Trash Chute

Last night gather up garbage bag to take to chute. Am wearing pajama bottoms and t-shirt, but don't like to be barefoot in public hallway, so stop by coat closet (not accurate name, also houses cake pans, vacuum cleaner, Champagne glasses which have used exactly once, half-filled paint cans, liquor, including bottle of grappa with half an inch of liquid in it, Christmas ornaments, and on the floor and on top of air purifier, shoes. This storage method for shoes makes for a hot and tense time of finding a proper pair of shoes, so to save wear and tear on self, take the first pair that see--one clog and one flip flop. Unfortunately, on way to trash chute, run into neighbor who is wearing baggy boxer briefs, a t-shirt, and slippers. Somehow, stifle impulse to make joke about what we are wearing--joke not so much a joke, as something like, I always put on funny outfits to take out the trash! Which would have only made it sound like I had some sort of bizarre fetish. Instead we are hideously polite to each other and even, I'm afraid, a bit cool. Would not swear that the word Man wasn't used by me, as in Hey man, you doin' ok. Yeah man, you? he replies. However mortifying this becomes in retrospect (very) do at least glad that we both were properly socialized enough to ignore reality.