OK, here's one. We have a festival here in Sydney called Mardi Gras, which happens at the end of February. It's a huge gay & lesbian party with a parade and is one of the biggest party events in any Sydney clubber's calendar. Two years ago I went out with a bunch of friends for Mardi Gras, watched the parade, went clubbing afterwards, got home at 9 am on Sunday morning. I was living in a high-rise apartment at the time and my dad was visiting. I was hoping he would not be home (didn't want to answer any questions
) and was thankful that he had gone out.
Anyway, I got home, was exhausted, stripped off my shirt (as it was pretty sweaty from dancing all night) and was just wearing my leather pants. I was about to get fully changed when I saw the garbage hadn't been taken out. Thinking that it would be my (only) good deed for the day, I decided to take it out. I half thought of picking up my keys, but decided, stuff it!
I walked out the door and ran to the chute. The door behind me began to close, I chucked the rubbish down the tube and ran back...just to see the door click shut. Damn! I had to go down the elevator wearing leather pants and no top, down to the manager's office, which of course was locked and vacant on a Sunday. I tried breaking in but stopped when an elderly lady out to walk her dog began to cast suspicious glances at me. I decided to take the elevator back up to my floor and use a neighbour's phone (none of whom I had bothered to meet previously) to call a locksmith. There were 2 people in the lift with me, none of whom dared to meet my eye (I wonder why?). I got to my floor and lost my nerve on bothering the neighbours (one look at my attire was enough to scare even me) and so I sat down in front of my door to wait for my dad - who arrived about 5 hours later.
This is TRUTH, I'm telling you. Ask Yorick, he's met me, he'll know.
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