New Friends

During the past 4+ months as a solo apartment dweller, I have come to let a number of complete strangers into my home.  DSL technicians, electricians, plumbers... if their boots are extraordinarily dirty and they have no company badge on their coat, I'll let them in.  Most of the time I know they're coming, but it's usually a vague stretch of time that I just have to sit there waiting, either 8:00-12:00 or 2:00-6:00... No problem.  I've got nothing better to do.  What gets me is that when I least expect it, either at 11:59 or 8:01, some extremely large, disgustingly sweaty or otherwise imposing gentleman graces me with his (this is honestly in ALL cases for me, I don't want to generalize) ill-mannered presence. 

 The "gentle"man who set up my TV and internet in September was on his cell phone speaking Spanish to his girlfriend for the entire time as he jostled and tipped my television around, while I stood in the kitchen cringing and looking at his crack and love handles.  He hung up the phone abruptly after having a bit of an argument about something pretty raunchy.  He didn't think I understood Spanish, but I did.  He leaned back and slammed the phone down on my floor, and said something that rhymed with DUCK.  A few times.  I was startled at his word choice and busied myself with the dishes.  He stared out the window for a while, and when I got up the courage to ask him if there was something wrong with the internet connection, he said, "DUCK this."  Then he asked me to use my bathroom.  When he left, everything worked fine and I enjoyed the lingering stench of his BO while happily logging on to Facebook.  

The Time Warner service that I had received from this kind, considerate soul gave me solid basic TV and internet for about 3 months until there was an outage in the box that my entire block shares and I was without for a good month.  During that time, my life consisted of books, old Lost DVDs, and phone calls.  Internet became a thing of my past, as well as a thing I knew I would appreciate more in the future.  The harbinger of the great world wide web this time called me out of bed at 7:59am with the obnoxiously loud buzzer I have in my apartment.  I sleepily climbed down the stairs to let him in, his long ponytail glistening in the morning sun.  He made a considerable puddle of gray slush in the corner of my kitchen, messing with wires and pliers.  Then, as his kind always does, he asked if he could "take a leak."  I politely motioned toward my clean bathroom.  While he was in the bathroom, I got a phone call from a number I had recognized from 7:45 that same morning, from that same man who was in my bathroom.  Puzzled, I answered. When I did, all I could hear was the sound of streaming pee.  Of all things, this gem had called me from his pocket (accidentally?) and allowed me to have a clear audio experience of what he was doing in my bathroom.  I almost vomited, and then sat on my couch staring at the floor as he finished connecting my phone line and eventually left.  If this is what I have to endure in order to have sweet, marvelous, uninterrupted access to the internet, I guess that's ducking fine with me.