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2002-04-28

I was taking the trash out via the side gate out my front door cause the backdoor of my place wouldn’t open for some reason, something wrong with the doorknob. As I kicked the gate open, my arms full of a week’s trash bags, I noticed my building manager/motorcycle repair guy who I will call “Snyder” (the BEST building super ever on tv) and his wife in their car who were waving to me. I nodded and walked to the dumpster. Half an hour later there’s a knock on my door and it’s Snyder looking kind of chagrin. “Uh, I think we might have a misunderstanding,” he says. “We saw you earlier and thought you said, “Fuck off” to us when we were in the car. Uh, is it cause I moved your motorcycle without asking? I really had to do that. It was for your own good.” I explained no, I didn’t say anything like that and that I was sorry they had to move my motorcycle that one time and that actually I had felt guilty that they had to do that. He was pretty nice (especially for a Harley biker type) about it and promised to fix my door. Weird. I don’t think I even moved my mouth when I saw them, just gave them the How Are Yah head nod I’ve been using since fifth grade or so. Maybe it’s the Go Screw Yourself nod and Ijust don’t know it. That would explain some things.

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