An Open Letter to the Creep Who Mows the Lawn

Dear Totally Creepy Building Caretaker with No Sense of Boundaries,

Remember the time when you let yourself into my apartment when I was in the shower to deliver a refrigerator? I hated that, but it was understandable – you thought I wasn’t home, so you thought it was okay to enter.

How about the second time you let yourself into my apartment when I was in the shower because you wanted me to move my car, which was blocking your trailer? I hated that, too, and any reasoning you may have had is unfathomable to me - you saw my car, thought I was home and couldn’t get my attention, so you thought it was okay to enter? What if I was having sex? Perhaps that is what you were hoping for.

Or how about the time when I was home with the flu and you were changing my storm windows, and you came inside to remove my air conditioning unit, sat down on a chair without being invited and proceeded to ask me about my work? Remember how I repeatedly corrected your notion that I was not a social worker, despite your insistence – and I suggested that perhaps you thought I was a social worker because I worked at a synagogue for a year – and you froze and with wide eyes and stammering voice asked if I was “THAT?” (um, how about trying the word “Jewish?”). I also hated that.

Now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure you also asked me to attend a church group with you when I first moved in. I hate even partially remembering that.

I guess what I wonder most of all is at what point, between me yelling at you to “get out of my apartment,” “get out of my apartment,” “no, I’m not Jewish, but what does it matter?,” and every time you come around to mow the lawn and I purposefully shut all of my blinds on beautiful days, and the installation of additional locks on every single one of my windows and the front door did you think that I might be interested in going out on a date with you?

The fact that you were hovering outside my door on Saturday morning and only announced your presence as I was unlocking the door to leave for the day was unnerving at best. The fact that you let your puppy run into my apartment and climb on my furniture was, despite the inherent cuteness of puppies, even the ones that are soon to be totally messed up by God-freaky weirdos such as yourself, annoying at best. The fact that you asked me to attend a play with you, and when I, in an utter state of shock, responded, “No. I just couldn’t,” yet you kept pushing the matter with “my wife is now my ex-wife,” and, “I was just thinking of this very special lady, who is you,” and, “I just want to make sure you know that I think of you as more than a friend,” quite frankly leaves me alternately bewildered and nauseous.

Especially coming from someone twice my age who has a key to my apartment that I didn’t give them.

In summary, you're a creepy, creepy man, and you need to stay the hell away from me. Thank you.

Sincerely,
The Person Who Constantly Looks Up Your Name on the Sex Offender Registry