Illustration from FFFFound!Kindly sense the sarcasm in the post title because we're about to launch into another Katie, the shady sublet story. Will it ever end? I think I am going to be dealing with this miscreant for the rest of my life. Is this punishment for being single and broke? I swear it is.
Batch 2 of my belongings that Katie claimed that she "just found" was delivered after I sent another scathing e-mail looking for my wide-legged jeans and perfume. Batch 2? There shouldn't have even been a batch 1 but that was her chance to come clean with everything which she failed miserably to do. So once again, I had to get people in New York involved to get my things because she couldn't follow instructions the first time around.
Not wanting to put my mother through that again, I had asked my dear friend Paul to retrieve the "remaining" items from her. He agreed to have her drop them off at his apartment on the Lower East Side yesterday afternoon. Paul and I met at Alliance Française in New York and never in my wildest imagination did I think he would be collecting stolen goods sloppily taken from my Paris apartment a mere 3 years later. Life is funny.
After receiving a cryptic message from Paul on facebook saying the crow flew at midnight which in code meant that the hand off was complete, I called him via skype to thank him and to get brief run down of the exchange. Katie who is crying poor rolled up in front of Paul's apartment in a sleek white Mercedes and handed him my things from the driver's side window. "She seemed surprisingly nice." Paul noted. Of course she's nice, she's a sociopath. They all appear to be nice. I'm sure if I had a drink with Casey Anthony she would seem sweet as pie too while she fed me lies about her life and swiped my wallet out of my bag. That's part of the illness. I would much prefer to be confronted with a raging lunatic than a sociopath, at least I'd know what to expect. They are harder to detect and come across like your best friend as they are plotting ways to royally screw you over. Unfortunately, this hasn't been my first tryst with this sneaky disorder.
On the phone, Paul and I went over the inventory together. The expected items were there, jeans, perfume, teddy (still can't accept that one) and then some unexpected items like shorts, a mini skirt and a bag full of panties. What? Not just one article of lingerie was stolen but a bag full? And panties, no less! There is something deeply wrong with this girl. I went from thinking that I had a party animal Pete Doherty maniac living in my flat to now a used panty-sniffing Buffalo Bill psychopath dancing around my apartment in used lingerie. This takes feeling creeped out to new heights.
"Ok, so there are 10 pairs in here." Paul delicately confirmed. I take back what I wrote earlier, never in my wildest imagination did I think that my Alliance Française classmate would be doing a headcount of my panties out of a ziplock bag. Sorry, Paul.
