I found something strange in the bathroom this morning.
It was a real, live, breathing White Dude. And he was washing his face in bathroom sink.
“Um, hello.” I said, uncertainly. Who was this guy and how did he get into the apartment? Had yet another foreigner moved in over night? And if so, where was he sleeping? With the two (“sometimes three”) Indians? And wasn’t some sort of fire code (or two) being broken with all of these people living here?
He straightened up quickly, spun around and gave this startled (almost guilty), look. Like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Hi,” he said and then wiped his hands on a towel.
“I’m Reannon. I just moved in.”
He mumbled his name, turned his back to me and started to brush his teeth.
Later, when I questioned my roommates about the occurrence, they raised their eyebrows in surprise.
“You saw him? Wow. You mean you actually saw him?” They said, incredulously.
“Who ‘him’? Who was he?”
“I only saw him twice,” one of the Indian’s volunteered. “And I’ve lived here for a year.”
Apparently he’s our 9th roommate. The Phantom White Dude who lives in the apartment in the hallway. Everyone knows of his existence. And some people have even claimed to have spotted him once or twice, but only in the darkened shadows of the dead of the night. No one’s seen him in daylight. And no one’s ever spoken to him.
Except for me, apparently.
His existence in the Foreign Ghetto is sort of mystery. Mainly because no one can fathom how he’s survived so long…without the use of a kitchen or a toilet. His apartment is furnished with only a bed, a small desk and a lamp, so the landlord gave him a key to our apartment so that he can use the bathroom and kitchen facilities whenever he wants.
Only he never does.
How very, very odd.