Noteworthy events? Perhaps there were none. But now I sit on some squeaky, sagging cot (bottom bunk) in the fantastic obscurity of an 8am Philadelphia youth hostel. You know, it’s supposedly rumoured  that chores are expected of us here. Yes, you heard correctly: chores! Before we’re allowed to check out. Say, what?

Whoa. Hold up. Hold the phone. Here’s some human drama. Our sharp-tongued, effeminate and somewhat bitchy landlord manager (hostel-lord; a hostile lord he is) is arguing, yelling and bitching at one of our fellow guests, a dapper European gent.

Background: last night (he approaches the German guy who just beat me at chess, who in retrospect must be a more permanent resident of the place or else a long term guest.)

Bitchy effeminate landlord (BEL) to German guy: Is it me? Tell me, is it just me? You know him, is it me?

German: Huh?

BEL: I mean, I try, you know I do, and all it seems is that he’s so arrogant. Am I wrong? Is it just me?

German stares at him in bored silence.

BEL: Well? Tell me? Is it me? Am I wrong?

German: You’re not wrong.

Now, today (right outside my door!)

BEL (to someone entirely new): No, it’s not everyone, it’s you. I may be projecting…

Unidentified Other: It’s not me, because…

BEL: I may be projecting, but I’m not. You see, it’s not everyone, it’s you.

Other: No, it’s not me because then there would be no problem.

[Silence. Sounds of silent fuming.]

Other: You have a complex…

BEL: I don’t have a complex, I have an irritation.

Other: I’m sorry about your compex, but you should get it checked out, ‘cause it may be getting worse.

BEL: I don’t! I don’t have a complex. I don’t!

Stamping his manicured foot in frustration.