To the person who tried to enter my apartment last night:

A True Story

I’m sorry.  I’m sure you’re rather embarrassed about this.  Perhaps you don’t remember; you were presumably drunk and had gotten off at the wrong floor.  Anyway, no harm no foul; it was quite funny in a Kramerican sort of way.

My apologies for not letting you in or even opening the door.  My place is a shambles, and I didn’t want anyone to see all the dead bodies.  Ha ha.  I’m just kidding; there’s only one.  And Lord knows I didn’t want to have to add another to the pile.  I had already been alarmed by your wrasslings at the lock, so I was a little jittery and when I gets me a case of the jitters, people gets killed.

At first I thought it was just someone passing through the corridor.  But then it persisted.  I looked through the peep-hole, but there was no-one.  Clearly you have attained the secrets of invisibility through the dark arts (I myself would opt for flight), or else have obtained some sort of cloaking device, most likely from Romulan sources.

At that moment, I was seized by a sudden fear: what if the sound was coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE!?  A quick movement to other locations in the apartment revealed that this was a false lead and that the sound was indeed coming from the front door.

I went back: what could it be?  Perhaps it was someone bent down, trying to pass me note under the door.  There was a lot of heavy breathing and clawing sounds, though. Was some type of goddamn wild animal trying to get all up in my shit?  Man, the last time I was in that sort of situation, a tiger got lit on fire (fortunately, it had been Scotch-guarded).

It is perhaps a good thing then, that before reaching for my flares, I inquired verbally “Hello? I think you have the wrong apartment.”  When you answered back “I’m so sorry”, I realized it was not a wolverine or a zombie or anything, but rather a young lady (perhaps from upstairs, in which case: what’s with all the carpentry sounds?).

Anyway, you seem nice and I admired the fact that you persisted at the door for so long while I puzzled over the intrusionary rattlings and made adjustments to my fortifications.  It shows a real commitment to a task: as far as you were concerned you were at the right door, it was just a matter of getting that damnable key to work.  When reality fails to accord with your presuppositions, fuck that shit and keep jabbling the key until it does!

We could use a person of your spirit in our organization.  Perhaps, after you’ve sobered up, we could hang out.  I do need a hand disposing of a dead body.

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~ by Isaac Bickerstaff on March 18, 2010.

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