Gloria told me that the man would come by to paint my ceiling on Monday. "The man, and not Walter?" I ventured hopefully.
Yes, the man and not Walter. Walter said he didn't want to do it. (I'm very proud of Walter for finally putting his foot down after 107 long years of servitude.)
So I stayed home all day Monday, and of course no man came by. Tuesday I spent the morning at the library, where I got a call from Gloria announcing that the man had come and wanted to paint my ceiling. I called her back outside.
"Man is here to paint another apartment, so he does yours too," said Gloria.
"I'm not home," I said. "You told me to be home Monday."
"OK, he paint another time," she said.
"Fine with me. Give me a time, and I'll be home," I said.
"I will. Later, miss," she said.
The man often promises to come by and then doesn't show. He's always very nice about rescheduling, though he generally fails to show up at the new time, either. Gloria tells me that this is the way of the man: no one can control him. Apparently, he is like the wind, fluid, intangible, and completely invisible to the naked eye.