Buzz Kill!

This is why I avoid Mr. B., my deaf-as-a-stone old neighbor. Coming back from getting my hair done -- streaked blonde, I was really happy with it -- he was standing in the vestibule for no particular reason. Except maybe to stalk and annoy me.

"How have you been, Stranger?"

"Fine, and you?" I ask, being polite as a reflex, even though I was afraid asking how he was doing was an invitation to annoying, frustrating conversation.

"Really? You sure you feel fine?" he persisted, looking at me as though I had just wandered off the set of Contagion.

"Yes," I snapped. "I just got my hair done and thought I looked good. Apparently not." Maybe if I press the elevator button a few more times, it will come faster.

"So why don't you come to the condo owners meetings?"

"Because you have them at 5:30 and I can't get home from work by 5:30. I have told you that if you want me there, you should have them after 6:30."

"So if we had it at 7:00, you would be able to come?"

AAAAAARGH! WHERE'S THAT ELEVATOR?