It might be time for me to move.
On Wednesdays, Amanda Chatel will be sharing stories about her strange, fascinating and sometimes wonderful dating life. If it makes you want to date, check out TheGloss dating page.
I received a text from a random 917 number the other day. It asked if I was home and if they could come by to “visit.” Yes, visit was in quotes. I asked who it was. The return response was, “We had sex in the hallway the other day, and I liked it… ;).” Dear god, I thought, I’ve lost my mind and had sex with someone who uses emoticons. However, I hadn’t had sex in the hallway.
I have, on more than one occasion, had intense make-out sessions in the lower stairwell that might look like sex to an untrained eye, but that’s it. I like to think that if I had had sex somewhere in my building other than in my bedroom, I’d remember it. I called out this anonymous texter and asked if it was Andrew — the last person with whom I’d had one of these, er, moments.
“You can call me Andrew, if you like. You like it rough, bad girl, don’t you?”
At that point, I told the person to “fuck off,” and that I wasn’t in the mood for any pranks. The mystery person immediately admitted that it was the super of my building, Robert, and that he was just “playing around with you, girl.” I do not take kindly to being harassed before noon on a Monday. Even if my super and I have a playful back-and-forth banter, the fact that he used someone else’s phone to pull this prank made me none too happy.
Apparently, according to my super who was kind enough to fill me in, they had installed security cameras in the building to catch people who don’t know how to recycle. These delightful new devices had, inadvertently, caught me not once, or twice, but three times messing around on the first floor. Again, I was none too happy.
I picked up the phone to call him.
“Since when have these things been there?” I asked.
“A couple months now,” Robert said, “But we only check them once a month. You’ve been… busy.”
