Last month I was scrambling to fill the room for rent in my apartment. One roommate was leaving and I needed a new person to fill the spot. October proved to be a month filled with crazy parades and nutbag sundaes. Because let me just say, Craigslist isn’t having a shortage on the mentally damaged, ill or homeless person looking for a room to rent. I’m pretty sure I met at least 96% of them in October 10-27th. On Halloween I met one person I suspect is a drug dealer who later drunk dialed me twice. Leaving me voicemails like, “Girl, where u at? Thisyaboyjussssssblarhahahggghhh.” And on Halloween I ALSO met the dude I came here to talk about. He came to my house at 1:30pm and did not leave until after dark, after hours. After “I’ll leave right after this cigarette” statements and about five cigs later..
So this guy, who I can only pray isn’t the stalker type and reading this. Because nice as he may be, the entire experience was bizarre and uncomfortable at best. He basically came to my apartment to see if it would suit his rental needs, right? RIGHT. Well, he didn’t LEAVE for hours. It was DAYTIME when he arrived and nighttime when he left. NIGHT TIME. That’s just weird. But the thing was that was so uncomfortable, besides how frank and personal the topics he talked about were, was that I couldn’t shake him. I kept saying I needed to see other people, or go, or WHATEVER, but he would just keep talking and talking. We had a ton in common, but as he kept talking I realized he was shooting down everything I said with an argument. And then he was just projecting, not even looking at me sometimes. As if giving a speech to a crowd. He was TALKING AT ME for HOURS. I felt like I was trapped with some crazy man who knew way too much about siamese cats and Battlestar Galactica.
Come to find out, he was homeless. Like, living at a Motel 6 and the JC library homeless. So now I feel horrible. I know the building won’t rent to this dude, he’s super shadey as it is, and honestly I didn’t WANT to live with him. I mean, I would never be able to talk to him. He would just set up a podium in the livingroom and put on lectures about which pizza crust was invented by which group of people in which time and BLAHBLAHBLAH…So he wasn’t leaving probably because he didn’t have anywhere to GO until work. I know he was on foot and was leaving for work when he finally did leave after that “one last cigarette” in the sunroom. After he left I remember dead bolting the door and thinking to myself, “What the fuck just HAPPENED!?”
It took me a good day of thinking about the experience to even decompress or figure out the little tidbits about how he was really just talking at me for 5 hours. How he had no sense of boundaries. How he made me uncomfortable and was just a WEE BIT creepy. He told me everything from how often he shaves his balls to his thoughts on tantric self-sex?!?! Also, he pulled up his shirt to expose his stomach for way longer than needed. Saw that I wasn’t looking at him, avoiding contact with him, and that I was uncomfortable. So THEN he put his shirt down. He played it off like, “I just wanna prove a point, I got a belly on me.” YES, THANK YOU, I SEE THAT. A VERY LARGE HAIRY BELLY, NICE, PLEASE KEEP YOUR SHIRT UP LONGER, SIR.
A couple days pass. I tell him I’m renting to someone else (I’ve found the current roommate I have now by then, as he was my interview the next day and we just got along better). He asks if I want to hang out some time. I am taken aback because I remember when he finally left on Halloween he said he wanted to “hang out again.” Which what went on in my head was more like, “OH GREAT, he wants to talk at me and correct me for many hours again. How fantastic.” I said that basic, “Yeah, sure, totally. I’ll let you know.” Like a real California bitch, right?
I figured at this point that the hint was carried and received, processed and shredded. That in his emotional mind I was like, totally off the radar and forgotten. OH HOW WRONG, DEVIN. He called about 3 times. Left about 4 voicemails. Only talked in a couple, the others were that breathing hang up when they realize it’s VM that every girl loves hearing 4 of a row of in her inbox.
When I didn’t answer those calls or call him I figured by now it was obvious. Surely, the message was NOW apparent and had been sent through. Pony at the station, etc. etc. Nope. He waited until Friday night. I was already in bed when he tried. Private number first, then his cell, then private. That was it, he didn’t try again.
It is now two days after that. I am on my way to an appointment downtown. As I hit a red light who should be crossing the street at that precise moment but CLINGWRAP.
My body went movie-scape. I was plunked into Pulp Fiction. I felt this ice water chill rumble through my whole gut and down my back. I was watching his face, watching the movement of his body. Frozen and just watching for him to turn his face just the tiniest bit and make eye contact with me. I was expecting a full rehashing of the movie. He locks eyes with me and simply says, “Mother fucker.”
There would be a horrible alley chase. Horrible not because it ends in the gun shop but because I hate running. And then yeah, obviously I’m not super thrilled about the whole gimp idea.
BUT! Apparently I was super peachy in another life. Because at the exact moment when his face was turning–turning right to SEE ME–a gust of wind hit his face and moving his scarf. Moving his attention from what would have been my car, my eyes, my face and sending his field of vision away from me onto the curb and his coat. The light was green, he was across the street fumbling with his scarf now, I was no longer frozen and I took off.
Santa Rosa is just like every other small town. Too small.
