WWJD Isn’t The Question

I don’t know what to do.

Terry L. Cooper


I’ve been living in this apartment for 14 months now. It hasn’t been a pleasant experience since the very beginning. The day I was released from the hospital after having had a stroke I came straight here, signed the lease, went to my storage unit and loaded up the Jeep, and then came here and offloaded. In July. It was hot and exhausting but I did it. It took me a total of a couple of weeks to get everything in here as I could only do so much and then I had to quit and rest.

Since then I’ve had the guy next door who I call Needy Chick Mike be a pain in my ass. Right from the start he latched on because he always needed a ride to get smokes. Never gave him a ride but it didn’t stop him from asking me every time he saw me. One Sunday morning just before 10 he knocked on my door to ask me if I could give his friend a ride to get smokes and that he would pay me for my gas. His going rate was always $5.

Call a cab and tell them you’re only going to pay them $5 and see if a car ever shows up.

And I’m supposed to let not one but two men I don’t know get in my car with me? This boy really is as stupid as he looks. But this Sunday morning was beyond. I didn’t open the door all the way, just wide enough that I could see his face and he could see mine. This whole is going to ask me if I’m dressed. What females is he used to dealing with that answer the door with no clothes on? That’s when his friend who needed the ride popped up from out of nowhere grinning. I guess he thought he might be missing a free show. That really pissed me off. The friend had been in my blind spot to the left of the door while I was facing Needy Chick to the right.

Image by Ezequiel Octaviano from Pixabay / Image by DanXaw from Pixabay

Then there’s the hood transplants that have moved in recently just down the hall. They think it’s more than acceptable to slam their apartment door at all hours of the day and night. I don’t mean just a regular door shutting. I’m talking about I’m lying in here with my laptop on my chest with gamer headphones on so I can hear whatever it is I’m watching and can still hear the door slam. They hadn’t been here long when I had to call the cops.

The laundry room is about the size of a jail cell and yet it was two signs in there that the hours of operation are 8 am to 10 pm. That’s seven days a…