A Saturday Morning Ladder
So there's a guy on a ladder outside my window right now. If there was no window or wall between us, I could quite easily hit him with a stick. My window is also open, so though the annoying wicker blinds probably keep him from seeing me sitting here in my nice pajamas he can probably hear me typing. And I'm thinking to myself, it's not even 10 AM on a Saturday morning. Is this the absolute best time to get out the ladders and start making a racket? Okay, yes, granted, I am awake. I had just started eating some cereal when he dragged the ladder over and started climbing. But still. This is not ideal.
Course, my landlords are slightly crazy. (If you are one of the twenty or so people she called to get a reference for me
after I'd lived here for eight months then you likely already know this. And if you're one of the people that she called that I hadn't put down as a reference but got a phone call anyway ... again, I'm sorry.) And the fact that people like to sleep in on Saturdays apparently does not occur to either of them, as evidenced by the times at which they call, sometimes obsessively. (If you know I'm home and I'm not answering the main line nor my cell phone, take it as a hint, okay? It is not an invitation to keep calling.)
Ladder guy has moved on; he is now in front of the living room windows. I don't know what the girls above us are having done to the windows. They don't like to communicate verbally with either Carly or myself. Our only communications are conducted through their floorboards/our ceiling, and usually involve some sort of high heels.
I should go start the dryer again and do my last load of laundry. I might as well be productive, because lazing around in my pajamas does not seem like an entirely good idea when there's some guy that I don't know hanging around with a ladder outside. And I have a critique to write and all. Maybe I'll play ladder guy some music, just to amuse myself. Random workmen enjoy fiddles, don't they?
