The viewing

The last apartment I looked at was on Tuesday, right in Osborne Village. It wasn't a great looking apartment and by the time I'd reached the caretaker's door, I'd already decided to not put in an application for it. But the appointment had been made and I wasn't going to be rude, so I knocked on the caretaker's door despite my decision. The door opened and a pudgy, grumpy woman glared out at me.
"Hi, my name is Karen and I'm here to see the apartment."
She closed the door in my face. Not bothering to keep her voice down, she yelled out,
"The 6 o'clock is here!"
"Is it 6:00?"replied another voice.
"No! It's 5:30! God, can't these people show up at the right time?"
"Well, tell them they're just going to have to wait a couple minutes."
The woman opened the door and said,
"Wait five minutes," and shut it in my face, leaving no chance for me to respond.
The appointment had been for 5:30. I had written it down with all the other information I had gathered on that specific apartment. But there was no room to argue and so I waited.
Five minutes later, the door opened and the caretaker stepped into the hallway. Well, maybe not so much stepped as shuffled. A tiny old man, his head seemed rather small compared to the rest of his body. He had a squashed up face, as if it was made of plasticine and someone had just been in the midst of molding it into a different shape. His eyes seemed to pop out of his head, pupils pointing in different directions. And to top it all off, he wore a dirty, grey tracksuit top and bottom which seemed to blend in with his dirty grey hair and skin.
It was an odd sight to see and I just barely stifled a laugh of surprise as him came over to shake my hand. We climbed up the stairs, his spare 70-year old frame coping fairly well with the steep steps. Unfortunately, I had decided to walk behind him and as we climbed the three flights, his dirty, grey tracksuit pants had trouble staying at his waist. The sight of geriatric butt crack at the top of the second flight was enough to stop me in my tracks. Again, the laughter was stifled as I allowed the caretaker a 20 second head start on the next flight. All throughout the apartment, I avoided being behind him, stepping into rooms before he had a chance to shuffle through. He seemed blissfully unaware of this problem and took me back downstairs for an application form.

Forever Daisied,
Confused and
Seeing more than she bargained for,
Karen