Mr. Butler Has A Fan In Greenpoint
When the opportunity presents itself I like to perform conduct anthropological experiments. These usually come to pass when I have something more pressing to do, like the cleaning the apartment. I performed one such bit of research last week when I was tidying the apartment in anticipation of my parents’ visit. The results were telling.
It started with this.
11:30 a.m.: After delivering my first salvo of stuff to the Salvation Army I spied this book sitting on the sidewalk outside my building. It is entitled The Dance of Anger, A Woman’s Guide to Changing the Possibilities of Intimate Relationships. I never knew any of my neighbors had trouble with the opposite sex. Maybe the book worked?
12:30 p.m.: When I returned from my second Salvation Army run I noticed the book was gone. An idea was hatched. There are, after all
more things in Miss Heather’s mind and apartment, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
I have always engendered a distrust of self help books, so I put together my own “care package” and left it in front of my building:
1:30 p.m.: I made my third donation to the Salvation Army. When I arrived home one of my neighbors was holding the champagne bucket.
Me: I see you like my old champagne bucket?
Neighbor: Is that what it is?
Dude next door: See, she knew what it was! I bet you drink Dom Perignon every day, don’t you?
Me: Do I look like a Dom Perignon kind of person to you?
Neighbor: I was planning on storing cat food in it.
2:00 p.m.: As I was throwing away some recycling I noticed the bottle of massage oil had been moved. No one had taken the Butler book yet, but it was looking encouraging.
2:30 p.m.: When I left a VCR stand out front I noticed the book and the massage oil were gone.
My next door neighbor was also absent. I suspect someone in my neighborhood had a very interesting Thanksgiving this year.