Posted

May 4th 2009

Mood

Confused

This morning (my morning, anyway, it was actually just past noon) I was in the bedroom, doing non-productive odds and ends when I heard a short commotion from the living area of the apartment. I heard the front door open and close, and Anna entered the bedroom explaining that the neighbors upstairs were using a treadmill, and that it sounded “like a jackhammer.” As she explained that Alice had dispatched herself to complain, I heard angry footsteps on the landing above our apartment. The window was open, and I think Anna and I had a mutual “oh, shit” moment as we realized she wasn’t complaining to the office. She was just going to yell at the woman upstairs. Over the sounds of heated conversation from the courtyard, I speculated maybe Alice wasn’t the best choice for an emissary. “You’re not even supposed to have a treadmill!” said the courtyard accusingly. And I sighed.

Eventually Alice returned. I had heard their whole conversation. Alice was rude, even insulting, and frankly, if I had been the woman upstairs I probably would have slapped her. But you know, all of this is pretty mundane living with Alice. I wasn’t surprised, but no one else seemed to have a problem with the way the complaint had been handled the way I did.

I went upstairs later and knocked, but the woman didn’t answer the door, and I didn’t blame her. I left a note apologizing for “my roommate’s rudeness,” and left my cell number, asking her to call me if she ever had a problem with our own noise level, which is not infrequently...impolite, to say the least, due to alcohol usage by the angry and insecure morons--I mean, those who are so inclined. I’m not sure if leaving the number was a safe plan, but I really feel better having done something about the issue, and I kind of figured, she already knew where I lived.

Around nine thirty I went swimming, about half an hour before the pool closes. There were a surprising number of people there. Even on warm days, the pool is usually deserted by dark, and so as I got in, I was observing my fellow pool-area-utilizers a little speculatively.

Some, maybe five or so, were clearly just enjoying the spa, one over by the grills taking advantage of the free wifi and the huge fake-wood burning fireplace. But two were sitting at a table kitty-corner to the pool, one sitting with his back to the pool, with his black hood pulled up. The other sat facing him, and they talked quietly while I lapped.

I wouldn’t normally have found this particularly suspicious. There are perfectly legitimate reasons two college-age guys can sit and chat quietly at a pool in the dark. I didn’t think much of them until one left and brought back a third member, also with a black hoodie, who took a third chair. As I got out and dried off, something small and thin was passed around the table. I wasn’t swimming anymore, and they now talked almost in whispers. I thought hat was odd. New-hoodie-guy turned around to look at me. Nervously. I heard the doink sound of a small lid popping off, and I watched no-hoodie guy carefully shake the contents of the small container into something else. This also was passed around. New-hoodie looked at me again. I pulled on my own hoodie over my swimsuit and picked up my keys. As they discussed the small-containered whatever, I gave my hair another shake (which drew another look) and I grabbed up the keys and left. I realized, showering off, that I have the number for the night guard in my phone. When I got out, I called him. As it rang, I tried to decide how to word my side of the conversation. “I think maybe drugs?” “Suspicious activity?” “Creepy guys with hoodies and small containers?” I did realize the possibility that they were simply passing around cigarettes..very discreetly, and they were just..being exceptionally polite with their quiet voices, and that their heads were cold..at the same time..and the guy glancing at me was just..checking out my flashy one-piece, grandma-style bathing suit, but was just...too nervous to come over and say hi..? The line rang, I debated. And then a smooth woman’s voice broke into the middle of a ring, and told me the party I was calling was not available to take my call, but to leave a message after the tone. I did. I felt a little hypocritical when I hung up. I had been, maybe not exactly rude, but definitely curt. Earlier, rudeness had bothered me so much I was compelled to go attempt amends. But now, I was doing exactly the same thing, and for what could be less of a reason.

Who knows? Maybe his job isn’t supposed to be to answer calls. Truly, I didn’t need help; I was in no danger, so no harm done. Maybe the entire job description went “walk premises, carry flashlight, look intimidating.” I have no idea. It was maybe unrealistic of me to expect someone I’ve never met to answer my phone call. But I’m starting to wonder if Anna was right; if I have “too much morals,” not for myself, but too much for the amount the real world functions on. It’s like I’m just out of sync; everyone around is on a different unit system. They’re using Jules, I’m using Moles. We can’t even measure the same things. And so, with such a blatant gap, I can’t decide whether to switch over to a foreign paradigm or to continue in my bizarre misalignment and hope it just miraculously catches on.

Am I wrong, or is everything else?