Laura comes into the bathroom, hitches up her nightie, sits on the throne, freezes. The banging and clatter from what she thought was some inexplicable event in the next door apartment is not only louder, there are clearly distinct and unknown (and, incidentally, male and large-sounding) voices right on the other side of the wall from her bare ass.
So, after a thoughtful pause, it goes like this:
Laura: “Excuse me. Are you gentlemen in my wall?”
Pause. Longer Pause. Unfamiliar voice: “Yes.”
Laura: “Ummmm. OK. let me know if you would like tea then.”
Shorter pause.Voice: “OK.”
When you eliminate the most probable (I’m nuts and simply IMAGINING men in my wall), and even the more readily explicable (they aren’t actually IN the walls, just in a closet or something in adjoining space) or even the deplorable (move over Pin Head, Freddy and The People Under the Stairs), sometimes the best option you are left with…
Is the attempt to be hospitable.
My landlord is a pusillanimous scum-wad.
and now, on to other realities. As soon as I can actually use the bathroom without it feeling like a sound stage.