So, I had to make a noise complaint on the neighbor upstairs again. I hate to do it, but he gave me no choice. Actually, I didn’t hate to do it. Who am I kidding? I drink his salty tears of sorrow for my sustenance.
Let’s say, hypothetically, I do start to feel guilty about it. I mean, the guy was pacing with heavy feet back and forth for almost two hours, but he was doing it while sobbing on the phone. I don’t care why he was crying, because I’m a heartless bitch.
But anyway, let’s say I was feeling guilty. Maybe I should make some cookies or bake him a cake or something. What sort of cake does one bake that says “Hey, I’m sorry I called the courtesy officer on you?”