Fallout from the refrigerator incident.

I turn off the vacuum and listen. There is another knock at the door. I frown. I really can't pretend I'm sleeping or in the shower now. I walk across the kitchen, the sound of uncooked radiatore crunching under my feet and the tiny shards of hard pasta stabbing my soles. I sigh when I reach the door. I turn the deadbolt and then the knob. I smirk casually. I've got some explaining to do.

"Hello."
"Oh, hey man. What's up?"
"I don't know. What is up?"

It's my neighbour, not my landlord. I'm slightly relieved. It's cold, too, and I suddenly remember I'm not wearing any pants. Shit. When I don't have to work, I refuse to get dressed anymore than is absolutely necessary. And, since I finally mastered the archaic thermostat for my apartment, it usually never is necessary at all.

"You know."
"Not really, but ok. Is that it? I'm kinda busy."
"I was just wondering... is that Scooby Doo?"

I look down at my boxers and chuckle. Where did I even get these? Oh. I remember. I chuckle.

"Yep. Scooby Dooby Doo. Like 'em?"
"Ha. Uh. Anyway."

Before I continue, I should probably take a moment to relate my previous interactions with Tyrone. The first time Tyrone knocked on my door, he wanted to borrow some jumper cables. If I had any to loan him, I'm not sure I would have but I might because he was still a normal neighbour back then. Things have changed drastically since then. The last time Tyrone knocked on my door, it went something like this:

I was in the shower and hoping that the sound I was hearing was someone hanging shelves or maybe abusing their spouses. It wasn't, so I get out and dry myself spastically and throw on some sweatpants. I turn the deadbolt and then the doorknob.

"Hello."
"Oh, hey man. What's up?"
"I don't know. What is up? I'm taking a shower."
"Oh, cool. Cool."
"Ok, is that it? Are we done?"
"Hey, I was just wondering... do you think I could borrow a towel?"
"What?"
"Do you think I can borrow a towel?"
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah, man."
"No, we're not doing that. I don't even... wow. What do need it for? No, don't answer that. I don't even care. Just no. Leave."
"Ok, it's cool."
"No, it's not."

I closed the door and locked the deadbolt. The only thought I could manage was What in the hell just happened? Since then, I've ignored knocks at my door. I simply don't care to know what's out there anymore. Until today, of course, because I have a situation I'm dealing with and I'm expecting someone to notice and confront me. But... Tyrone? This is going to get weird and fast. Oh wait, I'm talking to a strangely needy black man and wearing just Scooby Doo underwear. It's already almost too weird for me to handle. Let's jump back in to that madness where we left off.

I'm feeling cocky. Oh, the puns I could use here. This isn't the confrontation I was expecting and I owe this guy a very awkward experience from the whole towel incident so I have no problem at all making inappropriate comments and dragging whatever this is out as long as possible. I'm thoroughly enjoying how uncomfortable this has become for this man. I just look at him and wait. Maybe he'll just give up and leave.

"I just wanted to know..."
"If I need help solving a mystery?"
"Ha. Oh shit. No. Do you?"
"I think I'm good. Nothing mysterious about a man with no pants. It's a revolution and you can't stop it."
"Yeah. Um. Ok. I just wanted to know if that was your fridge."
"My what? Where?"
"Over there by the dumpster. Right there."

I lean to the right and peer out into the whiteness of the recent snowfall and can barely make out the yellowed tinge of an ancient, abandoned refrigerator standing next to the dumpster for my apartment complex. I look at him and he looks at me, trying not to look anywhere but at my face.

"Why? Is there a problem?"
"No, man. You know me. I don't like trouble. I was just wondering."
"Then, yes. That's my refrigerator."
"It still work?"
"No. That's why it's by the dumpster."
"You think I can fix it?"
"I have no idea."
"You think I can have it?"
"Sure. I really don't care. Have it. If you can fix it, great. If you can't, make a table or use it to sled down a mountain. I don't really care what you do with it."
"You playin'?"
"No, dog. I'm not playing. I'm serial. Do you know what I am saying?"
"Yeah, I know what you're sayin'."
"Alright then. Are we done?"
"For real though?"
"For realest reals and really. I can't be any more clear or ridiculous than that."
"Is this a trick?"
"I don't know what to say to that. You're gonna do what you're gonna do and I'm not gonna give a shit and finish vacuuming now. So... whatever. Do what you want."
"Ok, I feel ya. It's cool."
"This doesn't make us friends or anything. You understand that, right? We're still just neighbours. I don't want any confusion about where we stand."
"You're weird, huh? I mean, even for a white boy. You're weird."
"I believe the correct phrase is 'quiet and kept to himself' and that's exactly what you should tell people later on when they ask about me."
"Who? Who's gonna ask about you?"
"You'll have to wait and see. It'll be a surprise."
"You got jokes."
"Yep. I'm a funny guy. Enjoy the fridge."

I close the door and lock the deadbolt. I suddenly wish I had to work instead of staying home all day. I have a very distinct feeling that this isn't over. For the curious, I will explain my refrigerator situation and how this all started in a follow-up post later today. Once I determine there isn't additional information to add to the story, which I guarantee there will be.