Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Two pools, gotta ask the neighbors.

Remember how I was talking about how awesome it was that P.I.C. and I had decided that we were going to go to Panama? Well. The truth is, we are wondering if we can really afford the trip now. Despite my diligence in saving money for vacation, airfare is just a bit more expensive than I had budgeted. I don't want to go on vacation to a far-away place and constantly worry about money.

Therefore, we are tossing around other ideas. I'm a bit sad that it seems Panama is nearly ruled out. (Not entirely, but still.) I've started subscribing to the "cheap vacation" websites. I regularly email P.I.C. with deals. The other day, we were talking about a resort on Puerto Rico, and I mentioned that it had two pools. P.I.C. responded, "Wait, do we have to ask the neighbors?"

Yeah, I didn't get it for a second. Then I remembered. Ooooh. That weird guy! From when P.I.C. was looking at apartments a year ago.

Last year, P.I.C. and I were driving around near my old apartments looking for "For Rent" signs on buildings. We had pulled over at one place and I was jotting down the number from the sign when a guy walked out of the building. He was tall, dark-haired and extremely hairy. Something about him on which I couldn't put my finger rang creepy. Since I wasn't expecting someone, I was a little startled (well, that and he was generally creepy). He approached me and asked, "Wanna come see the apartment?"

I motioned to P.I.C., who'd pulled over in front of a fire hydrant to wait for me. He threw the flashers on, and walked up to me. Creepy Dude said, "You'd better be careful. Cops are real dicks around here." Then he continued to mutter under his breath about the general dickishness of cops in the first ward.

At this point, give his level of creepiness, my apprehension, and the under-the-breath muttering, perhaps I should have told P.I.C. that we didn't want to see this apartment. In retrospect, he did give off the psychopath vibe. Yikes. But we forged forward, and went up the stairs.

The apartment was on the second floor of an older building that was looking not promising at all. It was a rather open floor plan with a lot of light, which was nice, but there were old clothes and stuff all over the floor. The faded black and white photographs of a young man in the military and a young couple led me to believe that this was the former apartment of a grandparent that had passed away recently. If it was possible, the apartment was getting creepier and creepier, as was the situation. The sink in the kitchen was old and full of dishes. There was a disposable razor on the ledge along with an aerosol can of shaving cream.

Turns out there was no sink in the bathroom. Huh. We were really going through the tour so he wouldn't slash us to be polite, so we just followed him around, me screaming with my eyeballs at P.I.C., P.I.C. refusing to look at me for fear of breaking out into uncontrolled bouts of laughter. Finally, we stopped wading through piles of old clothes and general crap and he led us back down those stairs, talking the entire way. His last selling point? He bragged, "Two pools available, but ya gotta ask the neighbors."

With that statement, I turned away, waving behind me, as the tears of laughter poured out of my relieved head. He seriously offered up the neighbors' above-ground pools. Thanks to that parting remark, I believe that this brief interaction with a crazy man is cemented in my memory as the "Two Pools, Gotta ask the Neighbors Creepy Dude."

Hopefully, no matter where P.I.C. end up on vacation, if there are two pools at our hotel, we don't have to ask the neighbors to use them.

(In case you are wondering, P.I.C. elected not to rent that particular apartment.)

No comments:

Post a Comment