2002-11-19 - 6:56 p.m.
So, I'm still recovering from the maintenance man's visit yesterday. The fellow is a bit odd, but kind of in the same way that my friend "R." is odd. Let me explain: Both illustrate a tendency to speak in the most apocalyptic, conspiratory-theoretical, doomsday terms. I can't blame them, really (when do YOU think Bush and Co. will wreak nuclear havoc? Place bets quick!), but at the same time it's always a bit alarming to hear the bizarre things they say.
The maintenance man was supposed to visit on Friday, as indicated by the white slip of paper jammed in my door on Thursday. But he didn't show, and I didn't want him to visit without me being in my apartment so I stayed at home all day like a captive. Even missed a happy hour with members of the city of Austin Neighborhood Planning and Zoning Dept., the mayor's office, the SMART housing office ... a quite respectable bunch, very fun.
On Sunday, another white slip of paper appeared in the door, stating that the maintenance man would arrive on Monday to fulfill his mission: to repair the heating and cooling unit. Once again, a no show. And I stayed at home all day Monday, too, really getting into the character of an agoraphobic paranoid by not showering or changing out of my pajama pants or even walking to the neighborhood grocery store to buy food. By six I was dirty and greasy-haired and starving, with nothing but linguine noodles and margarine in the house. I cooked the noodles and ate half, then finally went to the grocery store at eight to buy food with flavor. The grocery store now sells Ethiopian "insta-meals" that you can put in the microwave if you've got one, or fix on a plate and heat in the oven. I did the latter -- no microwave. The meal was tasty but unfortunately did not come with enough injera, the spongy bread you use to eat Ethiopian food with. You really need injera to go with the lentils and other blobs of food you receive with an Ethiopian meal, or else the experience is not the same.
On Tuesday, I had to leave the apartment to mail bills. Fortunately, the maintenance man finally came, mid-afternoon. He's a young guy and I think he looks like a Louie, but his name is Chris (I almost typed "Christ"). He speaks loudly and gruffily. During his visit he said three disturbing things that should reveal to you why I didn't leave my apartment for three business days, until he showed up (these quotes are probably 75% accurate):
"I'm thinking about leaving the country. I don't want to be gassed."
(Pointing to my modest work station: a flumpy chair, a laptop, a phone, a CD player) "You got your own World War III over there." Huh?
(Said after I asked if he was finished with the fixing or was coming back) "Yeah, it's all right. It' s not like you're going to die in your sleep or anything." Huh?
Most of what we talked about involved the Bush administration's destruction campaign against pretty much everything and everyone, so there was a level of politicized pessimism to our whole conversation. But I think there's something else going on upstairs with this fellow, and I'm not sure what it is.
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Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse. � Lily Tomlin |
