Notes from under my window
I live in a decidedly white-trash part of town. This was not a conscious decision on my part, as I rented this apartment solely on the basis of its geographical proximity to work. However, upon moving in, I noticed most of the residents who occupy the other units in this building are true-blood Idahoans in every stereotypical sense.
This much I knew already.
What I didn’t know is all those crappy cable movies (think Lifetime for men) where one friends drunkenly confides in another regarding his worries about a third friend (the roommate), his drug problems and the horror that inevitably ensues. See, where I come from, if you arrive home to find that your roommate has pawned your iPod for drug money, you kick him the hell out and sell his possessions to recover your loss.
You certainly do not allow him to continue living there, so he can sell a) your XBox b) your car (seriously?), and/or c) desk in the corner.
What struck me the most were the inane comments the sober friend (the one feeling the most wronged) blathered to the clearly drunk one. I mean, we all expect “I love you, man”s out of the hammered guy, but to hear things like “I lost my fucking iPod man. That mix I had is GONE” stated so emphatically (especially given the magnitude of what else was stolen) piqued my interest.
The lesson, as always: don’t move to Idaho.
