I really wish I had the power to turn invisible.
I haven’t always felt this way. In fact, before yesterday, if you suggested that this would be the best superpower, I would have replied, “Poppycock! Invisibility?! That’s a whole lot of rubbish!” (Apparently, before yesterday evening, I was a British man from the 1930’s.)
My desire to become invisible all began innocently enough yesterday. My dog was pacing the floor nervously. Knowing my dog very well, I had deduced that she either was waiting for the doctor to call her back with the results of a medical test or she needed to go poop. Just to be safe, I decided to let her out into my backyard. Finding dog poop on the floor is never a pleasant surprise.
I grabbed the handle of the backdoor to open it when…
I jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the door handle crushing my toe. While the door was still intact, the handle was magically on the floor, a place where it is not usually found.
After examining the handle, I ran downstairs to grab an appropriate screwdriver before attempting to become a handyman. Kneeling on the back steps, I attempted to screw it back together.
That’s when the ruckus began.
To fully understand this story, one must understand where I live. I have a townhome in the middle of other townhomes, all of them connected. We are in close proximity to each other. Very close, very close proximity.
I dropped the screw as the outburst began.
“HEY!” said my neighbor two doors down. “WHERE DO YOU GET THE NERVE!”
I don’t have the nerve, I thought to myself. Why would he be asking me such a strange question. All I want to do is fix my door handle.
“YOU BETTER WATCH IT,” said my next door neighbor, seemingly jumping to my defense. Unsure of what was happening, I returned to my lost cause of a door handle.
“WHY WOULD YOU CALL THE COPS ON MY SON?!” Now I was fairly certain I was not involved in this particular confrontation.
“WHAT, I SHOULDN’T CALL THE COPS????!!!! WHAT IF THERE IS A GUN FIRED?!” my next door neighbor asked.
“WELL, MAYBE I SHOULD CALL THE COPS ON YOUR STUPID CAT!” replied the neighbor two doors down. After all, that truly is the only logical response to talking about guns being fired. “BESIDES, WE AIN’T GOT ANY GUNS ANYWAY!”
“WELL, YOUR KID IS JUST A @#&$&$%&*,” said my next door neighbor, showing all the respect in the world with his tone of voice.
At this point, I am stuck outside. I did not want to get up and go inside, lest I become entangled in there conflict, being accused of getting my mail too loudly or flushing the toilet too late at night. The very sight of an interloper could cause these two obviously rational men to lose it completely, going into a rage that would leave even abusive alcoholics saying, “Wow, that was an irrational outburst.”
“DON’T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY KID LIKE THAT,” two doors down said. “HIS NAME IS ANDREW, NOT @#&$&$%&*! YOU SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT WHEN YOU’RE TALKING TO ME, YOU #$@%@@#!”
“WELL, YOU SHOULD KEEP HIM FROM HAVING PARTIES LIKE THAT!” said my neighbor, appearing to try to reason with the man.
“WELL, THERE ARE LEASH LAWS IN THIS CITY, SO YOU SHOULD CHAIN UP YOUR STUPID CAT,” replied the reasonable man two doors down.
Maybe if I concentrate really hard, I thought, I can teleport into the living room, leaving this volatile situation behind me.
“OURCATDOESN’TBOTHERANYONEWHYWOULDYOUEVENBRINGUPTHECATICANTBELIEVEYOU!$!@!^%$!@$#$%!$!@#%$%@#%@!#$!!#$@@!,” my neighbor calmly replied.
I so desperately wanted to be inside. I thought about standing up and shouting, “YOU TWO ARE KEEPING MY !@#$!@# DOG !#$@!$ AWAKE! SHUT UP OR I AM CALLING THE !#%!@# COPS!” but I was fairly certain that would not help the situation. If I was invisible, then I could just sneak inside, unseen. It would be a quick and simple escape.
As I thought this, the argument seemed to end as randomly as it started.
“WELL, IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, COME TALK TO ME, DON’T CALL THE COPS!” the neighbor two doors down shouted.
“WELL, I WILL!” my neighbor replied.
And the two men returned to their homes.
After a few more minutes of trying to fix the broken handle, I gave up, returning inside. I had been hoping I would be able to fix the handle so maintenance would not have to pay a visit. They always seem to look down on you when they are forced to make repairs, always on the verge of saying, “How did you break this? You may be the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.” I would love to escape their glances.
Maybe by then I’ll be able to turn invisible. They wouldn’t be able to judge me if they couldn’t see me.