boo radley

came home today and found a puddle in the middle of my bathroom.

it was big. it was dirty. it was everywhere. and i actually stood there and stared at it. for what was probably longer than necessary. i eventually traced the lazy droplets. its reverse course leading my eyes directly to the center of the bathroom ceiling. a terribly inconvenient place if ever i saw one.

for some reason i thought simply running a paper towel over the source would stop the

drop
drop
dropping.

it didn't.

i called my landlord.

i called an hour later.

i called an hour after that.

each time he said he would call the super.
and each return call he'd say, "you still have problem?"

yes. i still have problem.

so he decided to skip the super. and called the plumber. the plumber asked me to check on the apartment upstairs. the plumber would need to get inside that neighbor's apartment.

i hadn't yet met anyone on the floor above me. but i climbed the stairs ready to have a polite neighborly exchange. shaking hands, introductions, casually explaining the situation. i knew the person was there. the person always seemed to be there.

especially at around 2am when the person typically decides to move furniture or roll bowling balls.

i reached the door. i knocked. i could hear a man's voice on the other side. perhaps he didn't hear me. perhaps he was on the phone.

i knocked a second time. a third time.

nothing.

i returned to my apartment. scratched a note explaining everything that was going on. and climbed the stairs again. ready to deliver my message.

but my attempt was foiled. i couldn't get this one thin slice of paper under the door.

the plumber recommended i try knocking again so the plumber could come over sooner than later. so i climbed once again. and again faced the door.

i took a deep breath.

and knocked harder.

steps! i heard steps! he was coming toward the door!

the door opened. and he jumped at the sight of me. i jumped at his jump.

a small, thin, scruffy older man. he wore glasses. and his eyes darted around. he was nervous. jittery. and i found myself sounding overly apologetic as i timidly told my story.

from behind the door, he timidly confessed that he'd heard me knocking before but he doesn't ever open his door.

he doesn't.
open.
his door.

ever.

i hope he doesn't mind opening it for that plumber sometime in the next hour.