The guy across the hall has a much nicer place than I do. From this statement one might ask: Lissermay, have you made a new friend in the building? or Were you invited to a party? or Did you lose something or need to borrow a cup of sugar? The answer to these questions is no.
So here is how I know my neighbor has a nicer place.
I stopped for a chicken shwarma and baba ganooj sandwich (not relevant but tasty) before picking up a twelve pack of bottled beer (relevant and tasty) on my drive home. I must have overestimated my ability to carry this up three flights of stairs. But I had it all worked out – bag over shoulder, keys in fist, sandwich in right hand, 12 pack of beer delicately balanced on left forearm. In hindsight this may not have been the best plan.
Clink clink clink. Clink clink clink. I went up the stairs. Clink clink clink. And just when I made it to the last step… I lost control of the beer.
It rolled off my arm and flipped mid-air. It clinked and clanked like the end of the world. Finally it crashed on the floor, rolled fiercely one last time and landed along the edge of my neighbor’s door.
Now you wouldn’t think a 12 pack of beer could have the power to blow a door wide open while an unsuspecting neighbor chats pleasantly on the phone, but I found this assumption to be untrue. The door blew wide open while I stood there in awe, holding a sandwich and fearing the worst – that Sam Adams was sure to be a casualty. My neighbor bolted to his feet. I scrambled to pick up the 12 bottle culprit, grabbed the doorknob, and wittily commented, “Oh, let me close the door for you” and left.
So this is how I realized just how nice his place is. (And in case you’re wondering, the beer was just fine - and tasty!)
