Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I went down to the basement to retrieve my (someone else washed, someone else folded, cost me $24) laundry. Which I was excited about, frankly. Clean clothes without all that fucking work.
Only, on my way down, a rather scruffy looking character is sitting on the back stairs leading down to the basement between the 2nd and 1st floor (I'm on the 3rd). He has crutches sitting beside him and two empty beer cans. I was REALLY startled. I've never encountered anyone on those stairs, let alone someone who could easily have been sitting in the park panhandling.
Plus I just got this bad vibe from him. So I politely say excuse me and pass him, while he mumbles something about being locked out of his apartment.
I retrieve my laundry.
I think, quickly, as usual.
I take the main elevator back to the 1st floor. I go to knock on the manager's door to tell him there's this weird guy sitting in the stairway.
and.
Right. Fucking. There. In. Front. of. Me. stands the man. Like he knew I was going to go get David, the manager. And he lightly knocks on the door as if to say:
"No, you can't get help, I know what you're up to!"
What he does say, with a smile, is "Hi."
I stammered back a "hi", not a "fuck you", like I would've liked.
I went back (with my heavy laundry bag) to the elevator.
I came upstairs, shaking, afraid that he would follow me.
I nearly ran back to my apartment from the elevator, checking over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't following me. I slammed the door. I threw the main deadbolt. I tried to hook the chain - which I've never used since I moved in, mind - and it is sticky and doesn't want to go down. I lock the bottom lock. I finally coax the chain to work.
I do what any person in their right mind does, I call
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
gentleman_c to make sure it wouldn't be overreacting to call the manager.
He tries to soothe me and assures me I should call the manager.
So I do. And. I. Get. Fucking. Voicemail. Because it's after 5.
And for the first time in my life, I wish I had a big dog. Because what if this guy knows where I live?
David leaves his cell phone number in the voicemail message for emergencies. So I call. And he picks up. And I must've sounded as spooked as I felt because I said, "Hi, David? This is Marmalade's Mom from 311."
And he said, "Yes, [Gira's legal name], how can I help you?"
And I told him there was a guy on the stairs who said he was locked out.
He asked if he had crutches and I said yes. He asked again, "White guy, with crutches?"
Yes.
It was his apartment-next-door neighbor.
I thanked him, I got off the phone. I called
gentleman_c back and told him who it was. I cried. I burst into tears.
I have not been so scared since I don't remember when.
Granted it's a thick door. Granted there are three locks. Granted, it's the only entrance into my apartment.
But Christ I wish I had a gun.
I don't spook easily or often. But that spooked me.
Okay, going to look at kitten pics now to calm down.
Fucking A.
