homeaboutarchivescontacteverythingham sandwichprivacy

Note on the door

As I was wondering what I could possibly write about on such an empty day — nine hours at work, a crappy supper, and I'm already sleepy — there came a quiet knock on my apartment door.

When anyone knocks, I peek out the peephole, and unless it’s the mumbling man I ignore it, because hey, I’m a hermit. If I’m not expecting you then you’re an intruder.

But it was Cam. He’s not the rez hotel’s biggest dingbat, not even close, but he's our nicest dingbat. He talks slowly, and usually says something nuts. I knew if I opened the door I'd have something to write about, so I put on pants and opened the door.

Cam pointed sadly at a note I’d taped outside my door, that said, No maid svc please. Slowly he explained the problem. Very slowly. It took him maybe 30 seconds to say, “Can you imagine how sad that note makes the maid? Being the maid is her job. It may not seem like much to you, but I bet she takes pride in doing it, and your note is just like telling her to go to hell…”

If I’d never met him before I would’ve slammed the door in his face, but we’ve talked a few times and Cam is Cam. He’s not retarded but he’s certainly not bright, and when he has something to say you’d best just listen. If you interrupt or ask questions he’ll start over, so I waited and listened closely, or at least stood there and posed like I was listening closely. When he was done talking, I waited another five or ten seconds, to make sure he was done talking, because I’ve made the mistake of interrupting him before.

Then I said, “I’d never thought of it that way, Cam. Thank you.” He kept looking at me, so more words were needed. “To me, when there’s a little less work to do, that’s good news and it makes me happy. And my sign does say 'please', so I hope her feelings won’t be hurt.”

Cam stuck out his lower lip, very, very deep in thought, and said, “Well, okay.” Then he stood there. And stood there, so I pulled the note off the door. He said “Thank you,” and left. I waited until I heard the elevator ding, and then I taped the note onto the door again.

It’s not much of a story, but it’s something to write about, and today that’s all I had.

♦ ♦ ♦

Bonus! Some words of wisdom from Milan, from his zine Give a Hoot. Pollute:

“I like to watch hockey and baseball whenever those sports are on TV. It’s pretty hilarious to watch audience members get beaned in the head by foul balls or deflected pucks! These folks have paid up to $30 to get nailed in the head! It’s always so much more interesting than the game itself. Nailing morons upside their heads with objects traveling at 100+ mph should become a sport! Hey, I’d pay good money to watch that in person.” 

Well, yeah, that does sound like fun, but if you're there in person to watch people get nailed in the head, you might get nailed in the head.

 From Pathetic Life #7
Thursday, December 29, 1994

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

itsdougholland.com 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

No comments:

Post a Comment

🚨 WARNING 🚨 There's a bug in the site's software, and it sometimes swallows comments. CTRL-A and CTRL-C before posting is recommended. Or use the comment form in the sidebar — it takes longer, but never fails.