I know. Bad Erin. Then, when the guy went out the front door (visible from our peep hole) I too had to follow. I saw (through the door peephole) him shirtless, drunk, angry, and trying to take a huge couch down the stairs. It was a sort of I'm-drunk-and-crazed-I'm-leaving-and-taking-the-couch kind of move.
We live on the second floor so as he drug the couch down the stairs (ripping the couch in the process and creating enough noise to ensure that the entire complex was listening) she ran out after him, crying, and begging him to stay.
It was very noisy for a while and then it appeared that he left and she left shortly after. I wasn't quite sure, because the peephole only gave me so much visual information. But I wondered about the couch. There was NO WAY IN HECK that he could get that in a car by himself and leave. So shortly thereafter, I went outside and down the stairs to see if there was a couch in the middle of the parking lot. Instead I found two police cars instead of a couch.
I talked to them. Confessed that I was curious. Got some info. Apparently several people in the complex called the police. Then I went back upstairs.
SO THE NEXT MORNING at 4:30 am we heard the two of them (apparently they made up) trying to get the couch up the stairs. Had it not been spring break, I would have walked outside told them they were insanely rude and that people needed to wake up early to work. But since I wasn't one of those people, I stayed in bed and just got angry to myself instead. When James and I left the next morning for errands, the couch was halfway on the stairs, halfway on the walkway. We had to squeeze to get past. Hours later, it was still there.
So I decided I had had enough and went to the front office to tell on them. I walked in, and Rennee (the manager, whom I adore) comes out somberly from her office.
"So, you probably heard what happened last night."
She nods, still very somberly.
"Well, Mike still has yet to move the couch."
"Mike?" she said confused, "But they said it was YOU!"
Yes, so people in our complex thought the entire ruckus was caused by James and I. Apparently, they didn't look out their peepholes. And apparently, they really don't know my sweet James at all. If anyone was to be shirtless, crazed, and to angrily throw the couch down the stairs, it'd definitely be me.
So our question is: Do we knock on everyone's door and say "It wasn't me. It was THEM!" and point to apartment 232? Send out a flyer?
We have no idea.
