The new neighbor has a habit of exposing himself. He often strolls through the hallway in nothing but boxer shorts. We’ve confronted him, reprimanded him, even filed complaints, but nothing has changed. Eventually, he boldly began sunbathing naked on the balcony. Our balconies are adjacent, and when my wife saw him, she was so shocked she cursed him out. This only seemed to boost his confidence. So, I personally marched him to the police station. It was over two kilometers. I escorted him, and he strutted along, drawing the curious stares of onlookers. Finally, we both felt a sense of resolution. Returning from a business trip, I instantly recognized the new neighbor from Apartment 603, Jude, by his boxer shorts. Round face, slightly balding, pale skin, a bit chubby with no muscle, and only wearing gray boxers. While not outright scandalous, it was definitely not appropriate for public spaces. No wonder my wife had been complaining about him lately. He was blocking the doorway of Apartment 601, insisting on helping the resident carry her cat litter inside. 601 is home to a somewhat shy girl who usually speaks softly. She was terrified, shaking her head and waving her hands frantically, repeatedly yelling, “No, no, no…” But Jude wouldn’t take no for an answer. He clutched a corner of the cat litter bag and pushed against the door, already halfway inside. “Why be so formal with me? Neighbors should help each other.” He laughed in a sleazy way, “Once we know each other better, I’ll grill some sausages for you.” “Oh, don’t overthink it, I mean the ones I cook myself.” The girl was on the verge of tears. I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I called out, “Hey, generous neighbor, how about helping me? My hands are sore, and I can’t carry my stuff.” Both turned to look at me. The girl’s eyes lit up so brightly that I almost lost control of my expression. Jude looked me up and down, frowned, and snapped, “Who are you? Needing help with that little load, are you even a man?!” I didn’t appreciate that. I walked over, let go, and my heavy travel bag crashed onto his foot. He yelped, forgetting the cat litter and the door, hopping around clutching his foot. The girl seized the moment, grabbed the 40-pound bag of cat litter, and dashed inside. As the door closed, a tremulous “Thank you” reached my ears. I smirked. Lifted my less-than-40-pound luggage. Hmm, my hands weren’t sore at all.
I turned to head home, but Jude grabbed my collar. “You think you can just walk away after injuring my foot? No way…” I freed myself, turned, and again let my luggage drop—this time on his other foot. Sadly, he dodged too quickly, and it only hit his grimy slippers. Gross. “Why should I stick around? I’m not interested in your grilled sausages.” He got angrier, “What’s your name? Who’s your family? Pay up! Apologize! Or I’ll call the cops.” “Go ahead. Complaining about a little bump like that—are you really a man?” His face fell. He raised a hand to hit me. I quickly stopped him, “Wait.” I dragged him toward our door, making sure we were in view of the surveillance camera, then offered my face. “Go ahead, hit me. Each slap is at least $2000. The harder you hit, the more you pay. I’m just short a bit to get a new car.” I closed my eyes, ready to enjoy a little “Indian massage.” But nothing happened. Jude’s forehead vein throbbed as he gritted his teeth, “Don’t you have any shame? You hit me first.” I rolled my eyes, “Got proof? If not, don’t go accusing people. I’m a model citizen.” There are only three households on this floor. There’s no surveillance outside his door, and the girl wouldn’t help him. Plus, if it came to it, he’d have to answer for harassing a woman. As we argued, the elevator opened. My wife had just come home from work. “Hey, honey!” Jude’s eyes went wide, darting between us. “You have a husband?” “You’re from 602?” It was obvious. Why was he surprised? Jude suddenly snapped, “What gives? You’ve been flirting with me?” My wife was baffled, “Are you nuts? When did I ever flirt with you?” “You smiled at me, wore skirts I like, showing arms and legs, if that’s not flirting, what is?” “Looking like a seductress, you’re clearly up to no good. Good thing I have self-control…” Before he could finish, I slapped him hard, “You filthy mouth, I’ll mess you up.” Holding his face, he suddenly looked excited, “There’s a camera, you’ll have to pay.” “It’s mine. I could erase it.” He quickly backed off. Under my glare, his 5’7″ frame seemed to shrink further. He snapped, “You’ll see,” and fled. As his door closed, the door of 601 creaked open. The girl thanked us repeatedly and insisted on giving my wife a bag of fruit. After hearing the whole story, my wife was furious. “That filthy pig is disgusting. Wandering around with a sewing kit, spewing filthy jokes at every girl. It’s so bad the girls in our complex are scared to go out.” “Yeah, but people have tried reasoning, scolding, even the property management mediated, but it’s useless. Like he said, his actions are immoral, but not illegal. Even if reported, it’s just a slap on the wrist. We can’t do anything.” The girl sighed, “I’m really scared. I might stay with my best friend for a while. You be careful too. You’re big and imposing, but he might try something sneaky. As the saying goes, better to offend a gentleman than a villain.” I nodded innocently. But I was thinking: He’s a villain, but I’m no gentleman.
The next day, Jude installed a camera. But it was as shameless as he was. So, I decided to have a friendly chat. I knocked on his door. “Hey, Mr. Grilled Sausage. Your camera is pointing right at our door. That’s an invasion of privacy. Fix it today, or I’ll call the cops.” Jude opened the door in his gray boxers. The little hole on the right cheek was just like yesterday. Oh, still the same pair, huh? He blew up, “Who are you calling ‘Grilled Sausage’? The name’s Jude, and I’m strong!” He thrust his hips, but all I saw was his belly jiggling. I didn’t bother arguing, “Got it, your grilled sausage has a strong ego.” “But that’s not the point. The point is, fix the camera!” He craned his neck up at a 45-degree angle, “I’ll install my camera however I want. It’s a public area. Who puts private stuff at the front door? You can’t just make stuff up. I went to middle school!” “If you don’t like it, copy me. I’ll keep my camera on you. What can you do?” He tried closing the door, but I blocked it. “You sure you won’t fix it?” He stood firm, “Yeah!” “Smash it if you want. I’ll just install another. If you break it, you’ll pay. I won’t lose.” “Okay, don’t regret it.” I suddenly let go, the door slammed, pinching Jude’s hand. His scream was like a pig being slaughtered. It was music to my ears. After years of dealing with civilized people, life felt dull. This guy’s amusing. I’m… looking forward to it.
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