This one’s fresh off the fucking presses, so buckle up for the almost real-time (with a 4 hour lag) tale. I’ll begin with the setting. I live in an english-basement. That’s a fancy fucking term for saying that I live in the basement of someone’s house that was converted into an apartment. While this means I relish in having a huge ass studio in the middle of the city for an affordable price, it also comes with its downsides. I experience the occasional mouse (which I believe is either on steroids or really a rat) and my vitamin D is clinically low due to the lack of sunlight from my 2’x3′ window. And, because the entrance to my studio is from the back of the house and not the front, I also have no mailbox and so I have to trust my landlords to kindly deliver my mail to me.
Despite only having to travel down a flight of stairs to drop my mail off, my landlords are not exactly the quickest or the most respectful of my mail. There have been 2-3 week periods where I have mysteriously received no mail at all. I have twice received mail with music notes scrawled on the back of the envelopes. And once after my father sent me texts asking if I got a package he had sent, I found out they had kept my flower delivery upstairs for a solid week–despite the side of the box reading 1-800-Flowers…they somehow did not feel any urgency in bringing them to my apartment door. As a result I’ve gotten a little crazy about mail, especially deliveries, that I am expecting. I warn them in advance it’s coming and if I don’t see the package within 1-2 hours after I know it has arrived I’m all up in the grill asking where it is. Hey! Getting a package is like Christmas. Don’t delay that joy for me.
That brings me to today. I had ordered a new purse (after the strap ripped the fuck off my go-to-purse) and knew it was on its way. After checking the status and seeing that it had been delivered to the house yesterday, I quickly checked the place they typically leave me packages and was bummed to see nothing was there. Realizing I hadn’t heard them stomping around like bulls at the rodeo in awhile I figured, well maybe they’ve been gone, I’ll check the front stoop. I took off, heading toward the front of the house, and once I got to the front stoop I was thrown off to find a man was sitting with a cup of coffee in his hand on the first few stairs. He didn’t look homeless. In fact he was wearing a nice peacoat sort of jacket with khakis and dress hoes.
That’s kind of fucking weird I thought to myself, but mmmaaayyybbeee he’s a friend that is waiting for my landlord to come home? Fuck if I know. He was kind of hunched down (maybe looking at his feet) and didn’t seem phased by me as I stood in front of him. So as I saw the package at the top of the stairs, I quickly ran past him up the stairs and almost the moment I ran past I heard something splash and see his entire milky coffee drink begin spilling all over his shoe and the ground in front of him. Fuck, maybe I startled him.
But as the coffee began to pour out all over the side walk, suddenly he fell back against the stairs–while making snoring/choking sounds and shaking (or what I thought was convulsing). I grabbed the package and ran back down the stairs thinking he passed out sleeping. “Sir!” I yelled and looked to see his eyes open, but rolled back up in his head. WHAT IN THE FUCK!?
I had no idea what to do and was sure he was having either a seizure or heart attack. WHAT DO I DO? Do I leave him there to go get my cell phone? Is he really choking? Do I need to save some strangers life by smacking my mouth to his and trying to do the CPR shit I learned in my SafeSitter class when I was 12? WHAT IN THE FUCK WHAT IN THE FUCK WHAT IN THE FUCK?! He was still snore-choking as I began to look around and see a couple across the street. I yelled at them “Do you have your cellphones?!” “I’m sorry, but there’s this man that just passed out and started convulsing on the stairs to my house! Can you call 9-1-1?”
They looked seriously confused and started to walk over. The guy began pulling his cell phone out and then looking back at the guy on the stairs said I think…he’s awake. He yelled across to him “Sir! Are you okay?” and to this Mr. Scare-the-Shit-Out-of-Me starts reviving himself as he responds “Huh? What?” Guy with the phone repeats, “Sir, are you okay? Do you want us to call an ambulance?” “Oh no, I’m fine” Mr Scare-the-Shit-Out-Of-Me says now miraculously revived from this crazy ass episode. “Sir do you know you’re on someone’s front steps?” cell phone guy adds. “Oh yeahhhh..*garglemumblegarg*” he responds. “What?” cell phone guy asks, hoping for clarity. “Mmmhmmm yyyyeah…*garglemumblegarg*”
The couple looks kind of confused and at me. I’m slightly embarrassed now for calling in the troops for this weird man who now appears perfectly fine. I awkwardly say…well my apartment is off the back entrance so I’m not too concerned about him being out here…I guess…as the couple awkwardly nods. I apologize and keep saying what the fuck as we part ways. It’s now 3 hours later and I still need to check if homeboy is still out there (I can’t see anything through my 2’x3′ window, but then again it’s a 2’x3′ window…). So that happened.