Missed Opportunities. My Life.

Earlier today I was trying to calculate exactly when something officially becomes a jizz-rag  working on some of my newest favorite online MIT courses, and I started hearing a banging from outside my door. I couldn't tell if it was on the door to my loft, or from the freight elevator. "Hello? Hello?" some dude was saying over and over. Forget it, there's no way I answer the door unless I hear "I'm Candy, the agency sent me?"

So this goes on for about half an hour; finally I'm sick of hearing it, so I fucking open the door. Nobody.

"Hello? Hello?"

I'm certain it's somwebody in the freight elevator, maybe it's stuck, so I finally reply.

"Yeah?"

"Hey!!! I'm downstairs; can I call you on your cellphone?"

What the fuck? Are you out of your goddam mind?

"Where are you? The freight elevator?"

"No, I'm downstairs. I'm right underneath you." He then goes on and on about how he's moving in, something about a couch not fitting, and he's fucking shouting to me re: what I think about cutting out part of the ceiling; ie, my floor. Which does not sound good to me. First of all, my ceilings are 13 feet high. How big is this fucking couch?

I give him the super's number, fuck him. What the fuck does he want from me? Does he really thing I'm going to put on my pants and walk down for some counsel about cutting shit up?

But the more I thought about it, the more I'm floored that this dude shouted up at the ceiling for about half an hour. I mean, he wasn't stuck. At no point in my life has it ever occured to me "you know what, if we just shout at the ceiling, help will come from that floor." What the fuck? Would you even think for a moment anyone would hear you?

Of course, NOW I'm pissed I didn't take advantage of this whole "shouting up above" thing. I should've said "hey guess what, this is God. Don't worry about the couch, you're going to be killed on Monday anyway. Hit by a bus. Oh yeah, and your girlfriend is cheating on you."

Sigh. Missed opportunities.