I don't know whether I can brig this sight gag alive for you. As mentioned above, I have been observing the life and habits of a lone Polish chef specialised in la cuisine française. I have deduced that he abandoned his employment in a fit of pique when he was not promoted, as he deserved, to the better-remunerated position of sous-chef. He also abandoned his belongings in another town, bringing with him to this dwelling only the treasured posessions he could carry.
These included camouflage bags, nipped in at the ankle, a dark t-shirt, a good supply of extra-strength hair gel, toothbrush and, apparently discount vouchers at a local hairdresser for the care and maintenance of his complicated coiffure.
Picture him, if you will, with his close-shaven scalp decorated with a large, forward-flopping crimson quiff, which overhangs the unremarkable though regular features of a youth in the full bloom of health, camougflaged by battle fatigues.
He's a nice boy, fond of his sister, makes deliciously aromatic and timely repasts, and by evening you may discover him at the stove, his cheeks flushed with the day's endeavours, seeking work. So far unsuccessfully.
Here is the sight gag: no matter where I have observed him over the last two months - kitchen, hallway, salon or garden - HE jumps out of his skin with fright. I have not been purposefuly taking notes, or even preoccupied by his manner and appearance which I take for granted as an artifact of youth and inexperience, but rather inclined to recall what one can't help noticing about him. I am, myself, not remarkable: average height & build, pass in a crowd, not particularly stealth of footfall, but whenever our paths cross, he gives a squeal of surprise and fright. I was nearly ill with laughter last night, when I realised how events were trending. It's a sight gag.
It's beginning to alarm me.