Sporty Old Hippy in Red
Reuben is away driving upstate for my nephews' camp visiting days (two nephews, two camps). I am up way too early on a Sunday trying to figure out how to get from JFK to Medford, OR on my parents American or United miles. Not figuring out how to get there involves flying for six hours to San Francisco followed by a six hour drive there and ditto for the way back. All while seven months pregnant. Well I'd been meaning to learn how to knit soakers anyway....
Boring Part
Doorbell: Buzzz! Buzz!
Me: Grabbing hat, and planning to only stick out my head. Click, click, click [the heat or something has caused the lock to swell and not open]
Sporty Old Hippy: I have a package for the guy upstairs.
Me: Click, click, click
SOH: What do you have a hundred locks.
Me: Just one that won't open.
SOH: I just want to slip this package under his door.
Me: Okay fine. [Nothing slips under the door or comes through the mail slot] click, click, click
SOH: Ut oh. What would you do if there was a fire?
Me: I have a back door.
SOH: Oh, do you want me to come around?
Me: Yes [no one comes to my back door. I have to pull on a skirt and a jean jacket since I'm sans bra.]
SOH: [is still at my front door wearing a red tank top and red gym shorts]
Slightly More Interesting Part
SOH: I want to give the guy upstairs this picture of Jerry Garcia.
Me: I went to high school in the Haight/Ashbury [why do I tell people this?]
SOH: Oh so you'll appreciate this [shows me picture of Jerry Garcia onstage] I use to tour with the Grateful Dead....[long, long, long story story ensues as always with these types, he set up their stage, he spend 1954 through the '60's with them, etc, etc.]
SOH: [Story continues with his connection to my upstairs neighbor who apparently has posters of them. SOH is a tow truck driver, he also lives on my block, he met my neighbor, now SOH has become Jerry Garcia's bodyguard...]
Me: I'll give him this picture [trying to show as much appreciation for it as possible.]
SOH: I want to go up, knock on his door. I know he is home - his car is here.
Me: I haven't heard him, maybe he is sleeping and he didn't come down when you rang them bell.
SOH: I'll slip the picture under the door can I go up and bang on his inside door? I want to know if he wants to go to the beach or something.
Me: I can't get the lock to open. I'll be sure to give him this picture.
SOH: Can I come through the back.
Me: I'm sorry but I can't let a stranger through my house.
SOH: I am not here to rob you or anything. I just want to give him the picture and see how he is.
Me: I know you aren't. I just can't let you through my house. I'll be sure to give him the picture and let him know you stopped by.
SOH: Tell him Danny [points to Grateful Dead skull tattoo on his bicep with "Danny" on the top] stopped by and to call me. He has my number.] I live at 16 something 1 [points to his house and goes off again about Dead concerts and pictures. his are all numbered, you know.]
SOH: [blah, blah, blah] until he died four, five years ago.
Me: Ten years ago [why do I continue these conversations?] It was 1996. He died ten years ago. [and yes now I realize it wasn't summer of 1996 it was summer of '95 so I wasn't even right.]
SOH: Whoa ten years. All that acid shot my brain.
And he finally leaves. So I write a note saying Danny, the tow truck driving/Grateful dead bodyguard dropped this off. He would like you to please call him. And left it with the picture on top of a package he hasn't bothered to bring upstairs either.
I hate crazies and small talkers yet I keep attracting them. Not that I would, but I couldn't let him in no matter how nice or friendly a neighborhood we lived in. My husband is out of town so letting a man I'm not related to in my house breaks the Jewish laws of yichud.
Boring Part
Doorbell: Buzzz! Buzz!
Me: Grabbing hat, and planning to only stick out my head. Click, click, click [the heat or something has caused the lock to swell and not open]
Sporty Old Hippy: I have a package for the guy upstairs.
Me: Click, click, click
SOH: What do you have a hundred locks.
Me: Just one that won't open.
SOH: I just want to slip this package under his door.
Me: Okay fine. [Nothing slips under the door or comes through the mail slot] click, click, click
SOH: Ut oh. What would you do if there was a fire?
Me: I have a back door.
SOH: Oh, do you want me to come around?
Me: Yes [no one comes to my back door. I have to pull on a skirt and a jean jacket since I'm sans bra.]
SOH: [is still at my front door wearing a red tank top and red gym shorts]
Slightly More Interesting Part
SOH: I want to give the guy upstairs this picture of Jerry Garcia.
Me: I went to high school in the Haight/Ashbury [why do I tell people this?]
SOH: Oh so you'll appreciate this [shows me picture of Jerry Garcia onstage] I use to tour with the Grateful Dead....[long, long, long story story ensues as always with these types, he set up their stage, he spend 1954 through the '60's with them, etc, etc.]
SOH: [Story continues with his connection to my upstairs neighbor who apparently has posters of them. SOH is a tow truck driver, he also lives on my block, he met my neighbor, now SOH has become Jerry Garcia's bodyguard...]
Me: I'll give him this picture [trying to show as much appreciation for it as possible.]
SOH: I want to go up, knock on his door. I know he is home - his car is here.
Me: I haven't heard him, maybe he is sleeping and he didn't come down when you rang them bell.
SOH: I'll slip the picture under the door can I go up and bang on his inside door? I want to know if he wants to go to the beach or something.
Me: I can't get the lock to open. I'll be sure to give him this picture.
SOH: Can I come through the back.
Me: I'm sorry but I can't let a stranger through my house.
SOH: I am not here to rob you or anything. I just want to give him the picture and see how he is.
Me: I know you aren't. I just can't let you through my house. I'll be sure to give him the picture and let him know you stopped by.
SOH: Tell him Danny [points to Grateful Dead skull tattoo on his bicep with "Danny" on the top] stopped by and to call me. He has my number.] I live at 16 something 1 [points to his house and goes off again about Dead concerts and pictures. his are all numbered, you know.]
SOH: [blah, blah, blah] until he died four, five years ago.
Me: Ten years ago [why do I continue these conversations?] It was 1996. He died ten years ago. [and yes now I realize it wasn't summer of 1996 it was summer of '95 so I wasn't even right.]
SOH: Whoa ten years. All that acid shot my brain.
And he finally leaves. So I write a note saying Danny, the tow truck driving/Grateful dead bodyguard dropped this off. He would like you to please call him. And left it with the picture on top of a package he hasn't bothered to bring upstairs either.
I hate crazies and small talkers yet I keep attracting them. Not that I would, but I couldn't let him in no matter how nice or friendly a neighborhood we lived in. My husband is out of town so letting a man I'm not related to in my house breaks the Jewish laws of yichud.