There are three floors to the apartment building I live in. I live on the first floor. A guy on either the second or third floor has a buddy showing up constantly. Apparently he doesn’t own a cell phone to call the person who lives here to let him into the building. He stands in front of my front window and while looking up, whistles.
Sometimes it’s just an ordinary whistle—whatever that means. Sometimes it sounds like bird calls. Sometimes it sounds like a song. Sometimes—well, actually all the time—I find it annoying.
One afternoon, I felt especially irritated by his whistles. I decided to just let him into the building. Opening the front door, I stood there with a question.
“Do you take requests?” I asked the man.
“Do you take requests?” I repeated. “I mean if you’re going to stand in front of my window whistling all the time, I want to get something out of it.”
The man just stood there and looked at me.
“Do you know the theme to the Andy Griffin Show?” I asked. “Maybe you could whistle ‘Let’s Get Crazy’ by Prince.”
He continued to just stand there saying nothing. I guess he doesn’t take requests.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I opened the door for you,” I said.
The man hurried by me running up the stairs. He probably thought I was an idiot. I was thinking the same about him.
My questions to him, of course, changed nothing. The next morning he was back at that window whistling again.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t believe in gun control.