I like to parade around my apartment in my boxers (this has a point). I therefore require a minimum of 15 seconds between a doorbell ringing and my letting them in.
Unfortunately, I was not told that people have ways of allowing themselves in that I’m not aware of.
At around noon yesterday, before I was getting ready to go to the school, I heard the bell ringing, and so I left the wardrobe room let the person behind the door know I’d let them in a moment.
When I went to the hallway, the door was wide open, and some lady with what looked like a giant Geiger counter was standing on the landing. She looked at me and made a noise and then I had to hurry back to put whatever I could find; I think I managed a red jacket and my long pajama pants.
The lady then proceeded to walk around the apartment with her strange contraption. It looked to me like she was checking for radioactive material, which I guess could be useful. She did this for about two minutes, and then said goodbye and left.
I know that this wasn’t a stupid anxiety dream because I later found out who it was. Apparently, apartments hire cleaning staff who have COPIES OF OUR KEYS and come in and spray pesticides everywhere. I liked it better when I thought they had Geiger counters.
I like the idea that you don’t have to lock your doors and people are friendly here, but opening up people’s doors unprompted seems like it’s taking a good idea way too far. Someone suggested that I dress for “all occasions” even if that means breakfast in bed…in my khakis.
However, I refuse to change my habits. From now on, though, I might keep “emergency pants pack” in every room of the apartment. But probably not.
Today I showed my eighth graders a clip of Emeril cooking, and they loved it. They had no idea what he was saying, but I think they enjoyed a man cooking and acting crazy. Maybe I can get them all to start saying “Bam!”
I also blew a student’s mind when I told them tomato is a fruit and you can actually make more tomatoes from tomato seeds. Their eyes literally bugged out like “whooooooooahhhhhhhhhhh.” It was a wonderful teaching moment.
Tonight was “art night” at a local hostel. It was also “girl’s night out” for some of the teachers in the office. I hate girls night out. It’s also lose-lose I feel if you try to crash it, because if you go and they don’t want you there it’s awkward, and if you go and they don’t care if you’re there it means they don’t perceive you to be a real man, and that would hurt my feelings.
Guys night out is more fun anyway. Shitty movies? Beer? Pizza? Wings? Cake? More movies? Strip clubs? “Barber shops?” Bowling? The possibilities are endless, as long as you don’t get interrupted by another cleaning lady.
Culture Time 