The Man Living on our Floor Part Eight - Final

"I'm trying to get a better a car". The Man Formerly Living on Our Floor started demanding better working conditions from the get-go. Apparently the vehicle he was given wasn't up to scratch. "Maybe you should wait until you've worked there for a while," I replied. It was, afterall, his first day.

The Man had a bad habit of self-sabotage. The day after his successful interview at the company in Warminster he was back there checking the place out. The new boss returned from lunch to find our scarf-clad Biggles-looking hero at his (the boss's) desk doing something on the computer. "Ah, what are you doing?" The boss asked. "Oh, just checking to see what kind of system you have."

"Ah, maybe you shouldn't have been at your boss's computer before you started working there," I said. "Scratch that, maybe you shouldn't be at your boss's computer at all unless he asks you to be there."

Whenever I gave the Man Formerly Living on Our Floor advice he would give me a slightly startled, "He thinks I did something wrong" look, he would then nod and ignore whatever tip I gave him. Once, however, he thanked me for setting him straight the previous Saturday night. I couldn't remember talking to him though, my recollections of anything after my spot of breakdancing on the nightclub floor are hazy (in my unfortunately vast experience breakdancing usually precedes blackouts). I imagine I did set him straight about a few things though - such as acknowledging the existence of his girlfriend and the need to pay back the Polish guy.

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The Man Formerly Living on Our Floor left his summer jacket and heraldic seals at our place along with a few bits and pieces. Yes, his family seal was sitting on our mantelpiece. You may remember an earlier episode when Moustache Guy (as he was then known) wrote a letter to the hostel manager requesting new rental terms. The manager responded to that letter with a letter turning Moustache Guy into the Man Living on Our Floor. Well, I discovered some time after that not only was the letter unfortunately written in aristocratic parlance but it had been sealed in wax! Sealed with the same abandoned seal sitting beneath the Rothco print in our living room. When I heard this, my palm instinctively connected hard with my forehead.

So for a few weeks things quietened down on the Man Formerly Living on Our Floor front. We saw him on the street (walking not living) occasionally and said g'day as well as, "Don't forget to pick up your stuff". I got a feeling he wasn't so keen on collecting his possessions because it gave him an ongoing reason to come over should need be.

One night we ran into him in a pub somewhere and he shared his excitement about the latest love of his life. "I met a 23 year old Columbian girl. Beautiful. She's the girl I'm going to marry. Her brother is moving to Bath and we're going to get a house together. We've had business discussions as well. I'm going to open a branch of the business in Columbia. Things are going really well."

A few weeks passed without seeing him. Then I rang a couple of days before we left the apartment.

"Hey mate, come over and get your stuff. We move out on Monday."

"I can't. I'm at work (on a Saturday) and out of fuel. I don't get paid till next week so I'm stuck here."

"Okay", that was par for the Man Formerly Living on Our Floor course. "I'll find someone to give it to then."

"That would be fantastic. Hey did I tell you about the Columbian girl I met in London..."

I had trouble finding people. I wanted to give the stuff to Carla but she was ignoring my messages. She only liked to give positive responses, and that's cool. I knew the score. But unfortunately for Carla I ran into her in the street. "He's not just out of fuel he's living in his car," she said. I didn't catch the details but I was a bit mystified how someone earning 750 pounds a week and being paid weekly could be totally out of cash. At least the fact he had the car meant he still had the job. I figured he must be poor at the moment because he did the right thing and paid everyone back. "So he gave Marius (the Polish guy) his money back?" She shook her head. (Palm/forehead). Carla didn't want the stuff.

The day we moved out I dropped off the summer jacket, his book of self-penned poetry and the family seal at the hostel. Maybe one of the young ones would return it sometime.

I'm going to miss the Man Formerly Living on Our Floor.

The End