Lemme tell you a short story illustrating a consequence of being a complete mess.
I was tired, okay? Keep that in mind haha. I had just gotten home from a long day of work. (Uhum, actually it’s just a regular internship as any other person could be doing, nothing too tiring about it… It wasn’t even 7pm… But that’s of course less dramatic, so let’s just say I had a looooong day, shall we?)
I was on my way home, walking up the stairs in the apartment complex, all the way to the left, to my front door. Yeah, I know where I live. Obviously.
The lock on the door had been changed a few days ago, so I had to ring the bell to be able to even get in. Also, a lot of B’s friends (B = the woman who owns the apartment I’m temporarily staying in) have been coming over lately to help her get her stuff together and clean and so on. So I rang the bell and a man I didn’t recognize opened the door. I guess that’s one of her friends again. So I go: “Hi, I live here.” He looks at me and goes:
“Are you sure?” In confusion I look up to the house number. 177. That’s the right number. What the hell is this guy talking about? “Is B. home?” I ask. “She might,” he replies, “but you should go a floor up for that.”
Huh? Huh? Oooooh! This was 177 and I’m staying at 177a. Uhh, awkward… So I smile like an idiot, say bye, and run up the stairs to my actual floor. Apparently I just went up to a random stranger’s house and went “Hi, I live here.” Yeah…
Have I learned something from this? Probably not. But hey, it makes for fun stories and fine entertainment.
– Katrin –