Sometimes, the roommate and her boyfriend and I come up with theories about the downstairs neighbour, fondly known as "Schmuckie" (mistakenly called "Schnookie" by a friend of ours, thinking the nickname actually was fond). The most recent oddity is that we've noticed that he listens to terrible music at all hours of the day. Last night (well, morning) at 2am, he was blaring the music. However, he also was doing so at 9:30 this morning when I was leaving for church. This begs the question: does Schmuckie sleep?
Karl now thinks he is a robot.
This follows the week where he was making odd noises in his living, which some around here interpreted as wrestling, but I know was actually roller-skating. (Note to self: do not tell Meg such theories while she is drinking milk. That was gross.)
Meg and I laughed over Schmuckie and his mom trying to talk to each other across the house. We could hear them; Schmuckie apparently could not. He: "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" Mom: "What? What? What? What?"
Last spring, we saw his shoes, with socks in them, on their front stoop, with a full bag of garbage on either side of the shoes. (No person in sight.) Karl decided it was the rapture. (And that we were left behind.) (Please please please don't take the previous link as an endorsement.)
Rest of the world, meet the Neighbour Schmuck. A fun distraction for his neighbour, who also spends all of her time in her apartment. (And, sometimes, the inspiration for photos of Chris and me pretending to kick his tires, because of all the times his car has trapped Meg out of her parking spot. Because that's what friends are for.)