To the Stunned Cunt in the Parking Garage:
Considering I was carrying a huge mesh sack of laundry, two large (heavy!) Ikea bags full of stuff, a 5′ long cardboard poster tube, had a purse slung over one shoulder, and an overnight bag over the other, and had the exhausted look of one who has just returned home after a long weekend spent with family – was it really necessary to ask me if I “live here” before you nearly slammed the parkade door in my face before I could get in?
In addition, do you think you also needed to inspect the keys that were precariously dangling from my pinky to make sure that I did, indeed have a building key?
Because really, if I didn’t live here, and was carrying that much stuff, don’t you think maybe I’d be going in the OTHER DIRECTION?