Lighthearted Librarian’s Weblog

I like the windows in the breezeway of my apartment building – they do lighten things up a bit – but I do wish they had some sort of design to make it easier for birds to realize that there’s something there.  Birds fly into the glass and fall back onto the ledge – and try to fly through the glass again.  I’ve rescued a few of these feathered friends but it’s not easy.  As the window is fairly high, I have to stand on the stairs and extend a broom – and hope that the bird hops on.  They all have so far, but usually accidentally; they think I’m pestering them and typically continue trying to fly through the window.  When one lands on the broom, I pull it back and lower it as quickly as possible so that they have a clear path to fly away.

I like to work out in the evening—it’s usually a good way for me to wind down at the end of the day plus the fitness center is less crowded, so there’s little competition for the equipment.  Last night I was in the fitness center, pedaling away on the exercise bike at around 9:35 pm when I heard someone banging on the back door.  Now I know that more than likely this is someone who lives in my apartment complex who has simply forgotten their code to enter the center—more than likely.  It’s also possible that it’s someone who doesn’t live in my complex—as I mentioned, the fitness center doesn’t see a lot of traffic this late in the evening.  I kept pedaling.

The person then moves to the front door which at least allows me to see her—I don’t recognize her so when she bangs on that door, I shake my head no.  She continues to bang the door and takes the cigarette out of her mouth to presumably cuss me out.  I keep pedaling.

She returns to the back door and resumes the pounding.  I’m seriously considering calling the police at this point—if she lived in the complex, surely she would have just walked back to her apartment and checked her code (upon signing a lease each of us is given a big key chain with our individual codes).  I decide to wait a bit longer before making that call but I call my friend (and neighbor) Melissa instead.  The woman returns to the front and launches yet another assault on the door.  Seriously, the apartment complex is not that big—if you live here, go back to your apartment and get your code.  Anyway, I’m on the phone with Melissa when the back door opens, the woman comes charging in with her dog and starts yelling at me.  While continuing to pedal, I told her the truth—I don’t know her.  I repeated this a few times while she yelled and her dog barked.  I didn’t feel threatened, just angry.  Who expects a complete stranger to open the door for them at any time, much less at 9:35 pm???  One of the reasons I feel safe working out by myself late in the evening is because the fitness center requires a code for someone to enter—just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she’s exempt from ill intentions and I don’t necessarily need to be the target.  If she is a previous resident with a gripe against the complex, she may want to damage something—in which case, my code would be in the database.  But why do I even have to explain myself?  It was 9:35 pm and a code is needed to enter the building.

Anyway, she stomped off to the tanning bed room, cigarette dangling between her fingers.  I was furious but I continued my workout—at the very least I needed to burn off some of that energy.  I made sure to glance over my shoulder from time to time and discovered that sometime while I’d been distracted by the woman, a man had slipped in and was sitting quietly in the corner, texting.  I don’t really know what to make of that.  Was he coming to work out, she slipped in behind him (she did charge in rather quickly after just beating the door moments before), and he felt the burning need to update his facebook status with reports of a “Girl Fight”?  Was he with her—when I didn’t let her in, did she call him to come over with the code?  Who knows.  He texted, I pedaled.

On a happier note, the next time I heard the door open it was my good pal Melissa.  She rushed down to the fitness center, sans glasses, just to make sure that I wasn’t trussed up in a corner having my flesh seared with a lit cigarette while some madwoman yelled “Winning!”.  Angry Tanning Bed Woman evidently has issues—I have friends.