Santa. A few days ago I stepped outside my door to find a Santa Suit arranged perfectly on the ground, like Santa had simply disintegrated inside of it. I was confused and also terrified I was the new Santa because I’ve seen “The Santa Claus” with Tim Allen a billion times. I checked my facial hair 23 times that day.

Converting to a Jehovah’s Witness. How do they even get into the building? And why are they wearing suits all the time? I’ve had beef with Jehovah’s Witnesses since 6^th grade because the love of my life (since 4^th grade) was one, and he couldn’t accept my Valentines. He eventually disappeared from school, and I saw him years later at Target. Wearing a suit.

A chick fight. This summer, I had a car towed because it rear-ended me while parallel parking on the street outside my apartment. I couldn’t get my car out because they left theirs touching my bumper. (Brilliant!) The next day, there was a banging on my door, and I was convinced someone found out I was to blame for their trip to the impound lot. When I looked through my peephole, I saw a blurry, scary looking woman. I didn’t open the door.

A Hillbilly Robbery. When I got home from work one day, there was an out-of-place, redneck couple waiting on the stoop. “Oh, hey there!” they said. “Can we get in? Our friend isn’t answering their phone.” This was the stupidest I have ever been, and I apologize if you lived in my building at that time and had any possessions stolen. They later knocked on every door in the building before checking the door handle. On the bright side, they had really cool America themed muscle shirts.

An unofficial starving artist party. It was the dead of winter, and the power in my building went out. I had a polar bear’s worth of warmth on my bed, so I don’t know why I considered getting up and going outside. I looked into the hallway where the generator-powered lights were on to find a little pow-wow of hippies singing about summer.

–Heidi Thomasoni

Photo by Robert Montalvo (Creative Commons)