Wednesday night I was sitting on the couch watching a movie – actually, I was painting my fingernails, naturally. Someone knocked on my apartment door, which is real weird in itself. Especially at like 8:00 p.m. Don’t they know I’m 30 and have one foot in the bed already?
Callie, of course, freaks out and runs to the door and baracades herself against it so I couldn’t really open it if I wanted to. I looked through the peephole and there was a normal looking, barely 20-something blonde guy standing there.I opened the door about three inches because a.) he could be the Craigslist killer and b.) Callie REALLY wanted to get at him and eat his face off.
As I poked one eyeball out the door and said “yes?,” I quickly realized this made me look creepier than him.
He clasped his hands together and began to plead his case.
“Hi! We’re cooking dinner down in 238 and our blender just broke – do you happen to have a blender we can borrow? We would really, really appreciate it.”
Because I assume he must be having margaritas for dinner, and I respect that, I said “Sure – I have a blender. Hold on and I’ll get it. ….. Oh, also, about her – she wants to escape. That’s why I can’t open the door – so wait here.” It was then he noticed Callie at my feet, who looked like an insane, 15 pound wolverine hyped up on methamphetamines trying to squeeze herself through a 3 inch opening in the door. He took three steps back. Hands still clasped together.
I retrieved the blender and took it back to him. “Thank you so much – thank you. You saved the day. We’ll bring it back in like 10 minutes, I promise. We’ll wash it!”
“Cool – no rush.” Famous last words.
I went to bed at like 9:30 – still no blender.
So at 7 a.m. the next morning when I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to leave for work, I pranced right down the hall to 238 and banged on their door. Nada. But not particularly surprised, especially if they had margaritas for dinner. (True – it could have been a marinade they were blending – but I like my version better).
So fast forward to 36 hours later and I walk up to this outside my apartment door:
Really!? How long has that been there? I thought it was a tiny space martian waiting on me from way down the hallway.
How many people have walked by and been like “sweet! Free blender!” Why not at least stick a little post-it note on top that said “thanks! Happy blending.” Or “the margs were awesome!” Or even “please don’t steal me.”
Kids these days have no respect for me or my kitchen appliances.
And my crazy cat lady reputation is currently spreading like wild fire through the building.