So. Every building in New York has a crazy guy (or a crazy lady), and mine is no different. My building’s resident crazy is Larry, or if you’re the woman who lives above me (and across the hall from him) he’s Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaary! Either one works. Anyway. This guy is a Desert Storm veteran, so I should probably be thanking him for defending my country…. if the dick hadn’t been so busy ruining my life for the last year. Just to give you an idea of what we go through on the regular in my building here is a brief profile of the larry I’ve known and hated:
– He’s a meth head, fo shizzle (I’ll admit it, I used to heart the meth heads, until I had to share a building with one).
– He has a bum leg (on one foot he wears a crock, on the other a regular shoe) and it takes him 45 minutes to get up and down the stairs. It makes it difficult to leave my apartment sometimes. Often his trip involves a prolonged period of wheezing while leaning against the door to my apartment.
– He is constantly making crude comments about me. He asks me out on ‘dates’ by coming to my apartment and asking to borrow my cell phone to order chinese food and then graciously offers to purchase me some if I come over to his place and eat it. um, no… um, fuck no.
– He has a crack head friend who drives a red mustang (douchy crack head alert) and is always at our building.
– I get to hear gems like this because he and his friend can only converse by yelling on the 45 minute long trips they take up and down the stairs: Larry: (moaning and groaning as he climbs the stairs) “I wanna go caaaaaaampin. I wanna goooooo campin. It’d be nice to go caaaaaaaaaampin right now.” I mean home slice can’t even WALK UP STAIRS… how is he going to go caaaaaaaaampin?
– one of my neighbors told me that they left their apartment one afternoon to find him bare assed in the hallway struggling to put on his ‘pants’… he couldn’t get them on because he was actually struggling to get the arms of his jean jacket over his legs.
– My super smashed his head through a window one night because Larry was so fucked up he locked himself out of the apartment and then tried to punch my super when he went to let him in.
– I walked out of my building one day to find him icing his nostrils with little bits of snow.
I don’t really need to go on do I?…
Anyway he’s been reaaaaaaaaaaal quiet lately. Actually JUST the other day Scott asked me where Larry was and I realized, wow, he’s been missing. I figured maybe they finally shipped him off to rehab, or the loony bin, or the gutter. Who knows right?
Well yesterday I was coming home about to run up the stairs, bike over shoulder, when I see larry coming down the stairs. Now, first of all, he was wearing a matching set of sneakers. Second of all he had a cane. Third of all, he looked… well… kinda normal. Like a old dude who was once a meth head… but not an old dude that’s currently a meth head.
So I open the door and am fully prepared for a him to sexually assault me verbally (which he only does when i’m looking busted as hell, like after coming home from biking in the pouring rain… which pisses me off more than if he was doing it when i actually look hot. If somebody is going to say nasty shit to me at least it should be sincere). But he didn’t say anything remotely sexual. He actually yelled at me for treating him like a crippled crack head! I asked if I could get past him with my bike and he looked at me and goes “I have trouble walking but I’m not a cripple, I’ll be down these stairs in a second.”
WHAT?!?!?! Who is this man? I guess I always knew we couldn’t go on like this forever, but the option of him staying and cleaning his act up never occurred to me. My mind is… blown (LIT-erally as Rachel Zoe would say). I just wonder how long it will last.
I’ll keep y’all posted.