THE LOVE THY NEIGHBOR CHRONICLES - PART IV

 CHAPTER 4 – THE SHOWDOWN

A few weeks had passed since I had witnessed one of the girls across the hall pass out into my front door, and though my roommate Sara and I had never actually met either one of them – we knew all that we needed to know.  They had only lived in our building for a few months, but in that time had already packed our foyer to the brim with garbage, had gentleman callers wake us in the early morning hours, and had a theatrical display of drunkenness at 7AM on a Tuesday.  That being said – it was odd that we had never met face to face, given the amount of time we had lived directly across from one another.  In fact, the closest thing to any sort of interaction between us was a note I left in the foyer gently reminding “all tenants” to be responsible for their own refuse – which they promptly ripped down and tore up.  I knew that it was only a matter of time before we had a showdown.  Luckily for me however, it was Sara who had the pleasure of meeting them first. 

It was around 10:30PM on a Sunday evening, and I was reading in bed.  Sara had a friend visiting from out of town, and I heard the two of them slam the front door and walk straight to my room. “You will never believe what just happened!” Sara said as she threw open my door.  Startled, I informed them both that I was naked under my sheets – but they cared not.  In a mad rush, they proceeded to tell me the following story.

As I mentioned, Sara’s friend Maggie was visiting from out of town.  The two had met while volunteering at an orphanage in Africa, and Maggie decided to visit New York for a few days on her way home to Canada.  They had spent the afternoon sightseeing and had returned home after a late dinner, only to find a shadowy figure huddled on our stoop.  As they approached, Sara could make out that it was a woman, her forehead planted against the front door, blindly stabbing her keys into the air.  Having heard the story of my last encounter many times, she realized that this must be Short Ponytail from across the hall.  Instantly, two things became clear.  One – this woman was extremely intoxicated, and two – there was absolutely no way they could get around her.  Interaction was unavoidable. 

“Excuse me,” Sara said as she approached, “Do you need help?”  Short Ponytail turned around and pursed her thin, leathery lips.  She was much older than Sara had expected.  When we had called our landlord’s office to discuss the man breaking into our foyer, the receptionist had tried to quash our fears by saying “it was probably just a boy trying to get the attention of one of the young ladies that moved in across the hall from you.  You know what it’s like to be young.”  However, this woman was not young – nor was she a lady.  She stared at both Sara and her friend for an awkward amount of time, and then turned back towards the door without saying a thing.

“Okay, well, I’m going to scooch on by if you don’t mind,” Sara said as she reached around to unlock the door.  The woman just stood there as the two entered the foyer.  Sara held the door open and asked if she was going to come in.  The woman remained silent. “Okay, well, I’m going to shut the door now…” Sara said, as she slowly closed the door on the woman’s face.   As they headed up the stairs, Maggie turned around and made a facial expression to express her shock.  That’s when they heard the shouting.

The sound was muffled by the front door, so they paused and listened more closely.  “I believe…” Maggie whispered, “I believe she’s calling us…cunts.”

Now, you should understand that my roommate is easily the least confrontational person I have ever met.  I once saw her eat something she is allergic to rather than tell the waiter he had brought her the wrong order.  “I don’t know what came over me,” Sara said as she retold the story to me, “It was like some one else took over my body.” Without thinking, she marched back to the door and yanked it open.  The woman tried to enter, but Sara put her hand up to block her.  “You know what, I don’t know who you are but I really don’t appreciate you calling me a cunt.”

“Well I really don’t appreciate all the damn signs you leave all over the place!” The woman shouted.  In one swift motion, she kicked the door wide open and push passed Sara and her companion.  “Get out of my way, cunts!” Though her speech was slurred, she made a point to enunciate the hideous word as clearly as possible. 

The two just stood there watching as the intoxicated woman climbed the stairs – repeatedly shouting the c-word as she went.  Every movement and every action was a complete struggle for her, and yet that word flowed from her Marlboro Red smoking lips with such ease.  Maggie simply stood their shell-shocked.  As a young Canadian girl who had spent the last six months volunteering with African orphans diagnosed with AIDS, I can only imagine this was one of the first times anyone had used this word to describe her sweet soul.  Halfway up the stairs, the woman’s skirt slipped down to her ankles, and she barely caught herself as she tumbled over onto her side.  Undeterred and still saying the c-word, she jumped to her feet, pulled her clothes halfway back on, and made her way to her door. 

“Oh, and one more thing,” she turned around and said – her eyes ablaze, her makeup smeared, her underwear exposed, her denim skirt clutched in her hand.  “Nice to fucking meet you!”  She then quickly unlocked her door and disappeared into the darkness, letting the door slam behind her. 

“Dammit!” Sara said to her friend, “What a great exit line.”  She kicked herself for not thinking of it first.

Actual Photo from the incident.