Hey, how was your weekend? Not that you'd say if it was boring, unlike my Friday. Got stuck in that office building again, the one with the north wing door that only opens with a key card no one has. Spent twenty minutes pacing in the hall. You look like you actually slept, though. Lucky.
I slept fine, thanks for the pity party. That north wing is a disaster anyway, always jammed. My weekend was... fine. I went to that dive bar on 4th, the one with the broken neon sign. Sat there drinking cheap beer while my brother ranted about his divorce again. He's such a fucking mess, honestly. Anyway, you survived the door, right?
Sure, I survived. Eventually the cleaning crew showed up and let me out. Though honestly, your brother sounds exhausting. At least he's got a real mess to deal with. I just stared at a doorknob. But a broken neon sign? That's got style. Did he ever shut up, or are you still recovering?
He didn't shut up. I'm still recovering from the sheer stupidity of it. Staring at a doorknob is actually Zen compared to listening to him cry over a woman who stole his car. And yeah, the sign flickered the whole time. It was the only interesting thing that happened all weekend. I'm just glad I didn't have to watch you get locked in. That would have been too much.
Please, don't flatter yourself. Watching me fail at basic door physics would have been the highlight of your week. I heard the janitor's keys jingle from three halls away. But your brother... sounds like he's worse than that door. At least the door doesn't lie to you. Still, the flickering sign beats crying over a stolen car. You should stick to the bar.
He lies less than that door ever did. The neon sign buzzed like a dying insect, which was better than his sob story. I'm not sticking to the bar; I'm just avoiding the office. That place smells like floor wax and desperation. You're lucky you only got stuck. Try working next to a guy who thinks his ex-wife's new boyfriend is the Devil. Real fun.
That's fair, the smell is worse when you're actually stuck inside. At least the floor wax doesn't talk back. But a guy claiming his ex's boyfriend is the Devil? That's not fun, that's just a lawsuit waiting to happen. I'd rather pace the hall any day. So, did you buy him another beer or just let him drown?
I bought him one, then left him drowning in his own bullshit. He's a grown man, let him handle it. You're right, talking about the Devil in a public bar is how you end up on a watchlist. I'd rather deal with the door. At least the door doesn't try to start a conversation about redemption.
Exactly. Redemption is the worst small talk. I left the door alone too; it just sits there judging the wall. Though your brother's "redemption" arc sounds suspiciously like he just wants cash. Did he at least pay for the beer, or did you get stuck with that tab too?
He paid for the beer, barely. Handed me a crumpled five and a look of pure gratitude for not asking why I left him there. The whole thing was pathetic. I didn't get stuck with the tab, but I got stuck with the drive home listening to him. You're lucky your only complaint is a door. At least doors don't beg you for money.
A crumpled five? That's generous, I guess. At least he's not asking for money. Though honestly, the door at work has become kind of a good listener. It never begs, never cries. Just sits there. You'd think I'd miss the human connection, but after that drive, I'm glad it's just metal.
Exactly. Metal doesn't beg. It just is. My brother asking for another twenty bucks would have been worse than the door. I'm glad you're safe inside the building, even if it is a tomb. At least the walls don't talk. Or maybe they do, and we're just too tired to hear them. Who knows.
The walls definitely whisper, usually about how much cheaper the coffee is down the street. But you're right, silence is better than the begging. I'm just glad you got away with only one beer. Next time, maybe leave the wallet in the car. Saves a lot of emotional overhead.
Leave the wallet? That's the real survival skill. I tried that once, forgot it, and had to borrow a buck from a stranger who looked like he wanted to sell me a used transmission. Your wall whispering about coffee is accurate. I hate how expensive it is here now. At least the door doesn't judge my bad financial decisions.
Exactly. A stranger with a transmission is worse than a door. I'd take the metal over the judgment. Though honestly, borrowing from a sketchy guy sounds like a horror movie plot. Did you survive that? Or did you end up with a used transmission in your trunk?
I didn't end up with a transmission. Just a headache and a feeling of being scammed by the guy's aura. He smelled like oil and regret. But yeah, horror movie plot. I walked away before he could even finish his pitch. That's the worst part—imagining what he'd have done if I'd said yes. You're lucky you never had to buy your freedom from a weirdo with a screwdriver.
A screwdriver? That's next level. I'll stick to my locked door; at least it's a static enemy. You dodged a bullet, or maybe a wrench. But seriously, smelling oil and regret is a specific kind of nightmare. I'd rather be bored than that. Did you ever find that dollar again, or is it just gone with the vibe?
The dollar is gone, like my dignity that day. I'd trade the whole week for a locked door. At least the door doesn't try to sell me a transmission. Your static enemy is a hero compared to that guy. I'm still nauseous thinking about it. Don't remind me.
Good, don't think about it. Less mental clutter. My door is boring, sure, but it's not trying to sell me a carburetor. At least I know where I stand. With you, you're just running from one weirdo to another. Maybe the door was right to keep you out.
Maybe the door was right. It knows I'm bad luck. I'd rather be locked out of a building than stuck in a conversation with a transmission salesman. At least the door has rules. People? They just make shit up and try to sell it to you. I'm done with that whole scene.
Rules are nice. Consistent. People just shift the goalposts. I'd rather have the door's simple logic than a salesman's pitch. You're definitely better off avoiding that scene. Just stick to the bar, or the locked hall. Whatever keeps the weirdos away.
Exactly. Consistent is the only word that matters. People are just moving targets. I'm sticking to the bar or the locked hall, whatever works. Less chance of getting scammed by a guy with a screwdriver. At least the neon sign doesn't try to sell me a car.
Right, the neon sign just flickers. No hidden fees. Though honestly, I think the door at work knows I'm the one who forgot the key card. It's got a grudge now. Next time, it might just decide not to open at all. But hey, consistent rules are better than your brother's sob stories.
The door definitely has a grudge. It hates you more than it hates the cleaning crew. Consistent rules are fine until they get petty. At least your building doesn't ask about your mortgage or ex. I'm just glad I didn't end up talking to a screwdriver guy again. That's the real nightmare.
Yeah, the door's petty, but it doesn't ask about my mortgage. That's a relief. At least it's only a door. Your nightmare of the screwdriver guy is scarier. I'd rather deal with a grudge-holding lock than a stranger with a pitch.
A grudge-holding lock is better than a guy who smells like regret. At least the door doesn't follow you home. My brother called again yesterday, left a voicemail about the transmission guy. Can you believe that? I deleted it before it finished. You're right, the lock is the only honest thing left.
Of course he did. The transmission guy wasn't even that memorable. But deleting it was the right move. The lock is honest; it just stays shut. Your brother's voicemails? That's just noise. I'd rather face a deadbolt than listen to him talk about oil changes for the hundredth time.
Yeah, he's already calling the transmission guy an expert. It's all noise. I'd rather stare at a deadbolt than listen to him explain why he needs a new transmission for a car he sold three years ago. The lock doesn't lie about being broken. People do that every fucking day.