Terror on the Top Level
June 7, 2002
Adam and I are now happily situated in our new apartment - all moved in without a problem.
Initially, we were fascinated by this building: everyone here is so friendly. It doesn’t matter who you travel in the elevator with, they’ll be more than happy to share their clubbing plans for the evening with you, explain the scientific mechanics which form the basis of their thorough full-body work out as they jog on the spot, or bundle a paper bag brimming with fresh vegies to their chest and eagerly explain the delicious meal they’re cooking up for a dinner party later that evening.
Yes, in case you haven’t noticed, we now live in an apartment building full of other gay guys. It’s a very nice change from our last apartment block - the only other gay guys we knew scared us, because they’d sit on their balcony all day rather voyeuristically staring down their nose into our apartment. Additionally, not one resident dared speak to each other, for fear of their life turning into an episode of Seinfeld.
Yet at this new building, everyone happily gabbers away in the elevator, especially at night. Can probably write that one off due to recreational drugs in anticipation of a night of clubbing given the kind of guys who live here, but still -there’s far more a sense of community in this building than there was in the last building we lived in.
Well, to a point, anyway. For all the friendliness, community, and other words used often by property developers; there’s an evil traitor in this building. This building has a mole of sorts.
First, it was the ashtray in the lobby. Conveniently for the smokers in the building, a metallic tray is perched expectantly next to the entrance to the building, brimming with sand which is ready to swallow up any wayward cigarette butts. Yet some joker found it necessary to kick the ashtray over, spilling sand, ash and something resembling a dead, decomposed possum across the floor of the lobby.
Thrice.
This resulted in awkward laughs, then serious frowns between residents as they traveled in and out of the building.
Then there was the couple who live next door to us. Adam and I have spoken to them a few times - they seem nice enough. Last weekend, one of the guys was bashed not far from here and had his wallet, phone and jacket stolen. At first, when I saw him quivering outside the apartment door and desperately quietly knocking to wake up his partner, I thought he was a tropical variety of derelict. Yet no - he’d had a very bad night.
There definitely seems to be a mole in this building. Now, one thing I’ve noticed in my detective work, is that the higher numbered floor a resident lives on, the slightly grumpier they are. Although I’ve never seen anyone travel up to the top floor yet, I’m sure they’re the cause of all these problems.
The latest saga is the case of the chewing gum in the elevator. For security reasons, each individual button in the elevator requires a key to be used. The obvious purpose is to make sure you only disembark at the floor you live on. However, the traitor of the building has seen it fit to cover the elevator locks with chewing gum at random.
This absolutely insane practice has more than once resulted in me being stuck in the lobby and desperately attempting to find a blunt instrument with which to remove the gum. Seems a lot of other residents are growing pretty peeved too.
But the worst thing is that the sense of community is quickly diminishing. Everyone is now regarded with an air of suspicion when traveling in the elevator. It’s all become more awkward than business executives being served pink wafer biscuits during an important meeting.
There’s now a group of vigilantes who have posted letters into everyone’s mailboxes. They claim they’ve contacted the police, and even worse that “one resident in the building thinks they saw you and this description has been provided to the police, too”.
Innocent as I may be, I can still feel the accusing glares of other suspicious neighbours burning into my back as we navigate up the building whenever I use the elevator.
I’m thinking it might be time for me to call on a secretly trained taekwando ninja that I know of, and send him on a commando mission to the top floor of this building, and crush this troublemaker once and for all.
Oh, alright. I’m just going to get Adam to try and take a peek at the top floor and look for dodgy idiots, but at least it’s something.
