JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

In 2006, long after I’d moved out of the Eraserhead building, I was hanging out with two friends and we got to talking about places we had lived in. That’s when I discovered that we had all lived in the Eraserhead building, but at different times. Not only that, but we had occupied adjacent studio units: 914, 915, and 916. We had been neighbors, in a time-warp sort of way.

Cookie Monster lived in Apartment 916 at the turn of this century. He was working on a project at a nearby hotel, and after a particularly busy day, he asked his assistant to bring his bag back to the apartment. “Here’s the key,” he said, “It’s unit 916. Just leave the bag on the table, then come back here.”

The assistant went off with the bag and returned a half-hour later with the key. “Apartment 901, just like you said. The door right beside the elevator.” “I said 916! 916!” Cookie Monster cried. “But the key opened 901,” his assistant pointed out. So Cookie Monster hurried home, stood at Apt 901 and rang the bell. There was nobody there: it was an office and everyone had gone home. He put the key to 916 in the lock of 901, and true enough, it opened the door. He dashed in, retrieved his bag, and ran out, locking the door behind him. The last thing he needed was to be accused of stealing his own bag. Then it occurred to him: If the key to 916 also worked for 901, did it mean that it would work for all the other apartments on this floor? What about the apartments on other floors? What if all the locks on all the doors of all the apartments in the building were identical? That would make every tenant’s key a master key, and one could enter any apartment at will. He could pick any apartment, walk in, rearrange all the furniture and leave. He could systematically drive all the other tenants bonkers by pretending that a poltergeist or a pack of gremlins had been messing with their possessions. Once he had ascertained the daily schedules of the other tenants, he could even “live” in their apartments while they were away, and invent new identities to correspond with each different residence. . .

This was too much power for one person. The next day, Cookie Monster called the building administration and reported what he had found. He cannot remember if they changed the locks, but he never tried opening other apartment doors again. As for the building, it has been torn down, so this precious information is no longer of any use. Except for a story I’m writing.

The Vortex in Emotional Weather Report, yesterday in the Star.