The Land Lady finished playing the piano as I finished the boxing manual. She then gathered her purse and checked the mail.
She came back nervously and announced, “Sometimes the mail man knocks when he leaves a package.”
So I answered, “Okay, I’ll get the door while you’re gone.”
She exclaimed, “Oh no. He’s such a nice man. He is kind of effeminate, and African American and very young. He says “hi” to me and wishes me a blessed day. It’s a thing he does with older people in the neighborhood, knocking on the door and asking if they are okay and wishing them a blessed day. It’s very nice.”
“Yes,” I said, “I saw him the last time I heard the door knock.”
“You mean you already ruined it for me! One look at you and he’ll never come back. You will scare him. He’s such a nice young man and when you aren’t here he’s the only human contact I have!”
“Oh, it was last month and he was already back in his truck when I got to the porch.”
“Oh, thank God he didn’t see you, you know you terrify those people—which is nice when they’re hoodrats, but—please, if he knocks, don’t answer.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I won’t scare off your sissy, Ma’am…”
“Thank you, Jamsey,” she said as she headed for her car.
So life rolls in Outer Bantuistan.
