The Supper Predicament

I have a small quandary, a social situation I find myself unable to deal with quite as fluidly as I would like. An action has occurred to me which requires a reaction from me, but what to do I just can't be sure.

In short, I'm stumped.

Friday night, I arrived home after a long and particularly downbeat day at the office, the clock was ticking past midnight and I was simply hoping to salvage the day with supper. I came off the street and into the house that holds my flat, up the stairs, up more stairs, dropped my keys on the floor and knelt down to retrieve them in order to gain access to the three room loft conversion I call 'home'. Then I saw it, a familiar sight in an unfamiliar place, a takeaway carton, the kind you get from the Chinese, or the Indian, either way, it spelled curry. But why? I hadn't ordered any delivery food, and it doesn't seem like the kind of thing I'd have dropped on my way out. There was a note scrawled onto the lid, in biro;

'To Russel, from Flat 1 (Riyaz), Enjoy.'

Now, those who know me well know that I'm not a man known for emotional displays, certainly not for being moved to tears, but here I'd just been given food, supper, take-away, a fried rice dish no less, unprompted, by a relative stranger. I have to confess to a moment of weakness, a deep breath at very least. My relationship with Riyaz, to this point, involved passing him at the doorway, moving my car to let him park, moaning about the lights in the hall being out, general uninvolved chatter that those who find themselves sharing a street door tend towards from politeness. I don't know the name of his wife, or his child, or if that should be children. I'll be honest, I'd forgotten his name was Riyaz, so it's good he included his address.

I must admit, and I do so with a certain degree of shame, that I did let my elation subside for a flash, as I considered possible unfriendly motivations for this gift, from spittle based practical joke, to arsenic laced mass murdering tendencies, but concluded in doing so I was ruining what should be quite a humbling moment, by imagining myself important enough to be made a victim in a strangers plot. Besides, I was holding a pot of free fried rice, he could probably have told me the dog had been licking it and I'd still have stuck it in the oven and started polishing up a fork.

I'll tell you what too, it was tasty, mighty tasty.

But now, dear reader, what do I do? How do I make thanks for this truly incredible gift. Do I return the favour, leave a pie outside his door? Do I simply knock and offer thanks? I've never knocked on his door before, that would be a boundary broken. Do I go the post-it route, a short note saying 'Thanks!' left for him to find, or do I just wait till I pass him in the corridor and give him a hearty smile and a sincere hand-shake? I've never been in this situation before. What would Stephen Fry do?

It's become slightly more awkward now, as it happens, I elected for the 'Wait till I pass him' option, thinking it warranted a personal display of gratitude, but a knock on the door might be an awkward step, I figured the chances of this happening at the weekend were reasonable strong.

It didn't. It's been three days now. Too late now for a post it? Definitely too late for a knock? But is he starting to curse me under his breath? Do I have to elevate the gesture now? Do I have to cook lasagne for his whole family? Have I ruined a potential friendship, and worse, reduced my chances of surprise food in future?

Maybe he'll read this... cheers Riyaz, your unexpected gift made my week and filled my belly, for that, I salute you.