Scary doesn't even begin to cover it
For three years I lived in a student flat. I decided to leave after the scary live-in lesbian landlady somehow got pregnant, but that's another story. I ended up living on my own in a rented tenement studio flat. My flat was on the top floor, the other floors being inhabited by lovely old persons. The other two residents on my floor however were rather scary.

Number one was a single guy, mid-thirties, who dealt the occasional bit of spliff. I thought he was a pretty sound guy until one day when I was off work sick. There was a knock on my door at about 11am and he asked me if I had a CD player he could borrow. Being the sensible person I sometimes am I gave him my rubbishy spare one. He couldn't thank me enough and asked me if I'd like to partake of some of his spliff. I answered that I most definitely would and went into his flat with him. Upon entering his front room I was confronted with a couple of very underage girls (I'd reckon about 14 years old), semi-naked and smoking weed. He'd apparently picked them up in a nightclub and brought them back for a party. I swiftly made my excuses and left.

Number two was the really scary one. A new television aerial was being fitted and the engineer needed access to my flat while I was at work, so the day before I'd arranged for neighbour number two (who seemed pretty decent and normal) to let them in using my spare keys. He'd told me to pop round at about 6pm after work to get my keys back and have a couple of beers. I got in at 6.10pm and knocked on his door. He shouted for me to 'just come in', so I did. There he was, a fat balding late-30's guy, naked on the sofa. I didn't know where to look. He told me that he'd just had a bath and that "you know, sometimes I just can't be arsed puttin' me clothes back on". Seeing how uncomfy I was with it he went through to the bedroom and pulled on a dressing gown. I then got his life story over a couple of beers - his wife ran out on him, he was up in court next week on GBH charges (that's 'charges' - plural), and that his work laid him off after he drove his van through the showroom window. He then put on the CD player to listen to crap German rock very loudly to 'piss off the old codgers downstairs'. After a lot of beers he asked me (in a very intimidating way) to take some nude photos of him to send to his ex-wife. Erm, no, I don't think so.
He didn't speak to me for about two months after that, and started opening any of my mail that was delivered (by the inept postie) to his flat instead of mine - occasionally replying to the mail. I only found out when my bank phoned me about a credit card application I'd never made. (Luckily my credit rating was already fucked, so there was no chance of me qualifying for a credit card). Just before I decided to move house he decided to start speaking to me again, and tried to get into my pants. Now I may be a big overweight queer, but even I have standards. Needless to say I didn't mention where I was moving to.
(bedsitmartyr : Doctor of Bottles, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:30, Reply)