Archive for February, 2013


Posted: February 24, 2013 in Slice- 10

So I’m almost over the flu, having soaked through my sheets when my 103-degree fever broke — talk about rapid, temporary weight loss! — but I’m still a bit shaky, cough like a smoker and look like a zombie from “The Walking Dead.” I haven’t washed my face yet and have some sulfur zit cream on red spots on my chin. My hair is pulled back, showing those lovely gray roots. I’m wearing my version of a house dress – a huge 1999 WHC T-shirt down to my knees. Ya get the glamorous picture?

The doorbell rings.

I’m pretty sure it’s the workman from the roof over my head, who promised yesterday he would tell me when they were done tarring. I also really need him to take a look at my smashed window so I have an eyewitness to how bad it is when I call the landlord again. (The workmen may or may not have dropped something that smashed it months ago. I don’t know and I’m not about to accuse them.)

I yell for whoever it is to wait a minute, pull on the closest jeans (which are so tight I can hardly breathe), but I don’t want to waste time looking through my closet and have whoever it is leave.

It’s the workman, who is indeed done and about to take his supplies down the stairs and leave. I tell him about the window, he agrees to check it and I apologize for the mess, explaining it’s eBay items for sale, blah blah.

Yes, he agrees the window needs fixing and points out many other problems: cracked walls, crumbling plaster, holes, blah, blah. Yes, I know. I’m a bit busy to deal with apt repairs right now. I’m the last renter in the building, landlord hates me, blah blah.

He looks around some more and asks where my children are. (The horror/sci-fi toys, dolls, etc have caught his attention. Or maybe it’s the holiday star with flashing lights left over from Xmas over the fake ram’s head skull with demonic horns.) I have no children, no I’m not married, yes I’m single and …

Wait, what?

He asks if I have a man. (Oh, I see. He thinks “my man” should repair all this!) No I’m not dating anyone who is handy with repairs. None of my boyfriends have ever been handy like that. Yes, I do date men. (He’s wondering if I am a lesbian?!) I look to make sure the front door is still wide open and that I can still hear my neighbor’s TV on the floor below.

He would be happy to find me a man.

Wait, what?

I ask if he is running a dating service on the side when not repairing. Ha, ha, ha! We laugh heartily and he claps me on the back. Yup, front door still wide open. I move toward it, stick out my hand, say thanks so much, buddy. and ask his name so I can tell the landlord who saw my window. He reminds me he was here before doing repairs. (Yeah? So were a gazillion other repair guys in the multiple decades I’ve been here. I do remember my last window repair years ago when the guy cut his hand so badly I wanted to call 911 but he wouldn’t let me. I wonder if it was he, but I don’t ask. I want a nap at this point!) I politely lie that I think he looks familiar.

He turns as he is leaving and asks where my family is from. Mainly, Houston and NY. No, the countries. (Gee, I wouldn’t ask him that – swarthy skinned male, post-Sept. 11 NYC, too many opportunities. for unintentional insults. But at least it wasn’t a sleazy “does the carpet match the drapes” quip to the ill redhead.) So I tell him Germany, Italy, Ireland and Wales. We laugh about the melting pot. Ha, ha, ha!

He shakes my hand again and asks if I will drink during the holidays. (Yeah, starting right now, buddy!) Occasional drinker these days, good for the heart, nice to socialize, blah, blah. (Is this a live dating profile interview?) I’m sure the next words out of his mouth will be about his wonderful lonely friend, cousin, father, uncle, blah blah.

He informs me he drinks only socially as well, says he may be the one to fix my window if asked by management, shakes my hand again, and says over his shoulder as he exits that perhaps we will go out for drinks soon. We?

Wait, what?

I am completely horrified when I go back in the bathroom to finally wash my face – dried sulfur zit cream kind of looks like I have food left on my face! Colorful, deep purple circles under my eyes — Mother Nature is a vindictive bitch! But I think about the low level of light in my main room from all the shades being down. (There is also a construction site on the roofs across the street, going on for months 6 days a dang week. Since I’m feeling like a zoo animal, I keep them down as I go about my home office activities.) So maybe Malik the repair guy didn’t notice the horror-movie face. (Did I mention the unplucked stray chin hairs? I really am not making this crap up!)

So did a repairman – a very handsome repairman – hit on me? Or is he auditioning me for his lonely friend, cousin, father, uncle, blah blah. Is this creepy, flattering, a little of both? Or maybe he treats all single, never married, non-lesbian, middle-aged, childless, technically unemployed, not-stick-thin-women like that?

Wait, what?