I am the coolest person in my apartment building. When I step out onto the rooftop deck, people turn their heads and ask, “Who is that girl that appears to give zero shits? Look at her unbrushed blue hair. And those sweatpants! Is that some sort of patchwork on there? And the American Apparel heather grey number she’s pulled over her head but hasn’t inserted her arms in—have you ever seen anyone do that before? Like, intentionally?”
I don’t say hello to the ladies at the front desk when I walk in. I may smile at them when they greet me with, “Hello, Molly!” but I pretty much walk straight to the elevator.
Even though we’re supposed to ask permission to have parties on the roof, I had a gathering of 8-10 people up there just last week. It included several kinds of meat and at least six dips. We had a Beats pill playing 80s jams and cases of beer. Some of my friends were indulging in marijuana. I didn’t ask anyone if that was okay, I just did it because cools know better than to ask permission.
I crack jokes in the elevator with other residents. I hate one of the building managers because she makes a big old fuss about everything and gets relatively little done. It’s all drama with her, you know? Lots of shuffling about and speaking in loud, important tones that make it seem like she’s being productive, but she’s not. She has fat, dyed red curls that I know take her a long time to put together every morning. She has dozens of lime green tops. I actually find the sheer number of lime green tops she owns to be the most impressive thing about her.
I know she hates me too because I am the coolest person in my apartment building. My defiance and lack of respect for her is something she finds maddening. She’s never voiced this to me, but it’s in her eyes whenever we’re forced to speak to one another. Last week during my Illegal Party™, she sat with her jaw open as she watched me bring yet another group of people up to the roof, cases of beer in hand. When we got in the elevator with a few other residents, I turned to my best friend Ed and was like, “Bonnie Raitt out there is shitting herself. I guess you could say we’re giving her something to talk about.”
Because I’m the coolest person in my apartment building, my clever joke got some chuckles out of the crowd and I was quite pleased with myself because anyone who’s seen Who Framed Roger Rabbit? can tell you that laughter will endear another person to you for life.
But I don’t really need to be pleased with myself because I know everyone else is kind of obsessed with me. The ladies at the front desk who I ignore are eager to befriend me. Many times I’ll swing through looking for some sort of Amazon package or to put in a request to have a repair done in my place and I’ll just roll up to their office and lean on the door frame. I know that leaning is a sign of coolness and something that women go crazy for because I’ve seen My So-Called Life and it worked just great for Jared Leto. Sure enough, it’s not long before they’re all dropping their panties like, “Oh hi, Molly! You got an email about a package? Oh, okay! How are you? Are you doing anything fun this weekend?” And then I’ll tell them something SUPER fun that I’m doing but I’ll play it down like it means nothing to me, cuz whateva! I do cool things every day. I’m the coolest person in my apartment building.
I leave my sunglasses on all the time. I know that I wear them because they are prescription and I have terrible eyesight/extreme sensitivity to light, but they only support the concept that I’m so cool I don’t care about respecting other people via looking them in the eyes. For all anyone knows, I just drove in from Malibu and am too exhausted from catching toasty waves and listening to the wave reports via my radio to even realize that I’m wearing my sunglasses inside. Maybe it makes me look hungover all the time which is righteous because excessive drinking implies a certain level of badass-ness that only the coolest of the cool can maintain.
Sometimes I’ll come up on the roof with a book and a steak and I’ll grill the steak while reading my book which also supports the notion that I’m the coolest person in the building because 1) Smart people are cool and smart people read, 2) I eat red meat which some people consider really bad for you and being blasé about your health means you’re living on the edge and 3) I can multitask. Another example of cool multitasking is steering the wheel of your car with your knees so you can rip a bong at the same time. There are other examples, but I think you know where I’m going with this.
Good luck trying to top that, nerds.