The landlord dude and the towel

Time for another story on landlord dude, the landlord we have all got to know and learned to appreciate.

Okay, this story is not about what you’re guessing this is about. I don’t remember ever seeing the landlord dude in a towel.

This story actually happened in a time where I was alone. Heike was gone with a friend – I think she went to Berlin for a weekend city trip that week. I was also not sure how many house mates were present. I remember feeling quite alone.

The loneliness ended abruptly when sounds of love and passion seeped through the thin wooden door on the other end of the second floor, then through our equally thin door into our room. It was early in the evening, I was watching a movie, and wasn’t sure who made the sounds, or when they would end.

The sounds were short-lived. Within a matter of minutes, silence returned to our home. It appeared I was alone once more, ready to finish my movie.

I must have been halfway through the movie, now probably an hour after all turned quiet, when I heard a toilet flush. This must have been a house mate, or so I thought. No one else used that bathroom, certainly not at night.

About half a minute later, my door slowly opens, and, well… how do I describe this? A lady walks in. She’s clearly an older woman, probably nearing 70. She’s quite a voluptuous woman, and seemingly quite confident, as her decision-making implied. She was soaking wet, freshly showered, and barely dried. She was only wearing the smallest towel. A tiny rag cloth that only barely hid her lady’s parts on all sides. She had so much confidence that she stepped inside my room for a couple of steps more, only to realize that I was not the landlord dude. Not even close. She looked at me in surprise and smiled. “Wrong room, I think,” she uttered unembarrassed. “Yeah, I think so too… Try across the hall, maybe…” I said, somewhat perplexed by the half-naked lady standing in the middle of the room. She stood there, as if thinking through her game plan. “Have a nice evening,” she said as she turned around and closed the door behind her.

I took a moment to let it all sink in. I’ve lived in student houses for about ten years, but never experienced weirdness like this. I was somehow appreciative of the entire situation. It made for a fun story after all.

Less than a minute later, I find out that my direct neighbor, an Argentinian guy, is also at home. In the thickest Argentinian Spanish accent – he was proud of it – he exclaimed a loud “what the fuck!”

It seems that the lady was utterly lost. I never learned what was her destination. Maybe she was looking for the way out. I never saw her again. I will not easily forget her appearance in the tiny towel. It’s one of many iconic memories of the landlord dude household. I did forget the movie. I cannot for the life of me remember what title it was. Some things leave lasting impacts, while others don’t. The mind is a crazy organ.

More next week!