Went to look at an old record collection. It was at a retirement community and the guy was old. Three days older than dirt, old. He was there with his son. The apartment, while spacious was kind of cheaply made, thin walls and doors, like a mobile home. I had to use the bathroom (number 1, if anyone is keeping score). The bathroom door wouldn’t stay shut. I didn’t want to slam the door hard for fear of breaking something. I saw a large feather duster in the corner and propped it against the door in hopes of keeping it closed. It didn’t hold long and with the door open, the old guy walked by, scowled at me “Close the goddamned door…this ain’t a barn!” and then he saw the feather duster, “What the hell are you doing with that?!” Before I could answer, he slammed the door with a lot more force than I would have given him credit for and the door stayed shut. I wanted to transport out of there or go in a Way-Back machine, but since I couldn’t do either one of those, I slunk out. I left the bathroom and went right into my explanation/apology, the old guy was sitting with his back to me. As I got closer, in frantic mid explanation his son told me, “He’s not listening. he’s asleep.” I bought a few records and got the hell out of there before he woke up.