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Tuesday, March 11th, 2003
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2:36p - a humdinger of a weird thing
disclaimer: what is to follow may totally freak you out, as it did me. or just make you feel really dirty. regardless, keep in mind that though this story is true, the guy in the story can't hurt you. seriously. he's all the way in honolulu. he can only hurt my family, really, so let's keep our fingers crossed on that one not happening. oh, don't get scared, though, this story involves no dead bodies. yet.
so, my family has lived in this apartment building since i was like 6 or 7...about 15 years. we've had the same manager, dave, ever since we moved in, right? now dave has always been a little weird and anti-social, but you know, whatever, right? we've always figured, he's the manager, not our friend, so what do we care so long as he does his job. right. now dave had certain idiosyncrasies besides the whole "doesn't like people" thing. the first is that he always eats in his car. seriously. at least once a day, we'd see him eating take-out in his car. i asked him once why he ate in his car and not his apartment and he said it was because it was always so hot in his place, so he liked to eat in his car, in the shade and cool off. fair enough. kind of strange, but i can understand that. also, dave has a large deck which, over the years, he had turned into a virtual jungle of potted plants. so the guy likes plants, right? right. last, but certainly not least, he never lets *anyone* into his apartment. ever. last week, they found out why.
i'll skip straight to the part where my father (as head of the apartment board) gets the police to come down and help him open up dave's door. so they get in the door, walk onto the deck and push through the plants to the sliding glass doors. open up the doors and what awaits? garbage, my friends, garbage. floor-to-ceiling piles of garbage. not clean trash like stacks of newspaper and old national geographics, but nasty old food containers, beer bottles, apple cores, chocolate sauce, whatever. as ross would say, you know how you come home at the end of the day and throw your jacket on a chair? well, like that, only instead of a chair, it's a pile of garbage. and instead of a jacket, it's a pile of garbage. and instead of the end of the day, it's the end of time and garbage is all that has survived!
but that's not the worst part. there was this ladder that led to the top of the pile and over into a little nest he had stamped down that held a tv, vcr and some pillows. a fucking nest, you guys! a garbage nest! AAHHHHH!!! how messed up is that? like the only thing that coud possibly make this story any creepier would be the inclusion of dead bodies or dismembered body parts and such, of which, thankfully, there were none.
and now i need to go lose my breakfast and brush imaginary roaches off of my face.
"so all i need to get is some new skin? thank you."
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