19 September, 2009

I Live In A Freaking Nuthouse

I was coming back into my building, with another resident behind me. This particular resident is an adult. Probably fifty-something. He's rotund, and always wears T-shirts that can't manage to cover the bottom portion of his gut. The kind of T-shirts with prints on them I see shit-tons of twenty-somethings wearing. He also goes everywhere -- everywhere in the building, everywhere he goes outside, I've seen him walking around the neighborhood on various days with a stuffed animal.

The stuffed animal is a rendition of a human animal. A baby human animal.

Fifty-something-year-old-guy in too-tight T-shirts with a baby surrogate that he carries absolutely everywhere.

I hurried to the elevators, trying to avoid having to ride with Mr. Mom, who shuffled slowly through the lobby.

One of the elevators had its doors stuck open because someone was moving in. The guy introduced himself by saying "Don't go in that one, someone peed in it."

I said "Wait: Some one peed in it?!

"I gave a woman a ride up to the seventh floor. When she got in she squatted in the corner and just let it go. ...And this is my move-in day."

"Welcome to the building!" I exclaimed in an over-jovial, sarcastic tone.

Unthinkingly, I added "Well, not all of us are crazy."

By this time, Mr. Mom was standing right beside me. Then the other elevator arrived and I got in with him as the building manager came out with a mop.

As the doors closed I immediately imagined that Mr. Mom was going to beat me to death with his baby.

But he arrived on his floor and left the elevator without incident. He probably didn't want to lose his temper and, thereby, set a bad example for his kid.

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