While watching The Strangers (by far the scariest first 2/3rds of a movie I’ve seen in a looong time), I was reminded of how lucky I am to live in a crowded apartment building on a busy urban thoroughfare. If I’d been successful in living the American Dream, I would own a secluded home with lots and lots of land…and the likelihood of someone hearing my screams of terror - upon learning crazy masked figures had invaded my home in the dark of night - would be slim to none. But if the same scenario took place tonight, I’d like to think that one of my neighbors would come to my aid. I mean, if someone in the complex was screaming like Liv Tyler I’d, at the very least, turn down the volume on my television to see if the scream was repeated and then send Eric out to investigate. That's just being neighborly. But I realized that there would be some awkwardness when it came time to writing a Thank You note to my savior because I’d have to address it to one of the following:
Anthony Question Mark and Garbage Disposal
The New Guys
Cute Corner Lesbians
Holiday Decoration Guy
Prius and The School Teacher
The Other New Guys
Used To Be Carrie
I Hate Your Dogs (AKA Hot Australian Dude With Those Nasty Italian Greyhounds)
Victoria and Pickles
Loud Plasma
Creepy Porn Guy
Starts With An "A"
Laundry Guy
Brown Matte Finish Nissan
Broom Closet Photographer
I guess I could always just put the apartment number.
I have to wonder what they call me.
Probably “Walks Lightly” or “Always Holds the Door” or in the case of Creepy Porn Guy “The Chick Whose Hair I Collect Out Of The Dumpster.”
gretch
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