Know When To Walk Away, Know When To Run

Well, I’ve managed to do it again. I’ve hurt another neighbor’s feelings and I do feel slightly badly about it. I said “slightly”, so not too much. I’m not lamenting the interaction, just wishing that I had been nicer. If you hadn’t noticed, many of these neighbors provide me with enough material for your reading pleasure and for my future therapy bills.

There’s an older gentleman that lives a few buildings over named Oscar. He’s very nice. He’s VERY NICE…TOO NICE. When he first saw me with the dogs last year, he made a beeline right over to talk with me. Again, my Howdy Doody face welcomed him, while my flaring nostrils warned him to keep his distance. He didn’t take heed of my ominous nostrils, but chose rather to take his chances. Wednesday was all ready to remove whatever hair and limbs I instructed her to.

He came over and asked me if I was new in the complex. I said no, that I had lived there for sometime, but we must have never seen each other. His eyes got real big and his brow raised up towards his hairline and he said, “Ooooohhhh…what are your doggies’ names? I love doggies. I just love ‘em. What are their names? Gosh, I love doggies.” Meanwhile, he never even looked at the dogs. He kept looking at me. He looked me up and down a few times. Then he said, “I have a nice view of the mountains from my condo. I have a great view, it’s really nice. It’s really a nice, great view.”

Jesus man…and I’m being completely serious in how he repeated everything too – it was fucking ridiculous. I thought, what are you, the Rainman? I said, “Oh, that’s good.” (pretending to not get the hint) Then his eyes got even bigger as he stepped even closer to me (completely invading my personal space) and he said, “I have a GREAT view”.

And I said, “Yeah, you told me.”

And he continued, “I have coffee. Do you like coffee? I like coffee. I have coffee and a nice view. Do you like coffee? Because I have it and I LIKE IT.” (His eyes continued to grow, looking as if they’d burst from their lids at any moment.)

And I thought, is coffee code for blowjob? So I said, “That’s great. We have coffee too.”

And he continued in his trance; “I have martinis. Do you like martinis? It could be martinis instead of coffee.”

Okay, what is martinis code for? 69’s? Or his version of a colonoscopy? Or…yuk, I can’t really think about elaborating anymore of what he was REALLY talking about. I had no doubt that given the chance, he would completely slip me a roofie in my beverage and I would awake in leather restraints hanging naked from the ceiling, probably complete with spectators.

So, I stepped back saying that we had coffee as well and then he would take a step towards me and say what a great view he has. The whole scene seemed very surreal. I really began to wonder if this was a sick practical joke. But, to my chagrin, it wasn’t.

Now, a year later, nothing can make me turn around with the dogs quicker than the sight of him. When he does catch me off-guard, his eyes will get real big and he’ll come waddling over and say, “Hi kids!” I then try to make something up really quickly of why we all of a sudden have to turn around and take off running. “Oh! I just remembered, I left a candle burning near a tank of gasoline in the living room! We gotta go! See ya!” or “OH! I just remembered, I’m late for my gyno appointment!” or “Oh my gosh! I just remembered, the dogs are getting a bikini wax today! I completely forgot! Hooray, they’re gonna love that, huh? Gotta run! SORRY, freak boy!”

He then turns around and literally droops his head and walks back to his “great view” and “coffee/martini” bar. I feel badly for about 2 seconds, then I get nauseous. I really do enjoy people, these stories make it sound as if I don’t, but why do so many have to have an ulterior motive? Why do these people have to try and mount their fur-burger on me, or slip me the Guatemalan burrito, or tongue me while they’re telling me about the fricking view that they have? Why, man why?

***So now, the most recent encounter.***

Well, as you may know, I’ve been studying Buddhist philosophy and meditating, trying to apply it to my daily life and situations. I actually try (rarely successfully) and look at difficult encounters with people as opportunities for spiritual growth (when I really want to pepper spray them and kick their crotches and then maybe pull their hair – and not in a fun kind of way, because he’d probably enjoy it). So, I saw him again the other day. I was walking the dogs and prepared myself when I saw him. I took deep breaths and tried to steel myself to his glares and googled eyes. When I saw him I said, “Hi Oscar. How are you?” And his severe bed-head perked up and he said, “Hi kids!” And shuffled his psycho-self right over in his slippers.

I contemplated saying that I had to run off and wash the neighbor’s cats, but I didn’t. I decided to stay and tough it out, although I would’ve preferred to wash cats. He asked how the dogs were, seeing how they each had chosen one of his legs to gnaw on, I said that they seemed fine. We talked some more and he said how he loved “doggies” and used to have one. He said that he was retired and liked to drink coffee or martinis and look out at his GREAT view of the mountains (as he stared at my chest – I was wearing this;



so I must have been asking for it, right? Maybe had I been wearing this;




he wouldn't have been so interested.). I was trying to stay calm and not get disgusted. Inner-dialogue to myself began; “Kevin, remember, opportunity for growth, remain patient and kind, resist all urges to punch him in his lecherous face, resist punching him in the throat, and resist instructing the dogs to actually gnaw on his legs.”

I began talking of the virtues of rescuing dogs from shelters; both of our dogs are rescues and are awesome. I really believe that the dogs somehow know that you’ve saved them and are extremely grateful and loyal. Plus, you’re RESCUING them, saving them from an unnecessary death, it’s a GREAT thing and I wish that more people did it. I said that now that he’s retired why not go to the shelter and rescue a couple of dogs to share his home with? Then, out of the blue, with a far-off look in his eyes and almost salivating, he said, “Have you ever played Texas Hold ‘Em?”

And the dialogue with myself began again, “Don’t get disgusted, Kevin. Don’t get angry.” (I didn’t know that Texas Hold ‘Em was poker. I thought it was some kind of big gay cowboy tie-‘em up game that he enjoyed playing, where I really would end up hanging from the ceiling in leather restraints.) So, as puke began rising up in my throat, I said, “What’s that?” – fearful of the pending answer. And he said, “Poker, silly.” Yeah, more like Poke’him. I felt some relief (although the “silly” thrown in his response made me want to punch him in his windpipe) and went back to talking about how he should go rescue some dogs from getting gassed. Then I began wondering what would be worse for the dogs; him? Or getting gassed? I’m not so sure now. I know what I’d pick.

He then looked me up and down twice and said, “I’d rather have someone pretty.” I haven’t been “pretty” since I was 13. I definitely felt puke in my mouth this time and kind of wished that I had hurled projectile vomit at him, but I just looked at him with my best Texas Hold Yer Vomit face and said, “Dogs are better…trust me, dogs are better.”

I should’ve walked away when I had the chance. Or maybe I should’ve ran. Next time, I'll run, because unfortunately, I'm sure that there's going to be a next time.