Emails Found on my Old Computer, Episode #1

I used my former home computer from late 2000 to late 2004. I've held onto some of my sent emails from that era that I found somewhat amusing. From time to time I may share a few of them here. Names will be altered to protect the innocent and/or prevent me from getting sucker-punched.

1/31/02

Just met third-floor neighbor Ben. What a rich pretty-boy assface. He was polite and all, and "We haven't met," and I'm all, "I left an outpost.com package by your door, and I met your dad."

"How was your new years?" he handsomely said.

"Quiet," I said, uglily. "Stayed here in town. How about you?"

"My family is in Connecticut," he not-at-all-surprisingly said. "So, it was going between our place and the girlfriend's place...."

"You fucking asshole," i didn't say out loud.

Oh, How I Wish the Economy Would Improve

So the apartment across the hall from me would sell.
And the guy living in it now, a buddy of the seller, would have to leave.
Because every time I am sitting at the computer,
he is on the other side of the wall,
talking on the phone,
SO VERY LOUD.
Every single time.
How is that even possible?

Who is he talking to?
What are they talking about?
I am trying trying trying not to focus on the actual words for that might drive me insane.
But did I just hear a reference to Timberwolves center Al Jefferson?

Why don't they just text like normal people?

Maybe I will pool my resources and buy the place myself.
Rent it only to mutes or those who have taken a vow of silence.

Maybe I'll just store my CDs in there.
Another bookshelf or two wouldn't hurt either.

Last month I found two Christmas cards in the lobby with this street address, but not addressed to a name I recognized. I left them outside the door across from me with a note reading "For you?"

The cards, the note--he didn't touch them. Not a "Sorry, not me." Nothing.
WHat sort of social etiquette is that?
Or does he never leave?

(I tried to Google the name on the envelopes. Checked the Jersey City phonebook for the name on the return address. No dice. Finally wrote "Not at this address" and left them for the mail carrier. I feel like I let somebody down.)

The guy before--now he was quiet.
Kept to himself, but so what?
Never figured out what he did for a living.
Had theorized road crew or chef.
His dad sells carpet.
Couple of times we (me and the guy, not me and the dad) mentioned getting a drink, but, it never happened.

What's he building in there?

It's quiet now.
But it won't be for long.
I just know it.

"Why is that a-hole always tippety-tippety-tapping on his keyboard?" he's probably thinking right now.