(Mr. Rowe is so splendid, isn't he?) Anyway, halfway through one of my TiVoed episodes of Dirty Jobs, someone banged on my apartment door. It sounded like he or she was using some kind of a mallet. At first I thought the building was being evacuated by the police. But did I go to the door and fling it open?
I'm not an idiot. I live in Petworth! I went to the peephole to see who was so kindly banging on my door, and I couldn't see anything. It was blacked out--something was covering it. I was far from pleased.
So what did I do? I went back to the couch and ignored the person and thought about calling the police. But then I thought more and more about it. It was probably my alcoholic neighbor. And I'm sure the cops have been called on her enough in her lifetime.
Fortunately, I was not bothered again that evening.
2. As many of you know, I ride the green line home from work. After a decent workout at the gym today, my legs felt kind of like rubber bands. I didn't feel like climbing the escalator stairs. I was exhausted. Well, standing still as the stairs carried me up to the street wasn't going to happen this evening. Unfortunately for me, I had to deal with some man who was wearing a hat and scarf pulled around his face like a ninja (yes, it's cold, but not that cold). Ninja man decided that he was going to stand right behind me on the stairs--he didn't even give the courtesy stair space in between him and me. On top of that? We were the only two people on the escalator going up. So I stepped up one step, to create the courtesy step space to teach him the ways of DC metroing, and lo and behold, creepy mcninja man stepped right up behind me again. And the piece de la resistance? He was breathing weirdly, like he had asthma or was making a creepy phone call.
So what do I do? Mutter, "Oh fuck all," summon all of the power in my rubber bandy legs, and spring into action and leg it up the stairs. Thank goodness I just bought new running shoes. They came in handy.
He couldn't keep up. What a creep! My swift running up the escalator stairs must mean that I must be getting into better shape--or that my adrenaline was really moving through my bloodstream. Or both.
And that guy was really lucky I wasn't in the type of mood where I would have Karate kicked him in the face sending him down the escalator. I wouldn't have done that because this city is full of crazy people, and they get crazier when we have cold snaps.
After that ordeal I went home and ate a piece of pre-mardi gras cake. And now my stomach is not pleased. Lesson learned.