Write about your neighbour, they said.

Developing and refining my writing tools will be a life long journey, and a process I am thrilled to be living out. Many days, I practice writing by using a random subject prompter found here: 

Random Subject Prompts 

Today is one of those beautiful writing energy days, but while clicking the big green “Generate a Subject” button, I found myself getting annoyed. I even began hitting the touch pad on my laptop with force, angry that my precious energy was being wasted.

No, I don’t want to write about "the last thing that made me angry", or I would be writing about this damn generator!

I don't want to write about the very first memory I have. I don't even know what that would be. UGH. “Calm down Lauren” my inner voice spoke slowly.

Then, like magic, I came across one that sparked a true story hiding within me, a story many of you know, but some of you do not. It is hilarious, awkward, disturbing, and is part of one of my longest running friendships. A story we will have for the rest of our days until we are little old ladies giggling like we’re ten. The subject generator told me to “write about a neighbour”. 

Okay, Mr. Prompter, I will write about a neighbour. 

The most memorable neighbour of all time, and I don’t even know his name.  

Take that, for trying to steal my writing mojo.

Let us go back in time a little…

Jenna (the other little old lady), her then boyfriend, now fiancé, Brad, and I, had just moved into a basement, two bedroom, apartment in Kingston that was part of a six unit building. They were both really amazing at remembering important things like when garbage day was, and to lock the door before bed. I was not. I don’t think I was a bad roommate, but there was definite room for improvements, and Mike would agree that there still is. Ha!

After getting settled in for a few weeks, we were all up late watching TV and generally hanging out. Roughly at the same time, we decided it was time for bed and went our separate ways. I can actually remember thinking about the door and assuming that Jenna, or Brad, locked it up behind them. Obviously, because they always did. Silly me.

Sometime in the early morning, I awoke to a strange noise. Running water?... No.

Someone peeing in the toilet?... Not quite. 

Liquid splashing on the floor?... Yes.

That was it and my thought process was along the lines of “Oh My God, one of my roommates are sleepwalking and peeing on the floor. I can’t wake them up, it will scare them and you’re not supposed to do that.”

So I picked up my cat and held her close and listened. Like she would protect me, cats are experts at the flight part of “fight or flight”. 

As I listened intently, the noise seized. Walking sounds followed and then the thump and squeak noise you hear when someone falls on a bed happened. Now, I think that whoever peed on the floor has indeed gone back to bed. Holding onto my poor Parker, I opened my bedroom door and walked into the hallway. Turning my body so I am facing our front door, I noticed that it was wide open. Along the same thought train I am now petrified that one of my roommates is now sleep walking down the street!

Panicked now, I walk to the door with Parker held tight in my arms and happened to look towards our living room to the right of my body. That’s when I see him. At this time, I have never seen this man. This man that is in his boxers and currently asleep on our futon couch. My insides tighten up, and so do my arms as I squeeze Parker even harder. Slowly, and without a noise, I backed up into our hallway and knocked softly on Jenna and Brad’s bedroom door. A sleepy Jenna said something like “What?!”

To which I replied in a frightened whisper, “Jenna.. Jenna, there is a stranger on our couch!”.

“WHAT?” Jenna said still groggy, but alert now.

“There is a strange man on our couch” I whisper louder into the crack of her door.

WHACK. Jenna hits Brad awake “BRAD. There is a stranger on the couch.”

I wait while they both come out. Jenna has her cat, Rox in her arms too. Her and I are standing in the hallway as Brad (poor Brad) walks up to the stranger, wakes him up and avoids getting punched in the face. Narrowly. He tells the obviously intoxicated man where he is and offers to get him a cab home. The man looks around confused, and then tells Brad that he lives across the hall. 

Nice to meet you, neighbour. He stumbled home, maybe a 10ft walk, total.

Now I know you’re wondering about the noise that originally woke me up and don’t worry, I had not forgotten.

“Ummm guys, I am pretty sure he peed somewhere.”

“What do you mean?” Jenna questioned, ready to head back to bed.

“I heard the noise of liquid hitting the floor. The splashing noise.”

Someone turned on the light, and sure enough our lovely neighbour relieved himself in our remote basket, and all over our living room floor. F&^%.  We just looked at each other, and then went to the kitchen and grabbed paper town, rubber gloves, and disinfectant. We were up for what seemed like ever cleaning our neighbours pee off our floor. Despite being frightened, disturbed, and severely grossed out, I can remember Jenna and I cracking up into full laughter at the situation. Either we are able to see the humour in any situation, or we were delirious from the fumes. Ew.

People usually ask me two things after hearing this story:

     1.  Lauren, why didn’t you confront him and make him clean it?   

At the time, I didn’t want to further aggravate a drunk, disoriented person. After the fact, it was just as embarrassing of a situation for us as it was for him, so we let it be.

     2.  Lauren, do you lock your door now?

 Most of the time, yes. Yes I do. I have forgotten here and there. The second most scary door issue happened a few weeks ago when I must have gotten side tracked with my new clothes, or something, and forget to lock it. Where I live now, the wind blows our front door open when it’s not locked, so poor Mike came home at 3am to a wide open door. Thank goodness no one saw and decided to help themselves to our belongings. So, now I double, and sometimes triple check. Lock your door peeps. Lock. Your. Door.

Brad, Jenna, myself, and our remote controls, have not been the same since.