Lame Adventure 167: Why didn’t I think of that?

One evening last week after work, I met Coco for a beverage.  After parting ways I headed to my sanctum sanctorum realizing that the hour was not ridiculously late and I could pursue something uncharacteristic, a decent night’s rest.

As usual, when I entered my apartment, I had to look at the eyesore that Konstantine, my next-door neighbor, has had cluttering our shared bit of hallway since January when he celebrated his birthday.  Late that night, there was a loud commotion in the hallway.  The next morning, when I opened my door I saw this site.

Not like a good neighbor, shared hallway clutter.

Cinderfella's slipper.

I do not know the significance of the Vienna poster, especially since he is Greek from Greece.  Possibly the felt slipper was added for amusement – certainly not mine. As for the inoperable intercom he has now plastered to the wall, I am sure that our landlady, Cruella LeGree, will fleece him for defacing the premises when the time comes for him to move out.  Then, I might have a hearty chuckle when she smacks him with that charge.

Several weeks later, around three in the morning I am deep in Dreamland, but not quite as deep as Elsbeth, my boss, who recently revealed that she dreamt that she was Japanese:

Elsbeth:  What do you think that means?

Naturally I asked if Stu, her husband, was in it as a samurai.

Elsbeth:  He wasn’t in it, but I had a daughter.

Elsbeth has a daughter, Charlie (yes, short for Charlotte).

Me:  So Charlie was in it?

Elsbeth:  No, my daughter wasn’t Charlie.

Me:  Did your dream have sub-titles?

Subliminal message in Elsbeth's dream.

Then, The Boss’s phone rang effectively ending one of our more interesting discussions of the week.

Unlike my superior, my dream, selecting a toothbrush at my neighborhood Duane Reade, was a tad less imaginative, but I suppose that explains why she owns the company and I’m just her serf.

My dream toothbrush.

Just as I was about to reach for a soft bristled Oral B, I was woken from my sound slumber by voices bickering, scuffling and loud banging in the hallway outside my door.  The weekend before, there had been a physical altercation in my next-door neighbor’s apartment.  They were throwing each other at the shared wall and as my books vibrated on their shelves, I thought to myself:

Me:  This sounds violent.  Should I do something?

I did.  My laundry.

Konstantine, my neighbor, was once again on a rampage, or possibly on the receiving end.  I went back to sleep.  The next morning when I opened my door to leave, I noticed that the Vienna poster was gone.  This pleased me.  For anyone who might be wondering, the slipper was removed the day after it first appeared in January.

As I headed down my building’s stairs en route to my Journey Of the Broke, I had one more encounter with my neighbor’s Vienna poster, this time in the hallway of the floor beneath us on its side dented in half.

Not exactly fold-friendly.

Why hadn’t I thought of that?  Oh right, I am not a temper tantrum tossing nut job.  Apparently, I just happen to live next door to one.