The title of this post is, if you didn't recognize it, also title of a song from Ween's 2003 album, Quebec. It's a strange song, as one would expect from The Deaner and The Gener.
I don't know too many people in my apartment building. This is Toronto, after all: nobody really talks to their neighbours (as opposed to the little town in which I grew up, where it is not an exaggeration to say that nearly everybody knew nearly everybody).
However, I do have occasional passing encounters with a few people in my building. Because I don't know peoples' names, I think up my own for them, based on what I know. So, I will now introduce you to the few people I know in my building.
Crazy Cat Lady, a.k.a. Crazy Downstairs Neighbour
Any woman who (a.) lives alone, (b.) is north of 60 and (c.) has three or more cats immediately gets called a Cat Lady. The "Crazy" part must be demonstrated, and let me tell you, this woman demonstrates. I've written about her before; poke around, I'm sure you'll find something.
Hot Black Lesbian
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: all the good ones are either taken or gay. This one is both, which is a shame. I think I've talked to her the most out of anyone in my building; we sometimes head out for work at the same time. (She's a teacher, too.) So close, yet so far.
They're a charming 60-ish couple, both with extremely thick Newfoundland accents. They're both under 5'5" tall. They generally run a tight ship, although my mailbox's hinges are still wonky after I mentioned it to them back in the summertime. My apartment is insect-free, though; gotta give 'em props for that.
The Guy From Melville's
You remember the TV show Cheers, right? You remember the seafood restaurant upstairs from the bar? You remember the weird, snooty owner of that restaurant? Yeah, well, his exact twin (right down to the slight British accent; except my neighbour's accent is, as I found out a couple of days ago, Australian, but it's a dead-ringer for British) lives on the second floor.
Why a guy who hobbles around with a cane, and not very ably at that, live in a multi-floored building with no elevator? And on the second floor, at that? Dude, seriously, check out something a little more ground-level. Trust me.
A friend of mine was over one day and saw Crackhead in the (very small) lobby, and described her to me as such. The name has stuck because I immediately knew who my friend was talking about, and also because this woman is as close to a genuine crackhead as this building gets (as opposed to crackheads-in-spirit such as Crazy Cat Lady).
I've met her maybe 3 or 4 times since I moved in, which is odd because she parks right beside me. But, every time I've crossed paths with her, she's extremely annoyed, and usually at some other tenant in the building. Seriously, are all québecois/québecoises this easily miffed?
Mystery Cute Girl
Lives on the second floor... somewhere.
Approximately mid-twenties... -ish.
Had a very nice but short conversation... once.
Conclusion: due to her brief appearance and quick disappearance, she may have only been an example of a "tropospheric inversion," a warm-air phenomenon which causes random people to briefly become visible before vanishing forever.
So, that's my building (so far). Stay tuned for updates on other occupants as I discover them, including my next door neighbour who either has children or hyenas running around his apartment. (I can't quite tell yet.)