!  EVER!”

We sat there in silence.  Evie asks if I will let her out of the booth so she can go to the ladies room.  I ask Barb Wire to step back so I can slide out and let Evie out.  As Evie scoots across the bench, Wire says “DON’T JUST STAND THERE, HELP HER!  SHE’S YOUR FRIEND ISN”T SHE?”

I can’t take anymore of Barb Wire.  I did tell one of the women who work at the center about her a couple weeks ago, but was only told they’ve gotten complaints from others about her as well.

Now of course this can’t continue… I spent half my life being bullied by classmates, coworkers, family members.  I’m old now and not afraid to stand up to these types.  I do regret answering her lunatic question in the restaurant, and I’ll do my best to steer clear of this person going forward.  But if she comes at me again, I guarantee she’s going to hear it.

Thanks for listening and letting me get this off my chest.  Stay tuned! 

 

Welcome to the neighborhood, I think you’re going to fit right in

Last week, I got one of these cute door plaques for my front door.  20 years ago if my mom had asked if I wanted something crafty to hang on there, I would’ve said no thanks, door decor wasn’t my style.  What happened?  I got old, that’s what happened.

Anyway, I was going to get a nifty one of a human skull that said “NOT WELCOME”  (you know, for Halloween) but then it occurred to me I had a new neighbor moving in this week and I didn’t want to make a bad first impression.  So I got this wooden pumpkin instead.  I actually like it.

No one knows, but since my neighbor Lonnie moved out August 31, I’ve been a secret nervous wreck.  Who will my new next door be?  When you live in an apartment building like mine it’s very possible to hear your neighbor’s tv, music and everything else they’re up to thru your living room wall.

Back in April, a young maestro from the PMT Conservatory moved into the studio apt by the elevator on my floor.  Do I mind hearing him singing I am the Phantom of the Opera while I’m waiting to go downstairs?  No.  Do I want him singing in the apartment next to mine?  Hell no!

Do you remember my blog about the skinny little man on my floor, who lived here 5 weeks and complained about his apartment (because it got too much sunlight, for starters)?  I wrote about him here.  He pleaded with our landlord to let him move if an apartment became available in the rear of the building.  They told him he had to wait 6 months.

He finally got the chance a couple months ago.  The lawyer who lived down the hall from me announced he was moving out.  Skinny Man (Bob) signed a new lease that same day.  So what if the rent was $75 more per month.  So what if it contained no carpeting.  (Bob liked carpeting.)  So what if the all-white kitchen was too feminine for Bob’s taste.

So what if he was giving up a great neighbor, a quiet guy named Joel.  He’d get to live in the rear of the building!

Now—do you remember me writing about that lawyer?  His neighbor was a lovely young Afro-American woman, Chantilly.  (I wrote about both here.)   She likes to play music, have friends over, and have late night laughs—a lot.  Hey, she’s only 24 so that’s to be expected.  And it’s easy for me to say that, I don’t live beside her.

Bob does now, and he’s miserable.  He’s also stuck.  (Steiner said no more moves unless it’s out of the building.)  Walking away from new carpeting and a maple kitchen is one thing, but a quiet neighbor too?  That’s crazy!

So who was moving in next to me?  I didn’t have a clue.  And then this past weekend I heard a plop outside in the hall and when I opened my door, saw this in front of my neighbor’s door.

That’s a pretty welcome mat, and a good sign.  Guys come with loud music, loud voices, loud videogames but usually no welcome mats.  What if it was a woman over 50 too?  Would that be asking for too much?

I think luck was on my side.  Three woman soon arrived, all wearing work-clothes and said they were friends with my new neighbor Dee (who was on her way here with the movers, and running behind schedule). 

Bonnie, Lisa and Dina said she was 69 years old, low-key and did a lot of reading.  (Reading is good.)  They said Dee was retired, and wanted to live someplace “long-term and quiet”.  Better & better.

Dee finally arrived a couple hours later, and was polite but dismissive; I think she’s serious about maintaining boundaries.  I can dig it.  She has a gravelly voice and looks remarkably like Imelda Staunton from the 2004 movie Vera Drake.

Well, it’s been a couple days and all is calm.  Aside from some thuds and clatterings that first day, I’ve hardly heard a sound.  Dee I hope you enjoy your new home here and live beside me a long time. 

If you can outlive me, all the better.  I don’t want to have to go thru this again!  

Oh and for the record—I got that skull plaque after all.  It’s hanging in my bedroom for Halloween, we’ll see.  I don’t want to give Dee any ideas!

Love Thy Neighbor: What would you do?

I have a real dilemma here, in my apartment building.  My next door neighbor Lonnie, who has lived beside me for 6 1/2 years, is moving out August 31.

Is it his choice?  No.  A month or two ago, Steiner Realty (our landlord) threw down the gauntlet and informed Lonnie they wouldn’t be renewing his lease, which expires August 31. 

Do I want him to go?  No.  Lonnie is quiet, keeps to himself, goes to bed early, gets up and leaves at 5am everyday.  He’s a 40 year old black male, a custodian at Pitt University.  I’m lucky to have him as my “next door”, I know several tenants here who are miserable because of noisy or bothersome next-doors (the other side of their livingroom wall).  

I admit I’m thinking of myself here; God knows who could move in there next.  Ten years ago, my last apartment in the city, when my friend & next door Rich bought a townhome and moved out, a gay couple moved in and made life a living hell for a year until they were finally told to leave.  I blogged about it enough and am surprised I didn’t murder the pair.  (You think I’m kidding, don’t you…)

Anyway, Lonnie says Steiner didn’t give him a reason why, but I’m guessing I know.  For one, he doesn’t have his rent “auto-paid” from a bank account like the rest of us.  He doesn’t HAVE a bank account, so he puts an envelope filled with cash in the Steiner business box on the first floor every month. 

Sometimes he’s late with his rent and is fined $50.00 for it, but fights it half the time.  Also, he somehow wound up with bedbugs a couple times.  Steiner had to hire special exterminators to go after those terrible critters in his unit, at premium expense.  (I think it was around $860.00 for 3-4 visits.)

They tried to bill Lonnie for half of it, but he refused and said that was part of his rent.  (It’s difficult to reason with Lonnie, his thinking can be a bit off-kilter; he’s not quite a special needs person, but close.  Like one of those head injury cases.)

Here’s the thing:  Lonnie WANTS to move.  He’s talked about it since the day I met him, his one bedroom apartment wasn’t big enough, he wanted two.  He can’t AFFORD a two bedroom, at least in our neighborhood, but he still wants one nonetheless.

At the same time, he lives paycheck to paycheck and has no real savings.  Does he not get that his next landlord is going to expect first & last month’s rent, and a hefty security deposit?  He’s close to his mom (who lives in Georgia), maybe she would help with that.

But it’s already August 10 and he’s only seen ONE apartment.  He says he passed on it as it was on the third floor and the building had no elevator.  (At the same time, he told me he refuses to live on the ground floor.)  This guy is doomed.

I’m sharing all this here because something happened at the senior center recently.  A lawyer from Neighborhood Legal Services was there giving a talk, explaining senior’s rights and such.  When it was over, I approached her and told her Lonnie’s story.  She said “Your landlord has the right not to renew his lease—BUT UNLESS HE’S A DANGER TO OTHERS IN THE BUILDING, they can’t force him out on the street if he chooses to stay and fight it.  It could take months.”

She said that tenants have a lot of rights in Pennsylvania, and if Lonnie wanted her help it would take little effort on her part to keep him in his apartment.  She then added her services were free for most and gave me her business card.

What do I do?  Do I pass this card along to Lonnie and wish him luck?  I know one thing—if I swear Lonnie to secrecy, and to not tell Steiner this business card came from me, I AM 100% CERTAIN HE’S GOING TO TELL THEM IT CAME FROM ME.

And the last thing I want is Steiner telling ME next March they’ve decided not to renew my lease.  So… what do I do?  Should I mind my own business and hope for a happy ending for all?  Or let him know he has options and risk Steiner’s ire?  Hmm.

 

I need to tread carefully, scary animals and tender hearts are afoot

You can’t tell by this grainy photo (taken thru my dining room window’s screen of the street below) but I just had an angry run-in with the young black man below.

He’s holding a leash, and on the other end of it is a brown & white Pit Bull, one of the largest I’ve ever seen.  His snout is level with the drawstring of my pants.

I know this firsthand, as a couple days ago I was waiting for the elevator to go downstairs, the doors opened and without thinking I got on—only to be greeted by this dog’s nose in my crotch.

A young, round black woman was holding his leash, and said “His name is Pilot, he needs to smell you when he meets you for the first time, sorry!” 

I just stood there, frozen—what is a Pit Bull doing on our elevator?  Dogs are not allowed—shortly after I moved in here in 2017, a young man with a mini-beagle was asking people to sign his petition allowing his dog to stay.  (I can still remember the dog’s name—Doyle.)  We all loved Doyle and his owner with a New England accent, but Steiner said nope and they moved out.  So what was this?

I said “Are you visiting someone here?”  She said “No, we just moved in a couple days ago.”  I said “With a Pit Bull?”  She said “He’s my emotional support animal.”  

BULLPOOP.

The next day, I’m in the lobby getting my mail and a couple other residents are down there, talking about the dog.  They asked me what I thought.  A young black man (the one in that photo above) entered and checked his mail.  I told Dave, Samantha and Mrs. Win I wouldn’t ride the elevator with that Pit Bull again.  They’re banned in many countries for a reason! 

The young man turned around and said “You people have a problem with a DOG?  That’s cold.”  I said “No, we have a problem with a PIT BULL.”  The man says “IT’S MINE.”  I said “Everyone here is afaid of it, I am too.” 

He just stood there and glared at me, then left the lobby.  Dave said “That didn’t end well…”   I guess not but I don’t care.  I want Pilot the Pit Bull gone.  

On the flip side, I’m at a bit of a loss on what to do with another neighbor, Lida. She’s in her upper forties, single and intellectually disabled.  (In the old days, we would say mentally retarded.)  But she’s sweet, funny and I think she likes me a little more than she knows what to do with.

The night before Easter, I heard a small shuffling sound outside my front door.  When I looked thru the peephole, I saw her pacing back & forth.  I waited another minute to see if she’d knock, looked thru the peephole again and she was gone.  When I opened my door, I was startled to find her on her hands & knees, trying to slide the card below under my door. 

Here’s the inside of the card, she’s quite the handwriter.

I showed it to my sister who said that maybe she’s just being friendly, but I worry it’s become more than that.  Lida lives in a 3rd floor studio apartment with a big window that faces the front of the building, so she can see who’s coming & going. 

It seems that more & more, everytime I come home, she likes to race down to the lobby to see if I wore a warm enough jacket, got healthy things to eat from the market, let me know if the mail has come yet, what the weather that night will be, and on occasion to ask if I like Sally (another ID woman who recently moved here) or if I’ve found a girlfriend yet.

When I tell her I haven’t been looking, she says “Good!  I won’t look for a boyfriend!”  

And lastly, on a tastier note do you know I’m almost 62 years old and have never, not a single time tried ‘Cup o’ Noodles”?  I’ve seen commercials for them all my life, but never considered myself a noodles person. 

Then the other day at the store, I saw this new Asian Style, Sweet Chili flavor and curiosity got the better of me and I picked up a couple.  Good Lord, this little styrofoam cup has 1100 grams of sodium—I shouldn’t be eating this!

But man oh man, it was only $1.38 and as tasty as it was filling.  I’m hooked. 

 

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??” 

 

My 3 neighbors: I may sing to one, befriend the second & I don’t know yet about the third

Recently, my favorite maintenance man Josh told me they rented #404 (the apartment down the hall from me) to a tall black woman named Chantilly. She was moving in later this week.  Chantilly?  Like the song Chantilly Lace? 

Maybe I’d greet her with a big “Hellooo Baby!” like the Big Bopper when I introduced myself.  Anyway, I thought I’d go down the hall and sneak a last peek at the apartment, see if they made any big updates.  I know… I’m nosy.

So I’m down there appreciating the new window blinds and sparkle of everything when I decide to head back to my place to change my shoes and go downstairs to the gym.  As I carefully open the front door, the tenant in #405 is just coming home and unlocking his own door.  Oops, I’m busted. 

I say “Um, hi.  I live up the hall from you, I was just down here taking a peek at #404 before the new tenant moves in.  I hope you don’t turn me in for breaking and entering.”

This guy is big.  VERRRY big.  He looks like he’s 6’5” and weighs 425 lbs. He has a shaved head and full beard, and is on crutches.  He laughs and says “No worries, I was going to check it out too.”  He extends his hand.  “I’ve seen you around, I’ve been wanting to introduce myself.  I’m Alex.”

We exchange some small talk, and a couple things come to mind.  This man is the walking definition of a gentle giant.  He also strikes me as someone highly educated, he speaks very well.  Behind him I can see a couple of nice art pieces on his living room wall.

I finally tell him I should get going and it was nice meeting him, he says likewise and if there’s ever anything I need, please let him know.  I tell him I should be the one making that offer, if he doesn’t mind me asking, why is he on crutches?  He tells me that on September 30, he was coming home, slipped in some water off the elevator and broke his leg.  I said “Good grief!  Did you contact building management?”  He laughed and said yes, but decided not to sue as he liked living here.  I laughed & said goodnight.

The next day, I’m downstairs collecting my mail and see a package from DXL.  That’s a clothing company for big & tall men, I wonder if it’s for Alex?  Yep, it’s for Alex P, in Apt #405.  I bring the package upstairs and set it by his front door, return to my own apartment, get on my laptop and do a little sleuthing.

I find Alex—rather, his professional bio.  I’m shocked at the irony.

Later that day, I run into my friend & neighbor Opal.  I tell her about #404 being rented out, and ask if she ever talked to Alex in #405 and what a nice person he is.  She says no, but she’s seen him and wondered why he was on crutches.

I said I knew why, and wait until she hears what he does for a living.

After I told her how he slipped to the ground and broke his leg, she said “I thought you said he broke it inside?  The ground is outside.”  I said “Okay, the floor then.  He slipped on the floor.” 

Opal said “Where?”  I said “Off the elevator.”  Opal said “How?”  I said “He said he slipped in some water.”  Opal said “I thought he fell inside.”  I said “HE DID.  THE WATER WAS INSIDE.  ON THE FLOOR.” 

Opal said “On our floor?  I didn’t see any water on the floor.” 

I said “It didn’t happen today, it happened September 30.”  Opal said “Why did you wait to tell me now?  Why didn’t you tell me then?” 

I said “Did you have a stroke recently I’m not aware of?  I have to go now before I do something I’ll regret.”   Opal is clapping her hands and laughing now.  She says “Haha!  Did I get you fired up Doug?  Hold on, what did you mean by wait until I hear what he does?”

I said “HE’S A PERSONAL INJURY LAWYER.  AND I HOPE HE CAN RECOMMEND A GOOD DEFENSE ATTORNEY BECAUSE I MAY NEED ONE SOON.”

Welcome to the Tiffany, Chantilly!

Moon Pie, Rosita & suspicion of covid: it’s just another day at the Tiffany

Monday morning I was headed back to my apartment from the laundry room, and saw my neighbor Opal talking with Rosita in Rosita’s doorway.

(Rosita is from South America, 25 years old and stands around 4’9”.  She is a doll, and a dead-ringer for Alexandria Ocasio Cortez.)  She occupies the studio apartment next to our floor’s elevator. 

I asked how things were going, and where was Moon Pie, Rosita’s cat. (She’s beautiful, with bright green eyes.)  Rosita looked at Opal, and Opal said “She heard me coming and took off running!”

Rosita said “That’s not true… please don’t say that, we need you!”   Opal said to me “Rosita has to go on a business trip tomorrow, she’s leaving at 5am and not coming home until 10pm-midnight.  So I’ll be down here off & on during the day checking in on Moon Pie.” 

I smiled and nodded my head, yes, yes okay.  Before walking away I called out “Bye bye Moon Pie!” in my goofy falsetto voice.  Right away Moon Pie came to the doorway and meowed.  Opal said “You should get Doug to watch her instead of me.”

Rosita asked me if I would.  I had nothing else going on, and frankly I was tired of looking at the same walls in my apartment, so I said okay.

I wish I could show you this young woman’s studio apartment.  I took several pictures while trying to take photos of Moonpie to send Rosita during the day, but I feel it would be a real invasion of privacy to show too much here.

(Plus, Opal told Rosa it’d give me something to blog about.  Rosita said “Oh really?  What is the name of your blog?  I want to see it.”  I apologized, but said I didn’t want to tell her.  She said “That’s okay.  Maybe I’ll look for it on my own.”  Ulp.)

Except for a cot to sleep on in her walk-in closet, and a deflated bean bag chair by her one window (studios only come with one double window, 1 bedroom apartments like mine have 5 windows) this young woman had no furniture, zero none.  No sofa or chairs or even a lamp or tv.

How could this be?  I know what she does for a living, she works in Foreign Currencies at Melloncorp downtown—it’s identical to the IT job I had at Mellon in the 1990s and it paid quite well. 

Anyway, of course I have no right to judge—and truth be told, while I don’t consider myself that old just yet, being a 25 year old single is a whole other mindset.

After a half hour or so, I knew I couldn’t take it.  I picked up her litter box & cat dishes, and took them down the hall outside of my own apartment’s front door.  I then came back and said “Moon Pie, your pad is depressing the hell out of me.  You can either sit there in your cat-house, or come down and spend the day with me.”

I went to the front door, opened it and said “Coming?”   Moon Pie jumped right up and followed me down the hall to my place.  (Here she is, exploring.)

I learned a couple things that day:

1) I’ve been looking at my own place all wrong the last couple weeks.  It’s not so plain, I have a pretty nice apartment.  It’s a clean one too—with plenty of places one can sit!

2) Moon Pie is funny & sweet, a real character.  When I gave her special treat at noon (half a tin of Fancy Feast) she would take a bite, run over and rub my toe with her nose, go back and take a bite… she did this 10 times!   I was cracking up!

But I realized something else that day too.  I don’t think I want a cat of my own after all, apartment cats require a lot of TLC.  

Oh and finally: after I returned Moon Pie and came home, I began shaking.  What the heck was going on?  By 11pm, I had a fever of 101 and here it is Wednesday night and I still do. 

I am wrapped in 3 blankets as i write this, I’m pretty sure I have covid for the third time.  I’m going to take a covid test Thursday morning before posting my blog, I’ll share the results below.

I knew it.  I gotta go back to bed. 

 

An old woman, an OCD woman & an odd woman: it’s curtains for Apachedug

Around noon Saturday after cleaning my apartment, I had some leftover pasta for lunch then went down to the lobby to see if the mail had arrived. 

I was pleased to see my 4th floor neighbor and friend Opal sitting outside in her folding chair on the front landing.  She had her mug of tea in one hand and a giant word-puzzle book in her lap.  I opened the door and murmured hello, she looked up and said hello back and asked if I was coming out.  I said yes for a couple minutes, let me grab a chair.  Opal went back to her giant puzzle book. 

I asked “New puzzle book?”  and without looking up she said “Yep.”  I asked what the deadline was on completing it, she said November. 

(Opal says if she didn’t give herself deadlines, nothing would ever get done.  Opal has some OCD issues.)  There was a highback chair beside hers, white cane with green satin cushions.  I asked “What’s this?” and tapped one of the chair’s legs with my foot.  Without looking up, Opal said “What do you think it is?”  I said “Well… it looks like a chair from the Ladies Tea Room on the Titanic.”   Opal looked up at me and laughed.  “Haha! Be nice, it belongs to Flora.  She was out here having tea with me earlier.”

I asked “How old do you suppose she is?”  Opal said “Oh, late 80s… 90.”  I said “Did she ever tell you how she and her sister used to ride their horse Listerine and gather wildflowers and look for wood faeries or something?  Then the Spanish Flu came along and ended all that.”  Opal said “She’s old alright!” 

I said “But if you do the math… the Spanish Flu was 1918.  And she’s running around before then?  That would make her like… 110?  115?  We’re being conned!”  Opal gestured at the glass behind me, and I turned to see Flora tap-tap-tapping on the pane.  I got up and opened the door for her, and Opal asked her if she was coming back outside.  She said no, she was going to lie down for awhile.  Opal said “Flora, Douglas here was telling me about your horse Listerine!  Is that true?” 

Flora lowered her head and shook it back and forth and cleared her throat.  She said “ I think Douglas is having some fun with you, sweetheart.”  Opal said “Oh really!”  Flora said “My horse’s name was Libertine.”

After Flora went back inside and I set her Titanic chair in the lobby, Opal asked what else was new.  I said “Well… I hung some new curtains in my bedroom last night.  New to me that is.  I bought ‘em 4 years ago from Wayfair but forgot I had them.  I found them in the back of my closet after I hurt myself and was looking for a first-aid kit.”

Opal said “How’d you hurt yourself?”  I said “Oh it was little.  Around 11pm I was hungry, so I thought I’d boil an egg.  After it was cooked, I tried to carry the egg from the stove to my sink with a spoon, and dropped it on my big toe.” 

Opal said “Ouch!  Did you find your first-aid kit?”  I said no, but after I found those curtains, I wasted no time washing that giant window and it’s large dusty blind.  And in the windowsill was a small aloe vera succulent, and I remembered my friend Kay’s mom using a piece of aloe vera plant on a burn, so I tried that and some ice and it helped.

Opal said “Who’s Kay?  Does she live here?”  I said “No, she lives in Hawaii.”  She said “How do you know someone who lives in Hawaii?”  I said “Um… thru the internet.”  She said “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something?” 

Ulp!  I didn’t want to tell Opal about Kay’s blog or mine, she has no idea I have one and I want to keep it that way.  If she saw how many times her name’s been mentioned here… I said “You’re silly, why are you so paranoid?”  Opal said “I know!  My daughter tells me the same thing!” 

We talked about her daughter’s recent move to Ohio and some other things, when Opal said “Look who’s coming” and motioned to the sidewalk in front of our building.  I looked out and saw a smaller woman headed in our direction.  I’ve seen her from a distance once or twice before, and truth be told, liked what I saw. 

She looked about sixty, give or take a year and had a pretty nice figure.  Her hair was white and clipped short, and she sported lavender framed glasses.  I said “Ah.  I’ve seen her before.  Didn’t she move into that unit down the hall from yours?  411?  When was that, a week ago?” 

Opal said “It was two weeks ago and it’s 410.  And let me tell you, she is one odd lady!  You should live on my side of the floor, she was doing her wash the other day and was singing in there!”

I said “What’s wrong with that?  I sing in the shower all the time.  I do John Denver, Eric Burdon, Bob Dylan—“   Opal stopped me.  “She SINGS.  High falsetto.  Not an entire opera, but it was pretty loud!”

Hmm.  I didn’t say anything, just watched as she got closer to the building.  I saw two plastic grocery bags hanging from her one hand, one bag from the other. 

Opal said “Well, I’m going to take my stuff upstairs and get something to eat.  Are you coming?”   I said “You go ahead, I think I’m going to wait on our new neighbor and get the door for her.”  Opal rolled her eyes and headed inside.

When our new neighbor got closer to the entrance, I said “Hi, how are you?”  She said “Fine…”  I said “My name’s Doug, I live on the fourth floor.  My friend Opal said you’re the new tenant in 410?  I—I just thought I’d say hi and get the door for you.”  

She tilted her head slightly and said “Well thank you.”  I offered to take her bags and she handed me one.  She said “My name is Meira.  My family and friends call me Mishie.”

Wha?  I said “Well, it’s nice to meet you… Meersha—Meerie.  Meira.”

As we walked thru the inner lobby doors and turned left towards the elevator (where Opal was still waiting for it to arrive), Meira sort of fell in step behind me.  And then suddenly, without warning—she broke into song.  I swear to God Almighty, I am not making this up.

Ah! Sweet mystery of life
At last I've found thee…
Ah! I know at last the secret of it all…

My head and shoulders jerked so suddenly I think I gave myself whiplash.  Her notes weren’t as high as Jeanette MacDonald, but they were high enough—and pitch perfect.  I looked ahead at Opal, who would not look in our direction.  She just stood there, staring hard at the elevator doors and willing them to open before we got there.

The elevator doors opened just as we approached, and we all stepped inside.  I turned to Meira and said “Bravissimo”.  She tilted her head and said “Thank you, sir.”

I don’t know why, but my face felt hot enough to fry an egg on! 

The three of us rode in silence to the fourth floor.  When the doors opened, Opal looked at me, shook her head and stepped off without saying a word.  I said “Have a nice day Opal” and she waved goodbye without turning around.  Meira got off next and I handed her her bag, and said “It was nice meeting you.”  She said “As it was you.”

I admit it, I’m intrigued.

Scary words from the man on the sidewalk

There was a man sitting on the sidewalk outside of my apartment building today.  I was walking home from the market, and as I crossed the intersection at Home Ave & California Ave (where a large stone Methodist church sits on the corner), I saw a man plunked down in the center of the walk, midway between the church and my apartment building.

I’ve seen my share of men sitting on sidewalks… in my 30+ years working in downtown Pittsburgh, I did plenty of shaking my head or turning away at the various men swathed in dirty blankets or trash bags, hunkered down against various buildings, usually with those dirty cardboard signs propped up in front of them. 

(I wasn’t always so heartless; my first couple years in the city I felt very fortunate to be in the position I was in, and would often fish out a dollar or some change.)  But over time, you begin to realize it’s always the same faces at the same spots, and when you become jaded to the bloodshot eyes and their cries “A LITTLE HELP PLEASE!”  there’s a fresh new crop of downtown worker bees guiltily tossing down their change.

But this wasn’t anything like that.  The man I was approaching looked very clean (other than needing a shave), around my age, maybe a couple years older. He was lean, had on faded jeans, brown shoes, a black & white flannel shirt untucked.  He was just… sitting there in the center of the walk.

As I got closer, I said “Sir.. you okay?”  He didn’t acknowledge me, just sat there cross-legged, staring into the empty street.  I said “Did you fall?  Are you waiting on somebody?”   Again, no answer. 

I was forced to step off the curb, walk in the street before getting back up on the walk.  When my back was to him, I heard “Got a cigarette?”  I turned and he was looking at me then.  I said sorry, no.  He shook his head and returned his gazing at the road.

As I approached the steps that go up into my apartment building, I saw Opal (who lives on my floor and spends her days reading in the lobby) standing there, holding a paperback in one hand and her smartphone in the other.  She said “What did he say to you?”  I told her he asked me for a cigarette.  She said “He’s been sitting there for a half-hour.  Should we call someone?”  I said yes, dial 911.  She did and told them, then nodded her head and turned her phone off.  She said “The police are on their way.”

When the police arrived just a few minutes later, 2 officers approached the man, both wearing face masks.  We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Sidewak Man seemed to be ignoring them.  When the shorter cop squatted down, the man shouted “I CAN’T HEAR WHAT YER SAYIN’ THRU THOSE THINGS!!”   The cop pulled down his mask and spoke to him.  Again, we couldn’t hear what the officer was saying.  Sidewalk Man did though, and yelled “THEN HAVE ME ADMITTED!”

The cop stood up, said something to his partner who returned to their car.  A few minutes later, he came back and the one cop squatted down again and spoke to Sidewalk Man.  And a few minutes after that, an EMERGENCY van arrived, lights flashing but silent, and 2 paramedics (both masked) joined the police.  They conferred for several minutes, then got on both sides of Sidewalk Man and lifted him gently to his feet and walked him to the ambulance’s sliding door.  Sidewalk Man hesitated getting in, then shouted “DOES ANYONE SEE WHATS HAPPENING!” and was quickly pulled up & inside, and the door slid shut.  I felt a weird shudder in my back & shoulders.

As the ambulance slowly drove away, the police car following, Opal didn’t say a word; she turned and headed back into our building, with me right behind.  One of the other residents in our building, Sue who lives on the first floor, was holding the door open for us.  She said “Scary times.”  I nodded my head in agreement.   I know I watch too many movies, but the way things played out reminded me of that final scene in the 1972 movie Soylent Green, set 50 years in the future in the year 2022, where Charlton Heston is being taken away by medics, and cries out Soylent Green is made from people. 

I always loved the opening titles to that film.  In that scary future, people were forced to wear masks when outside too.