The time is 5:46 PM, and you really should get a move on. While rotting in bed is fun and all, every minute you wait to take care of your friends cats is another minute they could be shitting on the floor for want of a clean litterbox.
A sort of half roll, half rotation… and you’re on your feet. Nice work.
The gathering has begun. The one-minute process of getting things together into a bag serves only to remind you of your place in the world; as a corporeal being, mere will is not enough to shape your reality, you also have to move around your lanky, poorly fueled body.
Speaking of poorly fueled, your stomach rumbles. There is a timid consideration of the benefits of eating (you should’ve made rice an hour ago), but the fear of cleaning up uncovered floor excrement is too much. You can eat when you get back.
Phone, scrunchie, into the little bag. Glasses on. Special issue cat hair covered hoodie donned. Double check everything…
Oops! Almost forgot your wallet (with key fobs inside). Would be a shame to be locked out, the cats need attention.
Walk to the door, grab the handle, pull open the door (slightly stuck during summer, the humid air expanding the wood), and step out.
Routine.
Thoughtless.
FUCK why is there a notice on the door did you fuck something…
Oh just a “this tenant has renewed” marker so the cleaners avoid your place. Good to know you did actually sign that contract all those months ago and aren’t about to be surprise evicted.
(While walking to the elevator you amuse yourself with idle fantasy. Your mind filling in low fidelity imaginings into the barest of trope lined plots. “Oh no!”, the imaginary you exclaims, “Due to contractual error, the landlord has booked two people into this one bedroom apartment! Whatever shall our sleeping arrangements be hot new roommate?”)
Oh look the elevator.
Button, lean against the corner opposite the camera, whistle a bit from that movie you saw last night…
The doors open and you walk out.
The hall smells faintly of cleaning supplies, a paint roller lies in its tray. The same off white color as before. Heres hoping they do a better job than whoever covered your accent wall before you moved in.
You reach the door, tilt, unzip bag, wallet out, flipped open, key thingy, hold in front of reader…
You do the classic “open the door a little and shimmy in so the cats don't escape” maneuver. They haven't tried to escape yet? Pshaw, always verify.
(Why does this door open easier than yours? Whatever.)
Food filled, water filled, scrunchie so hair doesn’t get into litter when you lean over, litter scooped, litter brought to trash room.
The trash room is full of trash, despite the chute. You can barely stand with the door closed.
Maybe if you just, kinda reach out and grab the handle… There!
You toss your bag into the chute. It falls 3 feet before taking its place in a multi story clog. The red tie is still visible.
Well thats someone else’s problem! Back into the apartment you go!
If you divide your pay into the hours you work, you really are getting shafted. One could argue, however, that the cats are a form of payment in and of themselves. Standard market rate for “hang out in a room with cats” is $11 an hour in this part of town, and since you have 24 hour access, it could be said that you are making $1848 a week in cat presence alone.
One could also argue that that’s ridiculous, but that one is not you, as you are too busy cuddling two wonderful cats. Look, they’re both rubbing their faces on one of your hands!
You pass an hour like this, cat on your lap, phone in hand, before you decide to head back up to your room. You can’t put off eating forever.
Hallway, elevator, hallway, there’s the notice, you’re back home!
You fiddle with your bag and wallet again. The key fob from the front pocket is yours. Hold it up to the sensor…
Must’ve grabbed the wrong one, you slot it back into place and move to grab the other.
(But that doesn’t make sense, you slotted it back into the front pocket, there’s one key in each pocket, you would’ve had to have both keys in one pocket and then only grab one (the right one on the first go) without noticing to swap them around…)
Pointless logic can’t distract you, you have instant rice to make! You hold the key up to the sensor.
…
Okay maybe it’s like a usb.
(You don’t actually believe this, for the record.)
Slot that key back, grab the first one.
(And it was in the right pocket, which means it’s broken which means your fucked, you fucked up somewhere and now you’re locked out.)
You hold the key up to the sensor.
(This is the right apartment right? A glance to the side confirms it.)
You walk to the elevator in a haze. Floor 1 please.
(It’s move-out day. You fucked up the lease extension.)
You open the building’s shitty app. The faraday cage doors are closed for just enough time to type in your password.
(You’re gonna have to call out your parents to drive an hour out and take all your stuff back home. And it’s gonna be stupid, like a missed email or something because you hate checking your inbox. And you’re gonna have to find a new apartment.)
The doors open and you can access your documents.
…
Wait no actually this contract is fine.
A vague terrible feeling slides up your spine and settles within your ears. Pressure.
Your friend with the cats stopped by town to swap his key with the building a couple days ago. (The key that you were using, so you met in the lobby to do a handoff.) You, like the idiot you are, asked no questions about what the hell he was doing. (You had a whole conversation and you didn’t ask.) His key works, yours doesn’t.
It all makes a terrible sort of sense.
You turn the corner, the building office is dark, it’s past 7.
(It was an email, it had to have been. Probably multiple. “Hey tenants, make sure to swap your key with the office!”, “Hey tenants, quick reminder about the key thing!”, “Hey tenants, the key deadline’s in a month, we’re giving you plenty of notice!”)
You pull up the awful outlook app on your phone.
(Phone at 14%, you can crash at his place, but you have to be able to ask, so no more mindless scrolling tonight.)
Search “[name of building]”.
Nope.
Search “Key”.
Nope
…
What the hell?
You do the searches again to no avail. The pressure is gone at this point, but your body is tense. And hungry.
Did they really just disable your key with no warning whatsoever?
Are you looking at the wrong email? Building app, personal information…
No it is the right email!
Okay time to confirm the story with other people. Hey random guy in the lobby (ahhhhh this sucks this sucks you're TALKING to ANOTHER PERSON ahhh) does your key work? No? You had to get your roommate to let you in?
(Okay maybe you aren’t a fuckup and you just have a shitty apartment.)
Wait! The locked out posters! With a convenient number to call if you can’t get into your apartment. Perhaps they’ll waive the “we have to send a guy down” fee if it’s literally their fault.
They’re right in front of the elevators on every floor but the first.
(Aren’t they?)
Elevator, button, lean, whistle, open.
The corkboard is empty. They must’ve taken down all the posters for end of lease, including the useful ones, and forgot to wonder if anyone would need them.
That’s okay, you’ve never been impressed with institutional competence before, why start now?
The building’s website helpfully boasts 24/7 managerial presence, and no number to call them with. You rest easy knowing that there is allegedly someone in a back room somewhere.
You leave a too snappy message to the office (“Despite renewing my lease…”).
You leave a too snappy message to your cat friend (Oops). As always, he’s great and lets you sleep over. (“The cats will love it.” You both agree.)
(“How did you know to swap your key?” “They just told me when I was in the office for something else.” “That’s kinda bullshit.” “Yeah.”)
Shimmy back in the apartment…
Charger scrounged up, parents called, your dad is rightfully mad on your behalf but agrees that a second message wouldn’t matter tonight.
You can deal with one night without meds, or toothpaste, or melatonin, or pajamas, or your favorite blanket that has stuck with you for all these years. You have two cats to make up for it now!
Your stomach grumbles.
You already took the eggs from this fridge to your own (“Feel free to whatever’s in the fridge Apiellis, it’ll go bad anyway.”) so they’re out of the question.
Your options are now poorly cooked chicken breast (you would be the one cooking them) or to brave the great outdoors for takeout.
Unfortunately for your privacy and comfort, you are a vegetarian.
You slip on your cat fur hoodie, grab your bag, and head out.
(Shimmy, hall, elevator, button, whistle, open, leave)
It’s supposed to be colder at night, but no one told tonight that. The air clings to your skin like really humid air that likes to cling to skin.
A few blocks, an abnormal crowd of dogs, pizza place, place order, wait for 20 minutes, grab pizza, head back.
You play the horrible balancing game to try to get in one-handed, slip back up to your (new and temporary) floor, and shimmy back in.
The pizza is okay. (Good enough for the cats to try to steal it at least.)
You collapse on the couch. The cats follow. You’re still tense, but they’ll help with that. You really need something to pass the time, your computer is stuck in your apartment.
Hey it’s been a while since you did a glowfic huh?
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post
