Up on the Roof.

So, it’s a Tuesday, it’s 6,000 degrees in my apartment, so, natch, I am burning the motor out attempting to make whipped cream with a handheld machine intended to make lattes, when the handle end of a broom slams into my kitchen window. 

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Hello? Can you let us in?”

Two dudes had been standing on the adjacent roof chanting “Ma’am” at me for 10 minutes, but my focus, while completely absent during work hours, is impenetrable while churning dairy products into icecream topping. In retrospect though, I can hear them droning on, and even remember asking J “who the hell they were calling Ma’am.”

So after a round pertinent questions (How did they get up there? They walked. Where do they live? The building whose roof they’re trapped on. Why were they up there? Because they’re idiots – their words not mine) and the offer of an $80 convenience charge, we went up to the roof, retrieved the keys they tossed onto our roof, walked down 100+ stairs, past two tables of diners and into their building and let ourselves into their apartment via a KEYED elevator. I could have melted into a puddle right there, but I persevered because I had just finished my Interior Design: Manhattan Style class and there was some judgement to be passed.

It appears our friends had just moved in. Nice granite counters. Kitchen island. Custom lighting. Roof access with an automatic lock feature! And spotless floors – freshly mopped with my dignity! Really, one of a kind. Bravo, boys, bravo.

We let them in and gave them their keys to many thanks. Back in my apartment (where we had to walk two makeshift plank balance beams – over newly placed tile flooring – to get to the stairs) I wondered if I will miss this place when I move next month.

I think I will, in the retrospective, temporally emollient way people miss cracked out but endearing things, like they were never as hot as they were, or had so many stairs, or allowed them to see into a neighbors shower without trying as much as they thought they did.

I think.

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