When I lived in my first apartment, once every so often I’d get a notice through my mail slot stating that some maintenance had to be done to the unit. Since I worked during the day, that meant a member of the complex’s maintenance staff would enter my apartment in the day, do whatever work they needed to do, and I’d return home to find a little note hanging off my front doorknob, alerting me that they’d made a visit.
It didn’t really comfort me to imagine the work crew roaming freely in my one-bedroom domicile, but short of taking a vacation day to keep an eye on them, there was no real alternative. As long as I didn’t find any beer cans or syringes when I walked through my door in the evening, I didn’t complain.
I lived close enough to the office that I could get home to eat a quick lunch, if it pleased me to do so. One such day, I entered my apartment and heard a robotic voice in my hallway. I left the front door open, in case a quick escape was needed. Walking cautiously, I found Luis, the head maintenance guy, in the process of installing a talking smoke alarm in my ceiling.
The idea of a smoke alarm that speaks is interesting - instead of a piercing beep that might wake a person and incite them to bolt out of their smoldering house, you get a sedate, futuristic voice informing you: “Alarm. Possible fire. Possible fire. Proceed with caution.” This may seem like an innovation to some, but the talking smoke alarm made me feel like I had a roommate on Quaaludes who was only mildly interested in escaping a blazing inferno. I’d much prefer the beeping.
Back to Luis. He was so into hardwiring the alarm, he hadn’t heard me enter, so I caught him slightly off guard. He was a very fit man in his early 40’s, very tan from his time in the sun every day. Unless it was the dead of winter, he wore a tanktop and shorts. I’d seen him around the apartments before - he was friendly, and took great pride in his work.
“Oh, I am so sorry! I had to replace the alarm here, see?” He showed me what he was doing.
“Ah, that’s no problem,” I replied.
“Oh thank you sir. I can come back if I’m interrupting.”
It would have been difficult for me to make a case that he was interrupting my lunch, so I told him to proceed. I flipped on my computer, and with my back to Luis, checked a few e-mails. I could feel him watching me, but I tried to ignore him.
A few minutes later, he spoke in a timid voice. “Excuse me, sir…I…I do not mean to interrupt, but may I ask what it is that you do? I see you use a Macintosh, and I am curious.”
I told Luis he could call me by my name, which was Steve, and I said that I was a graphic designer.
“Oh okay! I did not know that! That is so cool! I know graphics guys like Macs, but I did not know that you were one!” The man was childlike in his speech, which I attributed to his lack of interaction with actual graphics guys.
Luis then explained to me that he was taking courses in a local tech school. I was somewhat surprised, I told him I thought that was great.
Was he serious? A portion of his “webmaster class” was devoted to a discussion of me, based on ten minutes of him looking over my shoulder as I viewed my own work? What could he have told them?
“I am going to school to be a webmaster!” he said enthusiastically. While I didn’t realize that was an actual degree, I applauded his efforts.
“I know I am being a pain to you, but if it isn’t too much trouble, would you mind showing me some of your work?”
I showed Luis a few websites I’d developed. He seemed very impressed, expressing his satisfaction with an “Oh my!” or a “Oh wow!” whenever I showed him a new project.
I wrapped things up so I could get back to work. Luis was smiling at me.
“Steeven, I want to thank you for showing me your work. I appreciate it very much.” I never told him to call me “Steven”, just Steve, and he really stretched out that first syllable. It was a little creepy.
“You’re welcome, thank you for checking it out,” I said. I thanked him, shut down the computer, and grabbed a quick sandwich to eat in my car on the way back to work. Luis went back to the alarm installation, and I said goodbye to him, and left him in my apartment, which felt weird.
A few days later I saw him again, as he was speaking to a female neighbor in the street. The woman obviously was alerting him to some maintenance issue that she was passionate about, but when Luis saw me, he quickly dismissed her and told her he’d “take care of it later.” He physically turned away from her and walked toward me, calling my name: “Hello Steeven!”
He approached me as I walked toward my car. “Steeven I saw you and I wanted to thank you again for showing me all those websites you made!”
“Oh, it’s okay, no problem - you’re welcome, Luis.” I didn’t want him to think I did an actual favor - he looked at a few websites I developed. I hadn’t thrown him a surprise party or anything.
“And now I want to tell you,” he continued, “that I spoke with my teacher. I asked him for a few minutes of class time, and he let me tell the class about you and all your wonderful work!”
Was he serious? A portion of his “webmaster class” was devoted to a discussion of me, based on ten minutes of him looking over my shoulder as I viewed my own work? What could he have told them?
“So my teacher told me you should come in to speak to the class! They are very excited to have you come talk to them about web design! We meet Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you tell me what night works best for you!”
Oohhhh …he’d booked me a speaking engagement. Thanks, Luis.
Not wanting to crush him, I told him I’d think about it. I hoped to subtly remind him that even though he’d already promised the class I’d be coming in, I had far from committed to it. I felt like I was giving a small child a life lesson. He looked disappointed.
“Okay Steeven, please think about it and let me know if you can make it to our class.” He looked completely dejected. I felt bad, but not bad enough to actually take him up on his offer, which would no doubt lead to more strange incidents.
I saw Luis a few more times in the following weeks, and he politely brought up the idea of me speaking to his class each time he saw me. With equal politeness, I told him I was quite busy at the moment, but I would certainly keep his offer in mind. The whole interaction began to take on the feeling of a Victorian-era courtship, with Luis as the potential suitor and me as the young maiden. This made me uncomfortable, and I avoided interacting with him whenever possible. There were 400 units in my complex, but he now seemed to always be in very close proximity to my apartment. When I saw him, I’d plant a preoccupied expression on my face, and I’d walk with purpose to my car or front door, so as to avoid confrontation.
“Steeven, I heard that you are leaving us. I am really sad to see you go, because you are one of the good people here. I should not even say that you are ‘one of the good people’ - you are a very special person, Steeven, and we were very fortunate to have you live here.”
My interactions with Luis soon dwindled. I’d see him once in a while, clearing fallen tree branches from the road, and I’d wave and smile moderately. Eventually I moved from the complex. Luis found this out not long after I’d given my notice, as he’d be in charge of repainting my apartment. He made a point to find me in the parking lot one sunny weekend afternoon before I made my getaway.
“Steeven, I heard that you are leaving us. I am really sad to see you go, because you are one of the good people here. I should not even say that you are ‘one of the good people’ - you are a very special person, Steeven, and we were very fortunate to have you live here. I wish you well in all your future work in graphic design, and I hope that you are very happy where you’re going.” I checked him over quickly - no gun, knife, or other type of murder weapon was showing, but I still felt unsafe.
I moved out soon after. My new apartment complex has a maintenance staff of one man, who to this point has shown absolutely no interest in me. I am totally okay with that.
