I’ve made friends with a fellow writer who’s been here at my apartment complex for a few months. He’s 69 and looks younger than me, the bastard.
He’s already run into trouble with one of a couple of the German girls who have just moved in — and in fairness he was right but hell, they’re 19 or so and aren’t terribly bright. Ya gotta cut ‘em some slack, right?
There’s one fan in the main living room and he’s kind of owned the space of this one desk for 3 months now. There’s an overhead fan that is completely useless and a small oscillating fan that he places on a counter pointed at him while he works. Now, one of these ladies (my direct neighbor — we share a bathroom) has been here three days now and already the two of them have what we might politely call ‘history’.
There are only about 3 decent-sized pans in the kitchen and on her first night here, she uses all three and leaves them sitting in the kitchen (one coated with burned rice which will, of course, turn to concrete by the morn). I end up cooking my pasta in a tiny-ass pot, refusing to clean up her mess.
Mike, the writer, being a just-barely-crabbier version of myself, takes the dirty pots and places them outside her door as a not-overly-subtle hint — it’s a house of 8 rooms and 7 of ‘em can’t cook now because she’s too lazy to clean up after herself.
I miss the action, but apparently they have words after this.
So today it comes to a head. He gets up from his desk to go to the boy’s room (leaving his laptop, water bottle and associated doo-dads behind — it’s obvious that he’s returning) and she turns the fan so that it doesn’t point at him but at her and her friend.
He returns, sees the fan and points it back at his table. She –pardon my rudimentary French– loses her shit. A total screaming match ensues with her exclaiming that he’s not being fair because he isn’t ‘sharing’. “It’s a public place — why should you have the fan?”
I try to stay out of it — he’s pissed and loud and she’s purposely provoking a fight. I understand that this is the 2nd or 3rd time they’ve clashed already and in my mind, she’s being a spoiled little asshole and he’s not exactly being overly tolerant of that fact. I don’t think many would.
He keeps saying: “if you need a fan go to your room and bring it in here — that’s what everyone does” (and this is true).
Finally, I’m tired of listening to it all, so I spend the whole 20 seconds it takes me to walk to my room, grab my fan, carry it back, plug it in and point it at her. “I’m just sharing,” I say with a smile.
“You don’t know anything,” she snarls. “You didn’t see me move it and how he was being so selfish.”
“Oh, yes I did,” I replied. “I saw it all. And when you moved the fan, did you set it to oscillate, to move back and forth?” I pantomime a fan moving side to side. “No,” she admits, arms crossed, chin in the air.
“Then you weren’t exactly sharing either, were you?”
Five minutes later she and her friend are gone, hopefully to find a new place.