Chapter 3
J
ust to be clear: It’s not that Lucas hates other people. He just really enjoys being where other people aren’t. He works well in groups as long as it’s groups of fewer than two people.
So then why doesn’t Lucas live in some solitary cabin far out in the forest? Several reasons, but mainly that forests are uncomfortable. Forests often have slow internet, and it’s really difficult to get perfect Pad Thai delivered to your door there. Lucas may not be fond of people, but he is very fond of the way they cook pad thai. So he lives in an apartment, which he would consider the perfect form of storage for people, were it not for the great virus of civilization: neighbors.
He rarely experiences having
neighbors as a problem, but being
someone’s neighbor can be utterly challenging, as they might in a worst-case scenario want to talk to you. Therefore, to avoid your neighbors, you have to make yourself uninteresting, but not too uninteresting, because that makes you interesting. You have to position yourself somewhere right between “What a great guy!” and “He seems . . . weird.” That’s your sweet spot, because everyone wants a neighbor who minds his own business, but if you mind your own business too much the neighbors may be reminded that this is exactly what everyone always says about serial killers: “Him? I remember him as a bit of a loner. Kept to himself.”
Best to be like dill, Lucas has concluded. Not like basil, the most anxious and ingratiating herb, but also not like cilantro, that conflict-seeking lunatic. Be dill. Nobody cares about dill. Or nobody cared
about dill. Not until the whole frying pan thing. That’s what we’ve come to now. Because one day Lucas’s doorbell rings, and nothing good ever starts that way.
Outside the door stands the board. Which is the authoritarian creature the residents of the building who could be bothered to attend the annual building meeting have voted as their leader. The board probably consists of several people, but when Lucas opens the door he gets the distinct impression of one single body with many heads. Like a bureaucratic Hydra, a mythological monster in a sweater-vest and ergonomic slippers.
“We are the board!” the board exclaims, a little in the way that the police announce that they’re the police.
When Lucas doesn’t immediately respond appropriately, for example with a slight bow, the board reacts as God might react if God called the tax agency and was put on hold.
“We are the board
!” the board repeats.
“Okay.” Lucas nods as neutrally as he can, very careful not to make himself a target of either their aggression or attraction. He doesn’t want enemies, but he also doesn’t want to risk making the only thing that’s worse than that: friends.
“Do you have a frying pan?” one of the board’s heads asks sternly while a second head nods eagerly and a third head peers curiously into Lucas’s apartment.
“Yes?” Lucas answers, as if this were a knock-knock joke.
“We need to take a look at it. May we come in?” says the first head of the board.
“In? Into my . . . apartment?” Lucas asks in a tone that you might use when offered a free proctoscopy.
“Correct. We need to inspect that frying pan. Anyone who doesn’t have a frying pan is a suspect!” announces the first head.
“A suspect for what?”
“During the night someone left an old frying pan on the ground outside the recycling room!” the first head explains, as if this were the beginning of a detective novel where a dead body’s been found in a lake, and a divorced police officer from the big city who has just returned to her childhood home is drawn into an investigation that forces her to confront her past, but which may or may not also give her the chance to fall in love with a man in a flannel shirt who has a golden retriever and a charming down-to-earth view of life.
“A . . . frying pan?” Lucas asks incredulously.
“Correct! On the ground outside the recycling room! It’s practically on the sidewalk,” the first head says.
“One is not allowed to throw old frying pans on the ground! Not in the recycling room, either, for that matter! Frying pans must be taken to the landfill!” the second board head informs.
“This is a violation of building rules! The culprit must be found! Anyone without a frying pan is a suspect!” thunders the first head.
“What a lovely place you have,” chirps the third head of the board, peering into Lucas’s apartment.
“Not now, Linda!” hisses the first head.
“Sorry,” says the third head.
Then Lucas does something very, very misguided. He tries to help.
“Shouldn’t it be anyone who has a new
frying pan who’s a suspect? If you throw away a frying pan, wouldn’t you already have gotten a new one?” he suggests.
All the heads take this into consideration.
“He’s right,” says the first head in wonder.
“Anyone who has a new
frying pan is a suspect!” The second head nods.
“Unless the person who threw away the old frying pan has bought a new frying pan, but it’s a used one . . . ,” the first head points out.
“So: anyone
with a frying pan is a suspect!” the second head decides.
“And everyone who doesn’t
have frying pans!” adds the first head.
“It could be anyone!” the second head whispers in horror.
“It could be me,” chirps the third head.
“Not now, Linda!” Heads One and Two hiss.
“Sorry,” Head Three says.
Then Head One stares at Lucas so viciously that the hairs on Lucas’s arms stand up, and then the head says the absolute most terrifying thing a grown man in an apartment building can ever hear: “You know, we are always looking for new board members.”
Head Two nods enthusiastically:
“Yes! You should help us with the investigation of the frying pan. You seem smart.”
Lucas curses himself. Being smart is the worst thing one can be in modern society. All it ever means is more work.
“I’m very busy,” he mutters.
“With what? Cooking?” says Head One suspiciously.
Lucas clears his throat.
“No. I mostly order takeout. But I have a lot of . . . work.”
Lucas doesn’t really. But he has just started playing a new video game.
“It’s your duty to serve your building,” says Head One.
Lucas really doesn’t want to do that. Yet he hears himself suggesting:
“I guess I could just . . . go down and get the frying pan and take it to the dump, if you like?”
Because Lucas is making the mistake of thinking that the board wants to solve the problem. But people actually almost never want to do that.
“You absolutely cannot go down and get the frying pan!” shouts Head One.
“Under no circumstances whatsoever!” agrees Head Two.
“What would it look like if people could leave old frying pans anywhere without consequences? It’s the person GUILTY of the crime who must pick up the frying pan! Penalties must be imposed, to set an example, otherwise anarchy will break out!” persists Head One.
Lucas nods slowly.
“Well, okay. But that sounds very complicated. Are you sure it wouldn’t be easier if I just . . .”
“The board forbids it!!!” screams Head One at that point, in a way that actually justifies the use of at least three exclamation marks.
“It looks so cozy in here. Do you live by yourself?” Head Three wonders with her nose halfway into Lucas’s hallway like a telescope with freckles.
“Let’s go, Linda!” Heads One and Two hiss.
“Sorry,” says Head Three.
Then the entire board animal marches off and rings the doorbell of the next poor neighbor.
At that point Lucas shrugs his shoulders, forgets all about it, goes back into his apartment, and continues playing his new video game. When he falls asleep that night, he is still happy.
That’s not going to last.