Bob

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Some people get parcels every day. Bob’s the kind of guy to get one every other week. He always comes to the door in his underwear. Bob’s a fat guy in his mid twenties.

Today when I rang the doorbell, the basement window, left of my feet, slowly rolled open. Someone was talking from behind a curtain. I couldn’t make it out.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Yan gogon anana try na noorbell.” It was really muffled. Hardly audible. I understood the doorbell part. So I rang the doorbell again.

“Yah, na gana guy upstairs in pronny sleemans. I’n a pronny rinna doorbell again.”

I rang the doorbell one more time.

“Ring itabumnch.” The disembodied voice said. So I rang it a bunch. “Oop. Here e come.” Then the window slowly wound shut and Bob answered the door in his black boxer briefs.

“Hi. I’ve got a parcel for you.”

“This was supposed to get here yesterday.”

“Oh? Well. Nobody works on Sundays.”

“I mean tomorrow. The tracking number said it’d come tomorrow.”

“Oh. Hmm… Well. It’s here today.”

Was he happy it came early? It seemed like he should be. His face said otherwise. I’ve never heard of someone getting shitty over something arriving early. Maybe if he wasn’t home. But he was home!

“If you could just sign for it.” I said, handing him the device.

He signed it and said, “Thanks for waking me up.” Then closed the door before I could respond.

I forgot what his last name was so when I printed his name into the device I wrote Bob Dong.

For the rest of the day I repeated to myself, “Thanks for waking me up.” What a shitty guy. Well looks like I won’t be bringing this guy parcels anymore.

So in the end, I really hate people a lot, starting today.

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