Apparently I had it made when I was a student and was away from my apartment for most of the day. Cuz now that I’m here all the time, I have inevitably run into the crazy woman who lives downstairs: Crazy Joan. (Read more about her here and here.)

I was doing my laundry in the basement (where some mofo’s like to steal all my laundry stuff) and in walks Crazy Joan. “Hi,” she said, “are you new here?”
Blink. I thought, “Um, no lady. I’m the one you bother with all the dumpster hand-me-downs and the one you asked to put your toilet seat on for you.” But I verbally responded, “No, Joan. I live in the apartment above you, remember?” “Oh, really?” she said, “Did you change your hair color or something?” “Nope,” I said while moving my wet clothes from the washer to the laundry basket.

She then proceeded to chastise me for leaving the back gate open after my graduation party of almost two weeks ago, which is not true. I specifically remember asking Huz to close it after we had brought everything upstairs to our apartment and he did. Whatever.

Then she started talking about the basement and how people can get in there if the gate is open. I was like, “I know. They keep stealing my laundry detergent.” “What?” she said and got right up in my face due to her hard-hearing. I repeated myself and she got all excited, exclaiming “Oh good! I thought I was going wacko or had some kind of paranoia complex because I thought I was the only one who’s locker had been broken into. Not that I have anything to steal. I wish I did, but I don’t!” OK, Joan. Nope, you’re not a wacko, no siree. I continued doing my laundry quickly so I could get the hell out of there, but the worst part of the conversation was still to come.

“So, are you buying a new place, or what?” (She was referring to the fact that our apartment building was recently sold and will most likely be turned into condos, so everyone will have to move out. Luckily, we’re already planning on moving, or I’d be pissed because this just happened to us a year ago at another apartment down the road.) I told her we were moving to Tennessee. “TENNESSEE!?” she cried. “They teach the Bible down there and that the earth was created in seven days and it’s all fundamentalist down there! Why do you want to move there!?” Whoa. This wacko who screams and shouts and growls downstairs is now lecturing me about fundamentalism, which I completely loathe as it is!? Trippy. “Huz is starting his Ph.D. at Vanderbilt. That’s why we’re moving there,” I said. “What’s he going to study?” she demanded. Hoping to make it less complicated than saying Systematic Theology (and to avoid any associations with her idea of fundamentalism), I told her “Philosophy”. She screwed up her face and said, “He must have some pretty powerful parents then, cuz what’s philosophy?” This statement made no sense to me and I sighed and said, “He’s going to be a professor of philosophy of religion, Joan.” “OH!” she yelled, “No wonder you want to move to Tennessee – you’re fundamentalists!!” “No, we’re not, Joan. Not at all.” “Well, you believe in the man upstairs, right?” Eyeroll. “Yes, I believe in God” I said. “And you believe that the earth was created in seven days?” “No, I don’t. I believe in evolution and the dinosaurs,” I said as I quickly emptied the dryers of my clothes and lugged them past her through the doorway. “See ya!” I shouted and left.

Ug. Not only was I in an uncomfortable conversation with a known wacko, but she’s judging ME for being a fundamentalist because I’m moving to Tennessee! ACK! Get me outta here, people. My job search continues, but so far no call-backs.

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