Sunday, August 22, 2010

The One With The Socially Inept Neighbor.

Dear Lover,

I went on a date recently.
Sort of.
Let me explain.
One night.
I get this knock on my door.
After calming down Dorothy Parker, I peeked out the Creep Hole.
(You need to see it, to understand the reason for its name.)
(Would you like to come over and see it?)
(You're welcome any time...)
It was my upstairs neighbor. 
I opened the door.
The best way to describe him is to compare him to several socially inept characters on television.
Socially, Dwight Schrute of The Office.
Outwardly, Jack Donaghy of 30 Rock.

Let's call him, Dwight Donaghy, shall we?

Three things I should preface about Dwight Donaghy:
1. He has a dog he's kind to outside, but yells horribly at in his apartment.  I can hear it.
2. He's a lawyer.  And an artist.
3. He has a girlfriend.  I've never seen her.

So, pretty much, we're dealing with a regular bipolar disorder here.

Three things I should preface about me, and how I pertain to this story:
1. I've considered stealing his dog from him.
2. I do not find Dwight Donaghy attractive in any way, shape or form.
3. I am still alive.

On with the story.

So we talked for a few minutes.
I'm in my pajamas, mind you. 
When all of sudden.
Out of nowhere.
He asked me if I'd like to go see a movie.
I was in complete shock.
I was in my pajamas.
I had never had a real conversation with the man apart from the moments when we'd run into each other outside while our puppies were doing the doo.

I was in my pajamas.

So, of course, in the midst of my complete shock, I answered...
"Ok, sure, yeah, sure."
He left, giving me twenty minutes to change.
I really didn't want to go.
There was the real Dwight Schrute and Jack Donaghy to watch on television, and all.

Alas, twenty minutes later, I'm heading downstairs with Dwight Donaghy.
I asked, "So, what movie are we going to see?"
He answered, "I don't even know what's out."

For a self-proclaimed OCD Movie Patron, I secretly died a thousand deaths.

He continued, "I figure we'll just see what's playing closest to the time.  I've never had to wait more than 40 minutes before."

For a self-proclaimed OCD Arrive Early Movie Patron, I died another thousand deaths, just thinking of all that time I'd have to make conversation with him.

As we stepped out of our building, and stood before the parking lot, he paused for a full five seconds.
Then said, "Okaaaay, I guess we can take my car."
Okaaaay.  Since you were the one to invite me, and all.
Only, I didn't crinkle my face and say this, because I'm not socially inept.

Then, it took him 10 minutes to clean out the front seat of his car.
At that point, all I really wanted to do was change my mind.
Use some excuse.
And just bear the embarrassment of having awkward exchanges from then on every time we passed each other going up and down the stairs.
Only, before I could muster up the courage.
He finished shuffling his junk to his trunk.
And said, "Alright.  Hop in."

Another preface is in order here, I think.
1. I did not hop in.
2. I got in the normal way any normal person would go about getting into a car.
3. Earlier, I'd called a friend of mine to let her know my plans and whereabouts.  You know.  In case I never returned.

Add socially responsible to my list of characteristics.
A list of characteristics that already includes:
-Attracts strange birds.
-Can't say no.
-Has lovely hair.

On with the very long story, again.

We made it to the theater.
It had only been the longest 5 minute drive I've ever taken.
Never before had I smelt that smell before.
Think, old man sweater vest.
Never before had I heard a person talk more about themselves in such a short amount of time.
And I'm a talker.
Never before had I been talked over so much in my life.
And, I was merely attempting to answer the questions he asked me.

We watched the movie.
Which I enjoyed.
And which I had to enjoy while sitting beside Dwight Donaghy.
The man who took off his water-stained leather penny loafers.
And propped his stinky socks on the chair back in front of him.
The man who groaned as he gobbled down two slices of pizza, a hot dog, and a whole bag of Reeses Pieces.
And who sighed really heavy, morose sighs every few minutes or so.
The man who was that guy with the kooky laugh during the previews.
And the off-scene hahahas, and echo to his harharhars that makes you miss the following line or two.
The man who grumbled throughout the entire movie about mistakes, brute behavior, idiocies, etc.

Oh, there's more.

Like how, as we walked towards his car, after the movie.
He just happened to mention that he needed to pick up a few things at the grocery store.
And how I had to tag along.

How he warned me to be careful around Al, the homeless man who lived near our building, declaring him a schizophrenic.

Pot calling the kettle black, mister.

How he found out I was a writer.
How he offended this writer by not asking about what I wrote, but instead, spun off on another tangent about how great of a writer he'd be if he could only find some time.
"Like, for example..."
And off he went, telling me plots and characters of the many stories he could write.

How he made me carry his two grocery bags.
His only two grocery bags.

How he said, "We should really do this again sometime!"
And how I mumbled cheerfully in agreement.

All the sordid and sleazy details of an outing with my socially inept neighbor.
Bottom line.
What can you learn from this?

If you like post-apocalyptic movies, rent Book of Eli.
If you like anti-social moments, watch it with my neighbor upstairs.
And, if you have any love for me at all, then you should really come check out my Creep Hole.


1 comment:

  1. I'm glad you're still least you got an entertaining letter from it!