Bungle in the Jungle

Back when I used to work at the bar, you know the one where the guy asked for the pickled bologna, I also lived in an inexpensive furnished apartment. It was an old place on the West side of town. Wasn't a rich section but walking around during the day was perfectly safe.

There were a number of colorful neighbors in the four apartments. One of them worked as a waitress in the restaurant our landlord (should I say slumlord?) owned. She also collected the rent for him. She was a nice enough lady, but quite a character. The landlord’s nickname for her was Jungle Jane. She had flaming red hair and dressed “a little young for her age.”

I didn’t always know how to take her. For instance, she knew I grew up Catholic, so she was always saying to me, “You can’t tell me nuns don’t get none.” I lent her an album once and she found one song on there that she liked. She kept playing it over and over again. For those of you old enough to remember vinyl records you know that sound from trying, badly, to pick up the needle and get it back on the song. I never asked for that record back.

We shared a wall with her. Whenever she was mad she would throw glasses against that wall. She got mad a lot. I really don’t think she was all there. She was also the type to open the door a crack and snoop when people would talk in the hallway.

The adventures of Jungle Jane ended, for us anyway, when she finally found a guy who’d marry her. I don’t know what he saw in her. After he’d been dating her for a while he began to have that “deer in the headlights” look. I think he might have been afraid to end it.

Anyway, we never heard anything about her after she left. I still wonder……