There’s a guy in my building who looks like a caveman. His features are broad, and he has a pronounced eyebrow ridge. He walks around shirtless at all times, and his entire body is covered with fur. He is the sort of guy you can’t help staring at even though it makes you feel like a bad person, like you might have been the kind of kid who made fun of your classmate with the leg braces.
But you can’t just quietly go about glancing at him out of the corner of your eye because he insists on starting conversations. He knows everyone’s name in a building with some 60 apartments, and he asks so many questions that the other person becomes obviously and deeply uncomfortable.
Did you go to St. Louis? Did it rain? Was it sunny? Did you rent a car? What kind of car? Where are you going now?
I have gone to outrageous lengths to avoid his grilling, which makes we wonder if I’m not as nice as I like to think. He’s obviously trying to make friends. We’re all trying to make friends. He’s just not very good at it.