I could never understand why it seems more and more that people who are the scum of the earth usually get away with complete and utter bullshit, and yet the true, genuine people out there who do their best to just be good and nice are usually treated like crap.
There is a restaurant near me called Duckworth’s Fish and Chips that I visit quite frequently, weather it’s picking up dinner for myself, or doing a food-run for my manager at work. In any case, usually when you go to the same restaurant for X amount of time, you become quite familiar with the staff and exchange some light-hearted conversation. One of the staff that works there is a guy named William, and he is always very chipper and smiley. I know him from around the neighborhood also, as I see him walk his dog every now and then, a Rottweiler cross, named Chase.
So I went to Duckworth’s on Thursday, and William was there, and he smiled and said, “Hey! There you are! Haven’t seen you in a while!” and he took down my usual order. One of the other counter staff that was standing beside him noticed the “Dogs, Dogs, Dogs” magazine that I had in my hand, and she remarked that I must be an animal lover, to which I nodded and smiled. She said that she was trying to help her sister find a new home for their Chihuahua, and asked if I knew any good contacts. I told her that I was actually in the process of trying to rehome two of our current housedogs, and showed her the poster that I had made which I just happened to have on me. I told her that there are always people looking for smaller breeds of dogs and that she should have no trouble finding someone – it’s the bigger ones that are harder to find homes for.
I noticed William peeking over at the poster at that point, and he said, “Wow! That’s a nice ad! Did you make that yourself?” I told him yes, and that it wasn’t too hard, that I do work on Photoshop all of the time. He then asked if I might do him a favor and create an ad for him, for his window cleaning service. Just some simple, yet eye-catching design, so that he could start getting some new business for the Fall season. I told him that it would be no problem, shouldn’t take me too long, and asked him to jot down some details on a piece of paper, and so he did.
He asked me how soon I could get it to him, as he was hoping to get some posters out by the weekend. I told him that I could get it done for Saturday, but wouldn’t be able to get it to him until later in the evening. He said that was perfectly fine, and showed me where his apartment was for me to deliver it to, which was just right beside the restaurant, if I couldn’t catch him at work. He said he’d even arrange to pick it up from me sometime if that would be easier. I told him I didn’t have a problem delivering it, as I had to walk the dog anyway. He thanked me profusely for doing the favor for him, and he offered me a free order of fish and chips the next time I came in, for doing the poster design for him.
So, I got the poster done earlier tonight, as promised, (not that it took much time to do…) and grabbed Zena and went for a walk down the street to deliver the ads. I added a few of my own puppy posters, so that I could ask if William would pass a few of those out for me as well, while he was putting out his own.
So I got to the apartment, and knocked on the door. I waited – I could hear music playing inside. I listened, and knocked again, thinking that maybe they just didn’t hear me, with the music playing so loud. I waited some more, and then began looking around the door for some kind of mailbox that maybe I could just leave the posters in, with a note attached. The apartment next to theirs had a mailbox, but this one only had a mail slot. So I tried opening it, and looking through – there was something covering up the slot.
I thought, well… that’s odd. And was about to turn around and leave, when I heard voices coming from inside the apartment. So I leaned against the door, and knocked again, calling out, “Hello?” I heard two male voices on the other side, yelling back and forth, something along the lines of, “…who is it?” “It’s some girl…” “Well who the hell is she…?” “I don’t fucking know… I’ll go see—“ “DON’T answer the fucking door…!”
By this time I was seriously confused. I could have sworn I was at the right address… I looked at the note that William had written down for me, and sure enough, it was the right address. Maybe William had roommates that he neglected to tell that he was expecting someone to drop by? So I called out again, thinking that maybe I could give the people inside an idea of who I was and why I was there. “Hello? I’m supposed to be dropping off some stuff…” Silence. “…HELLO??”
Suddenly I heard a loud smash close behind me – someone had thrown some glass object in my direction from a window above the apartment! I jumped back with Zena in toe, and looked up, shocked and confused – like, did someone REALLY just throw GLASS at me?? I heard some guy shout, “Fuck off!” just as I started turning around to leave. Gee, thanks a lot, buddy. That was really nice. >:/ I walked back home briskly, feeling extremely hurt/confused/upset, while rain and wind blew in my face.
On arriving home, I looked up the phone number on the ad, and gave it a ring, hoping to find an answer to why there would be someone yelling and throwing stuff at me, when all I was supposed to do was deliver some stupid posters. The voice on the other end of the phone was that of a very nice sounding lady… which made me even more confused.
I asked her if I was calling the address written down on the paper, and she said yes. I asked her if this was where the guy from Duckworth’s lived, who owned the dog Chase, and she said that yes, I had the right number and right address. She asked me why I asked, and I told her what had just happened. She sounded very surprised and alarmed, “This all happened just now…?” I said yes. She asked, “Which way to the apartment did you go… the front, or the back?” I told her that William had only shown me one way, through the front, and that’s where I went.
She said that her guess was that someone from the wrong apartment must have been there, as apparently there are multiple apartments in that one building. Her guess was that probably some guys from the bar on the same strip might have been being assholes, and she suggested I not try and go back that same night. She said to try going back during the day, or phone, or go into Duckworth’s again on Monday or Tuesday, and let William know that I tried to reach him, but this stupidness happened instead.
She was very nice over the phone, and apologized, and told me that she would be just as upset if that had happened to her. Even if I couldn’t get a hold of William, at least talking with her made me feel a bit less insane. Go figure why I should ever expect to just meet the person I went there to deliver some stuff to in the first place, right? Jeez. O__x It’s times like this that I wish I weren’t so damn naïve… that’s what I get for being nice and trying to help someone out. *frowns*
Ah well. It could have been worse. The people inside could have had a gun and tried shooting at me from their window…
I so need to get out of Toronto.