May 20, 2012. It was in my apartment, on the second floor. A bright afternoon on a Sunday. The whether was hot, so I had my balcony window/door wide open. I was about to open my case and practice.
A sketchy greasy-haired guy climbs from the fire escape stairs and comes right onto my balcony. I froze. My heart sank. I couldn’t breath. This was it. This was going to be the end of my life. My entire life is in my apartment, and I opened the door for any crazy to come on. He had a tattoo of a knife on his arms. I tried to keep cool and talk my way out of this one, the only defence I had.
Guy (en français): Is Stefan here?
Me: No, wrong house.
Guy: Do you know where Stefan lives?
Me: No! Ask the concierge.
Guy: Oh, he told me he lives here, how long have you lived here?
Me (getting really irritated, but trying to not to get on his nerves): Two years.
Guy: Can I borrow your phone?
Me (now I’m really getting annoyed, trying to find a way to get him away with short answers. He is on my balcony still! My personal space!): No I have limited minutes.
Guy: Oh its limited?
Guy: What’s your background?
Guy: So you speak Arabic?
Me (now I’m really pissed): NO! Persians are NOT Arabs!
Guy: Am I disturbing you?
And he left. It was such a relief. How could I have entertained this stupid conversation for this long? I was too scared to shut the door on him because he would hold it open and force his way in. The tattoo of the knife was so scary. What else could I have done?
My landlord was a complete business-first bitch for not giving me the chance to move to a unit on a higher level even after I told her my story. But at least the superintendant found somebody to take over my lease.
I can’t believe how vulnerable I made myself with this stupid balcony. I don’t want to live in fear. Maybe I need to find a 6’5 kung fu boyfriend that would shoo away these crazy’s. Or I need to move to a safer apartment. So that’s what I’m actually going to do in August!