Persona Non Grata

I returned to my apartment the other night to the following note taped to my door, flanked by a petite container of lubricant.

The note reads:
“Here: Use this lubricator on your door, so it stops sounding like Dracula’s grave. And, please, show/have good manners and stop slamming your door, there people living here, [sic] not everybody is an animal.”

Ok, our door is a tad on the creaky side, point taken. Since this transgression Tuesday evening, I have been evaluating our neighbors as potential culprits. Charlie also greased the hinges.

NEIGHBOR ONE: The lesbian Fonz, Meescha. Some heartbroken lass showed up to our building and would not stop buzzing the door. I assumed it was a delivery person (mea culpa mea culpa) and buzzed this sore chick in. She proceeded to wail at Meescha’s door FOR A SOLID HOUR, beseeching Casanova to let her in. MEEEESHA! MEEEEEESCHA! The urban equivalent of wolves howling at the moon. Terrifying.
NEIGHBOR TWO: Sweet next door neighbor who is a grad student. She listens to electronic music at 5:45am. Doubtful.
NEIGHBOR THREE: Angry court jester dude. This guy has metal-bottomed boots, wears a crushed velvet hat that looks like a colostomy bag, and lives above us. It always sounds like they are moving furniture, but it must just be him walking. He has made attempts to be “neighborly” but I draw the line at “Hello” and “How are you?” and tensely move past him. Once he caught me unlocking my door after work, and took the opportunity to vent some hot rage about how cold I am. I smiled, nodded, said “Good to see you too” then sealed myself in my apartment, waiting for the confirmation of his footsteps walking away. He now pretends he doesn’t see me. Which is fine.

I don’t know the rest of my neighbors because I live in a grown-up dorm but it least it doesn’t smell like urine so that’s something.

BEST WORD er, PHRASE HEARD THIS WEEK: brickpunk classic (I want the car or toaster this refers to)
WORST WORD HEARD THIS WEEK: trenchant (this word makes me twitch)

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