Apt 3d

Upon concluding her twelfth hour of serving pasta, Anne climbed the stairs to her apartment on a Sunday midnight. There was a clamor from the third floor, and she peered around the wrought iron railing with trepidation.

Jim the Super. Always a nightmare apparition at that hour.

"Young lady, young lady... you goin' up to 4c? Uh, I'm doing a little work up there. There has kind of been a bathroom emergency."

"Emergency? Can I use the shower?"

Jim chuckled and rubbed his palms together. "Um, you could maybe wash your hands if you wanted to.... but that's about it. You see, the commode is kinda in the middle of the floor."

Behind Jim, the door to apartment 3d opened and produced a light-haired Irish man. He stepped into the hallway and put his hands in his pockets.

"You can come use my shower."

Anne reddened. Though she stood three steps above him, they were practically eye-to-eye. She didn't respond.

Jim preceded her into the bathroom. He crouched over a hole in the floor where the toilet had been and shouted down to the plumber in the apartment below.

Anne guffawed. The commode certainly was in the middle of the floor, resting on a wooden plank. Large chunks of tile were stashed in the bathtub for safe keeping, along with the trash can and myriad electrical equipment. Still crouched, Jim wheezed and wiped his brow on his shirtsleeve. He appeared to Anne as lankly perched at death's door amidst a war torn Gaza Strip.

"Well, what did you think of him?"

"Who? 3d?"

"Yes, my man, 3d! He asked me if you were seeing anyone. I said I did not think so, I did not think so!"

Delightful. Simply delightful to be set up by the Super.

As water washed over Anne's shoulders in a vacant shower down the hall, she mentally composed a note that began, "Dear Irish 3d."