Hostility at home
Yesterday I wrote about how we offended our neighbors by washing our motorino . . . in the following week, the fun continued:
On Easter morning my parents, Ryan and I were up and out of the apartment before 7am. Because the elevator is so small, and there were four of us with bags, we took the elevator downstairs in two shifts. We left the elevator door open for a few minutes (maybe 2?) in between my parents getting off the elevator and Ryan and I getting on. At which point our upstairs neighbors (the same ones who were angry about the motorino) decided to inform us of their impatience by banging loudly on the elevator door. Presumably with both fists. We sighed, loaded into the elevator, and went downstairs to wait for our taxi. We were there for another five minutes during which time no upstairs neighbor took the elevator down. Which is surprising, since any reasonable person would assume that the only reason they were so impatient is because they needed to use the elevator, they were in a rush, or someone was having a heart attack and needed the elevator to assist in their emergency … apparently they are just cranky old people with nothing better to do. They spent the next five minutes staring at us from their window as we waited in the driveway.
I had to take a week to calm down before writing about the next one – it still makes me really angry when I think about it. Right before we left for our long weekend in Cinque Terre, the woman who parks next to us in our garage parked over the line into our parking space, so there was no room for our motorino next to our car. We had to put it in front of our car. The good news is that parking it there only inconveniences at most two other people – the woman who parked her car in our spot (who proceeded to complain to the portiere about us) and the cranky old people who hate Americans. When we got back from our three day trip, our motorino had been knocked over (twice, it turns out) onto the hood of our car, leaving a dent. Seriously? Who does that? a: it wasn’t an accident, ’cause they don’t just ‘fall over’. b: even if it was, a reasonable person at a minimum picks it up, and preferably leaves a note.
I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that I don’t know who did it … ’cause I’m angry enough that I keep fantasizing about giving someone a piece of my mind. Although, since I know that’s probably not a good idea … I’m currently settling for fantasizing about setting up a networked camera so I can catch vandals in the future … and then give them a piece of my mind. ;-)
Odd Italian Fact of the Day
Did you know that it’s considered chivalrous for an Italian man to carry his girlfriend’s purse? What do you think are the chances we’d ever see that in the US? And for the ladies: Do you think that’s something you’d actually want to see?