Sisterly Conversations on: Awkward Apartment Visits

I guess the idea for this blog was supposed to be a "conversation", in which someone writes a blog entry and then the other person focuses on something from that entry and writes a new one based on said focus. Or, if it wasn't it is now (take note, Alanna).


I will start by saying that everything in the previous "bragging on little sis" blog is true. I refute nothing. I am a genius. I am hilarious. I do give death stares. I do look like my sister (supposedly.......). I would like a Beaver Nugget. However, one thing that was not mentioned is that I am awkward. Alanna and I once ran into some douche she used to know at Express (a fascinating story in itself) and when he asked me how I was, I responded: "it's hot." Direct quote. I am a master of the awkward run in, awkward hugs, awkward silences, the awkward laugh, awkward small talk, the awkward eye-contact-when-you're-staring-at-someone-so-you-quickly-pretend-to-be-staring-at-something-over-their-head maneuver. I am also a master of the awkward apartment visit.


What is an awkward apartment visit, you may ask yourself? In my case, the awkward apartment visit (referred to as the AAV) happens whenever the maintenance man, plumber or pest control man make any stop at apartment 512 (apartment numbers changed to protect the innocent). Every. Single. Time.


The first AAV happened in December while I was getting ready to go Christmas shopping on my day off. The first thing to understand about the AAV is that my apartment complex has maybe two criteria for hiring maintenance men:
1) extremely old
2) procrastinator


It never fails that I put in a request for some sort of small, girlish activity to be performed and roughly three weeks later, I can finally stop showering in my own bath water because Elmer (name NOT changed to protect the innocent) has come to unclog my shower drain of my small hair wig. 


ANYWAYS, this is basically the task that was coming to be performed on this day. Since I never know when Elmer is coming, 9 times out of 10 I am not prepared for his arrival. This day was cold so I was wearing boots. I've learned that the best boot wearing happens when you tuck your jeans into your tallest pair of socks to avoid bunchage. This was the task I was performing when Elmer came-a-knocking and I answered my door with my jeans tucked into my socks like some kind of hipster, Austinite hillbilly.


Ok, maybe not so bad. Perhaps the time I requested to have my leaky faucet fixed will provide you with a better picture of the AAV. Again, I put my request in and for a week straight, I made sure that my bathroom was cleared of any jeans, bras, undergarments, socks, Jonas Brothers t-shirts (true story), whatever, before I left for the day. Every day, for a week. The one day I was late for class and didn't have time to clean up after myself is the day the faucet gets fixed. There's also a good chance I had been wearing that JoBro t-shirt (amongst other unmentionables) and it/they was/were now laying out for the world to see. Or maybe just Elmer.


The plumber came when I needed the work that Elmer did, undone. It turns out when he fixed my leaky faucet, he made the handle turn the wrong way. It never bothered me, but it apparently bothered everyone else. This one was a true record breaker, because it took them TWO MONTHS to come fix it. In the mean time, my drain stopper had also broken. This meant that the plumber was in for an extended visit! And I was in for a treat too, since I was home with nothing to do but clean my apartment and make small talk. Things started off okay. The plumber smelled like outside and sweat and had made my carpet and bathroom tile dirty with his work boots, for which I was internally giving him a DS. However, things quickly got very awkward when he called me over from my bedroom where I had been making the bed. He asked me if I could "clear out the cabinet under the sink" so that he could work. I walked in and was horrified to find him standing at an open cabinet with TEN (10!!!!!!) different bags/boxes/cartons/buckets/barrels of feminine products staring both of us in the face. He tried to look away while I attempted to scoop them all up in to my arms at once and failed, miserably. He finally put me out of my misery when he handed me a basket that had also been under the sink to carry them in (I'm not even lying) and told me that was "good enough" and he had enough space to work. A true gentleman. The visit was all downhill from there as he tried to make small talk with me for a good half hour about the UT golf team winning the National Championship (boring) and things he learned from infomercials (also boring). I just couldn't get past the wall of tampons that had probably cascaded down on him when he opened my cabinet. Or when they spilled out of my arms. It was like there was an unspoken, large elephant in the room.


Or maybe that's just how I perceived the situation. Because I'm awkward.