Thursday, 26 September 2002 | Signature

Awake two hours early, so I could take the train into downtown Brooklyn and get the gas company to turn on the gas, so I could visit my landlord, and so I could visit my new place before going to work. At the gas company, I stood alone on the customer-side of the counter. They made me take a number. And then they immediately called it out. And then I found out my presence there wasn't required at all.

On the train I noticed how different the ads are in that part of town; instead of ads for expensive fashion, banks, or private schools, such as in Manhattan, there were generic ads provided by the transportation system, and ads for telephone books that were supposed to appeal to "native" New Yorkers.

At the landlord's place, I asked if they (today there were two) would sign the statement I'd printed, which states that I have the right to move out after six months with my deposit intact (something we'd verbally agreed on because of the rent misunderstanding). No, I not signing nothing. You sign things, not me. You just have to take my word for it. Why you worry so much? Don't worry. I not signing nothing.

I asked whether I could paint, and one of them answered, yes, light colors. She held up the collar on my bright red dress and said, you can paint this color, you can paint light colors, you can paint yellow, or black, just as long as it's light, you can paint it.

Walked a few blocks and stood outside my new building, rattling the keys around, using force to twist them in ways they refused. A phone call later, and the superintendent brought me the key to the building, which hadn't even been given to me before I was sent on my way. I was surprised to see the apartment full of people hammering away, sweeping up dust from the floors, sawing, drilling. I was supposed to move in Wednesday, today, tomorrow, and then Saturday. Tonight I returned and stuck my finger in the polyurythene that coats the floor and realized that Saturday might even be premature. It's making me crazy.

To K-Mart during lunch, to exchange a free Martha Stewart shower curtain Beau had given me. Of course I had no receipt, so I just went to the customer service counter and half-convinced the man that I'd actually walked in the store with a shower curtain in my bag, that I didn't just put it there, and that it should be fine if I take another color instead. He seemed to want to leave me on my own with it, stick the curtain in my bag if I want, but that he wasn't involved if I got caught doing it.

I picked out a new one and looked around at the cameras, totally feeling like I was doing something illegal, almost convinced that I was indeed shoplifting. I looked around for a good place to stuff the curtain in my bag. I am not a shoplifter, and I'm not particularly good at faking nonchalance, but I did it, stood right in front of the counter and put my rightful curtain in my bag, figuring that no one would think I was stealing if I was so obvious about it. I didn't relax until I was twenty feet away from the store.