A Personal Failure

I may have just failed a Young-Single-Girl-Living-Alone test.

I arrived home from a whole 45 minutes at the Y and noticed a bearded, t-shirted man standing at the front door of my building. He was looking in the front door as I was walking to my apartment from the back door.

At first I just ignored him. He was against my better judgment. (It's not MY problem...) But then I thought "He's probably waiting for someone and it's raining out there." (Such compassion) So, I walked to the front door and opened it.

"Hello, can I help you?" says I.

"I'm here to meet Michael," says he, carrying a pizza and offering a generic and clearly fake name.

"Well I don't know Michael. Did he leave an apartment number?"

No, just the address, of course.

So, in a moment of bold executive decisionism I tell him, "You know, why don't you come in out of the rain." And I let the strange man into my apartment building. And I said "Good luck, enjoy your evening" and walked away.

This is the way horror movies start. The rain. A stranger at the door. Some dumb girl who can't hear the frightening music in the background befriends the killer, leading to her demise. I just hope he found "MICHAEL" because if not, I'm upset I didn't grab the pizza and run. It would have been a tasty last meal.