Third time's a charm
Over the past week, I’ve managed to lock myself out of my apartment on three separate occasions, only the second of which was not my fault because I’ve never dead bolted the door and therefore would never need the dead bolt key and yet someone dead bolted my door and then there was rage.
This evening happened to be the third time due to a mad rush to get out of the house and there was rain and my clothing was strewn about my room and really none of this is all that unusual, I’m just trying to make you take pity on me and trying to find validity in leaving my keys in the kitchen. I departed without them and didn’t realize it until I was on my way to Silver Spring sans car keys and decided to be practical and metro it instead, only to ring my roommate later and learn that she too is slightly flaky yet more prepared than I and thankfully left a spare set at her boyfriend’s home which is just a block away from my very own apartment. Once at his apartment I was instructed to inform his roommates of my identity and to notify them of the exact location of the spare keys. Really easy stuff right there.
Sadly my new equally flaky roommate declined to inform me that one of her boyfriend’s roommates is an uptight frigid bitch who has a stick so far up her ass that it comes to a point at the top of her head. A rather unsightly thing I might add. When I approached the door she looked me up and down as if I were a mass murder and/or gang banger. A Mikimoto and pink Kate Spade sporting gang banger; ya know the type of gang banger that also wears a bright ass lime green North Face rain coat. And while yes, I do live somewhat near the ‘hood, it’s not fucking Anacostia and I’d be much obliged if said frigid bitch had given me my keys in a timely manner before I had to physicially restrain myself from grabbing her stringy blonde hair and telling her to give me my god damned keys. Furthermore, I don’t have time to make up elaborate stories using the exact names and locations of people that she KNOWS in order to procure a set of keys to an apartment that has absolutely nothing of value in it.
OK, I might be overreacting just a tad (rant much? Geeze) and I can appreciate being cautious because this is a city and I was some stranger at their door at 9:30 PM in the pitch dark of night, in the hood, but my God, I so was not in the mood for nor did I require the third degree and NSA clearance to get my motherfucking keys. I swear that she – her name was Colette by the way. A figment of Victor Hugo’s imagination she was not – was about to ask me for a urine sample and a retina scan for the keys. I mean whatever happened to benefit of the doubt? The neighborly thing to do? A random act of kindness if you will. Then again, these things tend to be ‘just me’ and maybe I’m just too nice and willing to take things as they are instead of giving people the third degree.
And for the record, Yes, I did get a mere 12 inches from her doorstep before I broadcasted the magnitude of her frigid bitchiness. And I totally meant it in the nicest most appreciative way possible when I called her a horrid cantankerous wench and announced to the neighborhood that she could kiss my ass. A gang banger with a hefty vocabulary indeed.