Tuesday, November 13, 2012

#56 Adult Education - The End

************If this is your first time reading this blog, DO NOT start here.  Please go to the archives, where you should start with the very first blog.  This is essentially a story with a beginning and an end.  You don't read books beginning with the last chapter, you didn't start with the 10th episode of Season 2 of Game of Thrones (you'd be all "who's Ned Stark?"), so why would you read this blog about this fucking dumbass job backwards?
Please whisk yourself away to when this journey began in January of 2011.  Oh hey, and thanks. Glad to see you.******************

After some thought, I realized some things and learned some lessons from this chapter of employment that maybe you can use in life.

I should have reconsidered the job choice when:
  1. I knew a woman like Pigeon had access to me, via phone, 24-hours a day. Get out before it's too late.
  2. After collecting thousands of people's money in rent and handing out notices for fines and complaints, I realized that I was everything I hated...The MAN.  Damn The Man. Don't Let the Man Get You Down.
  3. It was revealed that the boss is a ridiculous one-percenter that doesn't care about the well-being of people. Examples?  Okay!
    • He puts a washer and dryer in everyone's unit. Great, right?  WRONG.  It is one of those tiny European style washer/dryer-in-one combos.  They wash your dry, dirty clothes, and four hours later, you get soapy, wet clothes. Pretty sure he hasn't done his own laundry in decades.
    • The first time I met The Boss was a few weeks after I was already working.  He comes in my office and instead of greeting me, his brand new employee that is going to take care of one of his buildings and help him collect millions of dollars a year, he prattles off to Charlotte as to why she should get married or dump her boyfriend...for an hour.  He didn't acknowledge me once. 
    • The only act of kindness and appreciation he had for his employees was when he gave us a frozen turkey one day before Thanksgiving.

    Remember: Rent is NEVER free.
    This job sucked my asshole.  It was not worth the "free" rent. 
    *This also applies to moving back in with your parents as an adult. The price you pay is living with your parents.  Also, what is it about we as adults, that when we get near our parents, we revert back into being whiny 15-year olds?*
We never stop learning, folks.

Speaking of, I recently learned that Pigeon put in her notice to move.  This bothers me because she was my burden in this building, and mine alone. What if the only reason why she stayed was because I humored her by talking to her?  WHAT IF PIGEON WAS JUST A MANIFESTATION THAT I BROUGHT UNTO MYSELF!?!?!?! 

So what now?  Well, I got myself another job that is actually way better, allows me to go on my auditions and be an actor, it's a half block away from my place, and I don't have to answer one goddamn phone call.  However, I'm pretty sure no one wants to read "Being an Office Manager at a Small Architecture Firm is Pretty Cool:," so I guess this is it, gang.

Thanks so much for reading my tales.  I started this blog as a way to just tell all my friends at once the horror of the things I faced.  I leave it as a cautionary tale for all.
This is how I feel about you, literate friends:
Let's not hit the nail over the head by adding an additional a picture of me using a different finger to express my feelings towards my former employers.  You get it.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

#55 Training

Before I got to the building, there was a whole string of other managers that either quit or got fired, one after the next. These girls were pretty smart to leave, and not endure the torture I did for two years. I guess that makes me the desperate dumbass...self realization is HARD.
My first several months, I kept getting responses from tenants saying "Oh, another one" "We'll see how long you last" "I liked the last one, where did she go?" get it. 
This may be happening all over again.  I had this fucking building in check.  They let go of the only person that could wrangle this building, with this many assholes, for this extended amount of time.  Way to fuck up, pricks.

While I was getting fired, I was informed of this new woman to take my place.  I volunteered to train her. Now, why would I do that?  You would think I would just flip the desk in rage and storm the fuck out there.
I want to believe I am a compassionate human being of sorts. In case you didn't notice, this job is fucking awful.  I was barely trained and had to figure shit out myself.  I would have loved some help.  I have nothing against this new manager, so why not help her out by passing along my wealth of knowledge?
The day after I got fired, I walked into the shitty, hot office and saw Charlotte, looking irritated with this whole event, a girl from the head office, and the new manager.

The girl from the head office gave me my last paycheck and just sat there, watching me as I was showing the new girl where things were in the computer and around the office. I'm assuming on the GM's behest, she was told to keep an eye on me, so I don't do anything crazy.  Like I give a shit.

As I'm showing the new manager things, she already seems overwhelmed. I feel bad for her and anyone else that takes this gig. She may not last long (or tolerate it just enough to write about it). Time to oil up the revolving door of managers coming and going out of this joint.

You guys remember my entertaining rent reminder signs I would put in the elevator. Well, it seems that she experienced the same thing I did my first month here, and realized that people always seem to forget to pay rent on time. She too decided to put a reminder in the elevators:

No bells and whistles.
So minimalist.
It's perfect.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

#54 I Got Fired

That is correct everyone.  My ass got shit-canned from being a building manager.  Have you heard it's awful?
Let's set the scene:
Late morning.  I'm sitting in the office.  General Manager enters.
"Hey Mapple. How is everything going?"
"Hey GM.  Well, that water pump is still making a weird noise, other than that, everything is normal."
"Okay, anything else?"
"No, that's about it...late payments, you know, the usual.  Did you get a chance to talk to the Boss about my two-year raise?"
"Yeeeeeaaaaahhhhh, about that.  We're going to have to let you go."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"You are our best manager.  You never make mistakes, but I've gotten one too many calls from tenants saying you make them feel idiots after they get off the phone with you." (Hilarious)
"Well they are idiots.  What's the problem?"
"This job has a lot to do with customer service and....blah blah blah"
So this is the bullshit excuse he gave me.
He just became a murmur, as I went over in my head what he could be talking about, and how this affects me.
Then I became angry:
"Can you give me an example, so that I know what to do next time?"
"There have just been too many."
"Can you name one, at least, so I know?"
"I've just heard things..."
"So you aren't giving me an example of an instance?  Aren't you supposed to warn me?"
"Well, I could warn you, but I know you.  You'll change for maybe a month, and then you'll just continue being who you are: dry and sarcastic..."
So wait, he's firing me for who I am?  I mean, I guess you can't really change my general attitude towards a terrible job where the owners and the tenants treat me like shit.
"So, what, do you want me to hang out until you find someone else?"
"We already found someone.  She's moving in and starting today."
Some more back and forth went on.  I went through stages of disbelief, anger, sadness which lead to uncontrollable was not a pretty scene.

I later looked on craigslist, and found that he posted my job up on 1st.  He waited for me to collect rent, hand out notices, turn in the money and do the dirty work while he was interviewing my replacement, then fire me on the 9th.
I also realized that his excuse he gave me is an outright lie.
The tenants don't have his number, and don't talk to him.  They don't give a shit about what the tenants think.  All they see them as is $$$.
 He's saying I'm condescending to tenants on the phone?  It's bullshit because I'm nice as shit to these people (despite me calling them all babies and assholes).

The Reason (to me)
I've been here for over two years. I asked for a raise two months ago, on my two-year anniversary. They kept avoiding me and wouldn't talk about it.  I think they realize they can get a manager for cheaper.  It's only saving them $400, but the boss is cheap as shit, so it doesn't matter.

Also, the GM hates me.  He's this 25 year old skinny kid with a nasally voice who has this job because he's the boss' nephew.  On the daily, he wears an oversized button-up and ill-fitted pleated slacks, is lanky and has terrible posture.  He looks like an awkward, haunched over teen being forced to dress up to go to a school dance he doesn't want to go to.
This dude probably didn't like me because I treated him as such; in a "I got this.  Don't tell me what to do, kid" type of way.  It's not the best way to talk to your boss, but whatever, I got everything done and I was the best manager out of all their buildings.
I guess he had enough of my act.  To show he was a big man who can fire people at will, he did.

And here I sit in my loft, that I now have to pay for, blogging about it.
What else am I going to blog about on a site called "being a building manager is awful:"?  We'll see.
To end on a fun note, please go to my Twitter feed @awfulgig (and follow me while you're at it), and you'll find a link to a music video of a particular someone...You're Welcome.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

#53 Henry Meadows

This is a tale that is not my own, but rather, one I have observed for the past several months.

My company owns the loft building next door.  My coworker, Stephanie, is the building manager.  This building is a little more expensive, so her tenants lean more towards "entitled babies" rather than my "asshole babies."  It's a real toss-up as to which set of babies is worse.
Stephanie and I each only have one day off a week.  Her's is Tuesday, mine is Wednesday. We take each others' baby monitors on the other one's day off, so once a week, we have to deal with two phones/two buildings/400 units/more bullshit. 
Stephanie has only worked here for about eight months or so.  In her first month, I have her phone on a Tuesday, and I get a call from one of her babies at 8pm:
"Hey, where's Stephanie?"
"It's her day off.  I'm the manager next door. I can answer any general questions you have, otherwise call her tomorrow."
"Well, there is a homeless guy trying to get into the loft next door to mine."
"Tell Security to escort him out."
"I did.  This homeless guy is saying he lives here and he just moved in today."
"What?  There's no way that's real."

I call our leasing agent, Charlotte, and she tells me the story. This homeless guy named Henry Meadows won some sort of lawsuit, and now he's rich as fuck.  Charlotte is then forced to take this guy's application because otherwise, she would be discriminating against him.  He qualifies for a loft since he's got a shit ton of money.  Now that Henry Meadows is rich and has money, he can get himself a place and move on with his life as someone who is no longer homeless.  She hoped it would be a Rags to Riches, My Fair Lady-type tale of transformation. Charlotte bought him new clothes and soap for him to scrub up and be a part of society.
This is not the case. 
Henry Meadows has been homeless for decades.  He doesn't know what it's like to live like a normal functioning human being. Even though he is no longer homeless, he still looks, acts and smells like a homeless zombie.

Henry Meadows is Stephanie's Pigeon
He has been a pain in her ass since she started this job, as Pigeon has been mine since she moved in a month after I started working.  It's a different ass pain. 
The guy that hates Henry Meadows more than Stephanie, is the neighbor that called about him...who in turn, annoys Stephanie every day about how he is not comfortable with a homeless man next door and how he smells. This guy is like a secondary Pigeon, who would not exist if it were for her first Pigeon (who if you're keeping score, is the equivalent to my Pigeon, but not the real Pigeon).
The neighbor, however, is not making shit up.  In the rare occasion I have to walk the halls of the building next door, I smelled something off. 
I walked by a hall inlet and found this:
This is the hall that Henry "the no-longer-homeless-guy homeless guy" Meadows and his neighbor live in. 
Those are air freshners fastened to the neighbor's door and along the hall.  The tall door next to it is the entrance to Henry's unit.

Let me tell you, those air freshners didn't do dick.  It smelled like a weird combination of swamp ass and ball sweat with a light hint of Summertime Magnolia.

The smell got so bad that the company had police go in to assess the place, since Henry would not let anyone else in.  They found bags of tied up piss lining the apartment.  There is a fucking toilet that flushes, as well as sinks with running water.  Why he ties up bags of piss and collects them remains a mystery.
I actually wish homeless guys did bag up their piss.  It would make the streets smell less like bum pee.  I can just see the signs, "Please Curb Your Dog and Your Urine."  What a Utopian society this would be.  It's like Burning Man, but where people can shower..and maybe not as many opiates.

We all have one.  Stephanie's is Henry Meadows.  She shares this awful, horrible gig.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

#52 Do This, Don't Do That, Can't Your Read The Sign?

As I've mentioned before, people tend to just throw shit out of their windows.  I wouldn't bitch at anyone about it if all the units were street facing, but alas, this building has an enclosed interior courtyard.  It sucks to live in the interior.  You barely get any sunlight and no view.  If someone's window is open, you can hear any shitty song or movie they have on or if they're having a party, and you can't tell which window it's coming from because it bounces off walls and echos throughout.  It most definitely sucks ass.  I'm really glad I don't live in the interior.
The first three floors in the interior have patios.  You know, to enjoy the 'outside'.  Other assholes usually toss down cigarettes and beer cans down the courtyard, landing onto one of these patios.
I get a visit from one of these babies, and they wanted me to come to their unit to see what has landed on their patio. I get to the patio, and there are egg shells, cigarette butts, and a DVD for Slap Shot 2: Breaking The Ice  starring the most talented of the Baldwins...Stephen.
Someone loved this movie so much, they threw it out the window for another tenant to enjoy.
So it looks like I'm doing something for this guy, I decide to put up another sign about not throwing things out of windows:
This was fun because I got to use a prop. The price sticker in case you can't read it: $3.00. 
It was up for a day, and then, of course, people that believe they are as witty and hilarious as I am write on it. "This movie is awesome." "My fave" "Who would throw this out?" Then someone eventually takes the DVD, leaving the case.  If you're going to steal it, steal the whole thing.  I think they understood, however, that without the case, the joke would be lost, so...thanks, idiot.
I've never actually purchased an ashtray for anyone, nor would I.  People continue to toss shit out of their window. There's no stopping it. 
Our patio furniture at the rooftop pool looks like shit.  The cushions for the seats are ripped to shreds from years of use.  I get complaints about it all the time.  Our cheapass boss refuses to pay for new upholstery. As the middle man, I can only report on how bad it is.  If I could buy new patio cushions, I would in a heartbeat.  It's embarrassing up there. 
One evening, I find this in all three elevators:
I understand everything this bitch is saying, as I would be mad too.  Although, if this baby is trying to mock my style of elevator notes, they are doing it all wrong.
Why does she (I'd only assume such a turdy little note would come from a girl) mention "Sunny California" so much?  Get to the point, bitch. Your overuse of frivolous adjectives is straying from the idea you're trying to convey.
Oh, and thanks for the home patio furniture sale print out. Let's get that for hundreds of assholes to use and see how long that shit lasts. 
I'm only annoyed by this because it was directed towards me.  If I were to leave a rebuttal sign, it would go a little something like this:

Hey Passive Aggressive Tenant!!!!!!!!

Don't bitch at me.  Call the main office and be a cunt to them.

<3: Your building manager who thinks you suck

And finally, holy shit. A bird shat on my car.  It shit-handled me!
It comes full circle. 

Thursday, July 26, 2012

#51 Pigeon VIII - Pigeon's Emergency

*ring ring*
Hey, Pigeon.  What's up?
I need maintenance to come in here right now and fix my washer dryer!  I ain't got no clean undergarments!
I saw that you put in your maintenance request.  He has a few other things to deal with first. 
Well I need him to come now!  How am I supposed to go around with no clean undergarments.  I ain't done laundry for a week!
Maintenance is working on a bigger issue right now, and we don't consider your washer/dryer not working an emergency, so he'll be around to fix it tomorrow. 
What do you mean by that?  IT'S AN EMERGENCY!  Not having undergarments is an emergency.  How ain't that an emergency?
We have a laundry room downstairs.  You can use that if you really need to. 
Why I gotta use the laundry room if I gotta washer/dryer in my place?
For when your washer/dryer is broken and you have to do laundry.
I ain't going down there.  I ain't got not tokens. 
Tokens?  What are we, Chuck E. Cheese?
Is she referring to the New York Subway tokens from the 80's?
I'm sorry.  This is not an emergency, Pigeon.  (and at this point, I am just really annoyed with her) If someone's unit was flooding and water was going everywhere, and your washer isn't working, which do you think is an emergency?
Well this is an emergency to me!  I ain't never heard anyone say a washer/dryer not working is not an emergency.  (Has she heard anyone say that it is an emergency? I'm starting to believe she doesn't know what the meaning of emergency is.)
It's not.  Maintenance will be there tomorrow. 
I ain't gotta listen to this right now!
And hangs up on me.

This irritated me, but then it made me hopeful.  I thought maybe she'll think, "I ain't like how management is treatin' me.  I don't need this!  I'm moving!"
That is what I fantasize about.
The day before, I even went ahead and sent her a link to other buildings and neighborhoods to live in, because she won't shut up about transferring.  She wants what she can't have. I'm trying to convince her we just don't have it.
I even got teased the other day when she called me to tell me that someone from Park LaBrea (a totally different apartment complex in mid-city) might call me for a reference because she applied there.  My heart was so filled with joy, and I was just hoping and wishing that this person would call me, so I can give her a glowing reference and send her on her way.
They never did.
I knew they wouldn't. 
It's too good to be true.

She called me a few days ago about transferring to a penthouse.  I told her we don't have any available.  That very day, there was a suicide jumper nearby.  This guy committed suicide by jumping from his penthouse patio onto the street below.   I told her I had some shit to do and talk to people in the building about it.  (because that's an emergency) She asked, "What building is it?  How much it cost? Can I have it?"
No, bitch.  I'm sure it's out of your price range and also YOU'RE A HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING, PIGEON!

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

#50 Shit Water and Dumb Cats

Is this another tale of me dealing with zombie shit?  Mostly, yes. 
I walked out of the alley door and hit a homeless guy that just pinched off a healthy turd.  He said 
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"
in a "Hey, don't open the door, I'm shitting here, how dare you" sort of way.  Once I realized what he was doing, I responded with,
"Don't 'whoa whoa' me, motherfucker!  What the fuck do you think you're doing?  People live here.  You can't just go doing that!..."
In my rage of yelling at him, I didn't think to tell him to pick it up because I've picked it up all these other times.  I guess I've never caught one, so I didn't know what to do.
He runs away and I have to deal with this sloppy, nose burning pile of crap.

I just take a hose and start hosing it away.  Thinking I was doing this without having to go near it and physically picking it up.  WRONG MOVE.
While thinking I was hosing away the poop, I was actually spraying shit water into the hallway in the building.  I thought the door entrance was sealed that water wouldn't go in.  I was wrong.  I come to find out that the hallway is filled with brown shit water and it's stinking up the whole first floor.

So instead of cleaning it away, I created more of a mess.  I then spent the next hour mopping shit water and pouring bleach everywhere, which in turn, splashed all over my favorite jeans.

Now when I wear these jeans, I see the bleach splatters and get annoyed.  There's also a sense memory of that putrid shit.  We have no idea what homeless people eat.  Ugh god, I can't talk about this anymore. 
Moving on to a palate cleanser story that includes animals:

*ring ring*
(the voice is a gentle-sounding 45-year old man)
"Hey Mapple.  Can you go into my unit and check on my cat?"
"It's just that I usually see my cat before I leave for work, and I didn't see him, so I'm concerned that he got himself stuck in the kitchen cabinet.  If you can open the cabinet. I'll tip you for it."
"I'll do this, but I'm considering it a lockout, which is $20."
"TWENTY DOLLARS! Just open the door and check!  This is my cat we're talking about. If you can't find him in the house, then he's probably stuck in the cabinet. Besides, you're going to thank me because he is a beautiful cat.  You'll see.  You'll want to pay me to see this cat.  He's gorgeous."
"I'm actually allergic to cats, so I doubt that.  But fine, I'll go check."

I went to his place, opened the door, and a fucking cat was standing there staring at me.  I instantly rolled my eyes and shut the door.  It looked like a gray cat.  Clearly, it's a dumbass cat that gets stuck in the kitchen cabinets.  Maybe you should leave him there so he can learn his lesson.  He also never 'tipped' me for it.  I hate this motherfucker, and god, I hate cats. 

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

#49 The Office

As of recently, my cheap ass boss made an executive order.  I imagine he was sitting on an oversized throne, his little legs were dangling above the floor, he has a crown and a scepter.  Whilst waiving said scepter he states, "I am going to rent Mapple's office unit to a tenant.  I need that extra $1600 a month.  I want to buy my dog a bidet and install a sex swing in one of  my three Bentleys

All the while, I sit in my office, a fully furnished loft unit with two bathrooms and a kitchen. It makes for a tolerable work environment because I have natural light coming in.

I went off on vacation for a week.  I come back to notice a wall was erected in this nook of the garage.  I thought, "What the fuck is that?"  The next day I ask my maintenance guy, and he tells me it's my new office.
Allow me to paint you a more detailed picture of this:

This is a 12 story building.  There are two lower parking levels underground.  The lowest level of parking has this area where maintenance keeps broken appliances and cleaning supplies.  There's also a place where bikes are parked and laundry is done.   They built a wall next to the bike rack.
If this building is hell, I have now been placed in the Pit of Hell. 

I now sit in this fluorescent lit "office room" where they threw down some tile and painted the walls, called it a day. There's no bathroom or sink. I'm breathing in car fumes and getting radiation poisoning from all the electrical equipment down here  Not to mention there is a constant hum coming from that equipment that is unavoidably loud.

It smells like paint and stale air, because there is no circulation.  To fix the air problem, they installed a fan at the end of the vent.  I come to find out the vent is "air" coming from a hole near the ground of the sidewalk outside, where I'm pretty sure that if a dog lifted his leg and peed in the hole, it would fan its way into my eye.   Which would, in turn, give me a combination of pink-eye, parvo and probably Legionnaires' disease.  This fucker doesn't give me health any insurance, so I'm sure to die.

I get tenants that have come in saying "They moved you down here?"  They all say it with a tone of disgust and pity. Really, the tone everyone should be using when talking to me.  It's very uplifting.

For serious, though, I am concerned about rotting in this basement.  I'll end up like one of those skeletons with cobwebs all over them, like on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.  Instead of sitting on a mound of gold coins, it'll be at a desk, in front of a computer with my mouth agape.
Think of how skinny I'll be, though.
Happy Hour with my coworker, Charlotte.
And to top it all off, I had to be in my office with a dog that someone left in their hallway.  Very reminiscent of the time a girl left and didn't know her cat slunk out of the door.   After this dog ran around he hallway barking, shitting and peeing everywhere, I finally brought his piss-soaked paws to my office where he ran amuck.
Here's the little asshole
Because I didn't know what this dog would do, I couldn't leave the thing in my office.  I narrowed it down to who it would be and called her.
"Hey, I think I have your dog.  Is it a brown Chihuahua type dog?"
"No, that can't be my dog.  My dog is locked in my loft."
"Right, I know you think that, but I think this is your dog."
"No, my dog is a tan Miniature Pincher, and I locked him in the place."
She keeps denying it's her fucking dog.  As if there is always a random dog in the hallway, and she knows it's not her's.  It's just the hall dog.  She was at happy hour, and couldn't come home to prove me wrong.
Eventually, I convince her it's her dog and put him away in her place.  Thanks, bitch for making me sit in that office longer and babysit your little asshole. 

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

#48 Pigeon VII - Dog Threats

Let's check in on our favorite, and by favorite, I  mean the tenant that I would attack first in the Hunger Games (the TIE fighter I would destroy first...the gollum I would throw in the pit of Mordor...the first Horcrux I would stab with a serpent fang...which ever reference is relevant to you), Pigeon

I got an email from another tenant that went like this:

I don't know her name, but you'll know who I am talking about.  The single woman with the young boy who has, since I've been here, had a reputation of being a little abusive with her son . I think she lives on the middle floors.

Anyway, I just had a run in with her outside because her son got caught up in [my dog's] leash and she levied some threats on me on what would happen if it occurred again. I'm a polite guy when there's reason to extend that privilege, as I feel I am equally as appropriate when it's not warranted and I handled the situation outside as I saw fit.  I just want you to know about it in case something else comes of this, although I'm pretty sure it won't.
As always, I don't want any trouble, I just want to live here lol.

Oh, when people "lol" when they, in reality, are not 'LOL'ing, but rather typing it to diffuse an uncomfortable situation.  I typed him back, telling him to not worry.  She is all bark, no bite. 

The next month, I get this email from the same guy.
Subject line: Update
Not wanting to make too big a deal about this, just making sure there is a history of documentation behind it. The young lady we discussed recently, the single mom with a chip on her shoulder - you know who I am referring to... told her side of the story of the issue she and I had outside s couple of weeks ago to the guard on duty today (the nice younger guy with the mustache) and supposedly went into detail about what she was 'about to do to my dog', in inference to hurting him if he ever gets caught up in her son's feet again. I don't know what was said exactly, but I do know that the guard warned her if she did it she would go to jail. I've asked the guard to document that conversation in his log.

 I'm sure that you and I are in accord that we will not stand for [my dog] being harmed.
I feel bad for this guy, and I like this dog a lot.  It's really cute.  It looks like this:
So crazy ass Pigeon is still threatening people for the most menial things.  It looks like she went off on this dude because her monster of a child decides to get tangled up in a dog leash. She then...brags about hurting a dog?  She's a nut job, my friends.  

She called me the other day, and I spent 23 minutes on the phone with her trying to convince her to move to a different building.  She said she found a place that she likes, but she doesn't like that they don't have 24-hour security.
"Mapple!  I need 24-hour security.  I got friends that always be comin' up, wanting to kick it.  Sometimes I don't want that.  Security needs to stop them.  Plus, I'm like a celebrity.  I've been in like nine or ten movies."
"Just don't tell people where you live."
"Yeah, I guess I could."

Like a celebrity?  Nine or ten movies?  Did she keep her clothes on in them?  How does she lose count?  She's so delusional.  
I spent that much time on the phone with her trying to convince her to move, and I thought I did.  A few hours later, I get a text, "Mapple, can I sign another year lease?  I'm gonna need time to figure shit out. Can I also use the basement to teach a Hip-hop dance class?"

Goddamn it.  GODFUCKINGDAMN IT!!!!

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

#47 Fire Drill

When the fire alarm goes off in the building, lights flash in the hallways and in units, and mechanical voice says "Emergency! Emergency! Please evacuate the building." Yesterday, there was a little mishap with our fire system, and this happened.
I just finished walking my dog and was standing outside anyway.  I looked around to see what the deal was, and I couldn't figure it out, but the beeping and the siren would not go off.  I wait around for people to come down, and literally four people come out.  It was 5pm, and I know there were more people in the building.
If there were an actual emergency, every one of these motherfuckers would die. 
I find it amusing that an alarm is going off, lights are flashing, and people are just sitting there in their lofts ignoring it, continuing on with eBay stalking, watching Dora the Explorer, smoking and littering...whatever bullshit thing they were doing.

Then out walks this new tenant of mine who is a beautiful 21 year old model.  She comes out all angry, and yells at my security guard,
"What The Fuck Is Going On?"
Bitch, you could have asked this nicely instead of yelling at my security guard, who is clueless as to what is happening.
I responded with, "There's a fire on the 1st floor." Just so she thinks there is an actual problem we're dealing with, and not just a phantom alarm.
Model's response: "But I live on the 4th floor.  Not on the 1st floor.  It's going off in my place."

To that, I just walked off like I was hurrying to the fire, just to get away from her.
Like, seriously, bitch?  Does she not know how fire works?  I hope she dies in a tire fire.  Then maybe she'll understand what fire does.
I don't know whether to feel sorry for her for being so stupid or envy her for being so pretty that she doesn't need to use her brain to its full potential to get things in life. 

I figured out how to silence the alarm, and everything went back to normal.  Although, even when I silenced the alarm, the lights were still flashing and people were just using the elevator and checking the mail as if nothing was happening.
The babies are so apathetic.  I swear if someone was getting murdered in the lobby, they would just walk by, trying to avoid getting blood on their clothes.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

#46 Unattended Baggage

I'm sitting at my desk when a baby comes in:
"Hey Mapple, I found this on the 9th floor elevator area.  It was just sitting there.  Is there a lost and found?"
"I'm the lost and found.  I'll just keep it until someone claims it.  Thanks."

I put this suitcase in the back room of my office. 
It had a luggage tag, but the name I didn't recognize and the address was somewhere in Cincinnati, Ohio.

I left this suitcase in the back room and totally forgot about it.

It's been in my office for two weeks now. No one has claimed it.  I was curious to see what was in it, as I'm sure it was nothing, and I was just going to throw it away.

When I opened the suitcase, no beam of light came out.  These were the contents:

Someone left a suitcase full of salsa in the hallway. What's in the small box?  More salsa.

So many questions: Why would anyone send so much salsa? Why was it left in the hallway, never to be claimed?  It's not even local.  The salsa is from Chicago, the address of the suitcase is Ohio.  Who would leave a suitcase of salsa in the hall?

Now I have a shit ton of salsa.  Everything was sealed, so it's all edible.  I don't take to spice very well, and some of the mild salsa is this sweet fruity kind with blueberries in it.  I do not like to mix my fruit with savory or spice, so this is a total waste on me.

Salsa, anyone?

*Writer's Note: I know that wasn't the most enthralling of stories.  I just found it to be weird.  Lynchian, if you will.

Friday, March 30, 2012

#45 ShittyHands

Parking is expensive.  In our building, parking does not come with your place.  It's an extra $150 in the parking lot.  To skirt around it, some people think they are fucking geniuses and park in the alley.  If they do so in the day, I call parking enforcement and get them ticketed.  Usually they are blocking my garage or just blocking the alley in general.  I hate them.

One guy used to park his BMW there every night because he knew that parking enforcement didn't ticket at night.  He eventually got parking, and apologized.  The Los Angeles Parking Enforcement, or meter maids, are supposed to be working 24 hours, but I'm sure they're lazy.  Talk about a thankless job.  Everyone hates them...except for me...when they ticket assholes.

Now there is another dick that parks his giant Toyota FJ Cruiser in the alley. 

I'd like to believe that "FJ" stands for fucking jerkbag, because seriously, who chooses to own such a monstrous, annoying vehicle. 

Since this entitled prick has also figured out that he won't get ticketed overnight, he's been parking in the alley, on the reg, for two months. 
I feel kind of bad towing people, because being towed sucks so hard, and I only tow after you've been warned a few times.

The other night, I called Parking Enforcement to come out.  Instead of waiting for them to ticket the guy, I took it upon myself to give this guy my own warning and hand out some justice.  It was around 1:45am, and I was taking my dog out for a walk.  After she pooped, I picked it up with her poopy bag.  Instead of throwing it away, what did I do?  I smeared it all over his door handle.
I didn't take a photo of it, but imagine that SUV picture above, with brown shit smeared all over the front and back of the handle.

The next day, I looked on the security camera to catch his reaction.   It's 5:45am, and he comes out the alley door towards his car.  He goes for the handle, but then he backs up and looks at it.  We have established that he has seen it.  He still uses the shit handle to open to the door.  ShittyHands starts his car and is about to drive away, but stops, opens his door and gets out.  He looks at the SUV parked behind him to see if they've been given a dose.
They have not.  (although, if I see these guys again, they're getting shit-handled)
He walks back to his car in a huff.
It's been two days so far, and I have yet to see him back in the alley.
Justice served.
He touched this dog's feces
*apparently there's a name for it: Rauch
I'm not going to honor that, as I believe being shit-handled is a lot catchier and more descript.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

#44 Rick Asshole is in Eviction

It's January 5th, the day I walk around and hand notices to people that haven't paid their rent yet.  I have to knock on their door and hand them the notice.  If they don't answer, I have to tape it to their door.  People hate that, as it's embarrassing to them.  I have to do this by law.  I'm pretty sure the law was written to quietly humiliate people.
Of course, #401 Rick Asshole is one of the people paying late.  When the elevator door opens to the 6th floor, I can hear music blaring.  It is, of course, Rick Asshole's unit.  I knock on his door, but of course, he doesn't answer.  I stick his notice on his door, relieved that I didn't have to see him.  The music that was blaring, in case you were wondering, was Sigur Rós.  Don't get me wrong, I liked that band fine a decade ago, but only this asshole would turn the dial to eleven in 2012. I'm sure he would describe them as this new band from Europe, that's "all thinky and cool."  Ugh, I hate this guy. 

After a few weeks of not paying, my head office sends his paperwork to eviction.  You would think that would make me happy, but not so.  It's not like we can just kick him out.  Eviction is a long bureaucratic process that takes three months to kick someone out.  This is going to be a nightmare for three months.  
"I told you I would pay rent, why am I getting evicted?"
"Because you didn't pay rent.  How do you think people go to eviction?  It's when they don't pay rent. Like what you're doing now."
After you get sent to eviction, there is an additional legal fee that the courts charge us.  He eventually paid rent and the late fee, but he did not pay the legal fee, so he's still in eviction.
"Why am I still in eviction?  I paid."
"You didn't pay the legal fee.  You will be taken out of eviction when all the fees are paid."
"This is illegal. You can't make me pay these made up fees. I'm not paying them."
"It's not illegal, and you are going to be evicted. What is illegal is you occupying a unit without paying for there's that"
This does not get through his head.  I now see how he's gotten this far in life.  He has argued and annoyed people to get his way.  Not this time.   
This went on for three months. Then he requested a court hearing to argue the legal fees.  What his dumbass doesn't notice is the court charges $300 for courtroom fees.  The legal fee he's fighting is not much more than that. I'm just hoping he pays off everything before the court date, so I don't have to go.  

Of course he doesn't pay.  I'm fucking irritated to have to even go to court.  We've all been to court.  It's terrible.  Eviction court is especially depressing.  It's full of deadbeats, the elderly and immigrants that can't pay their rent, lawyers that have generally given up on the thrill of practicing law, and landlords that want to avoid confrontation with their tenants and not look like the bad guy.  Then you have me: Annoyed that I had to wake up early and get dressed to sit in a courtroom that smells like the 60's, tweeting away my boredom. 

Here I am at court.  I don't get the way people dress when they go to court. These dregs of society are wearing open-toed shoes and cotton shorts. Where do these rock-eaters think they are, a backyard barbeque?  Show some decency.  Your are in a court of law.
I find my lawyer and sit in a courtroom for a few hours until our name is called. Of course, Rick Asshole doesn't show up.  I have to give a testimony and tell judge I want him out. 
I leave, satisfied that at least now, he's gone.  

I call the head office:
"Hey, just keeping you updated.  Rick Asshole didn't show up and we went through all the motions.  He's supposed to be out now."
"He paid everything yesterday. The court appearance was cancelled.  No one told you?"

Goddamn it.  Godfuckingdamnit!  Of course this guy waits until the very last day to pay up.  Not only did I waste my time going to and dealing with court, but the satisfaction I had with the idea of Rick Asshole out of my building had been obliterated.  

This guy is THE WORST in every single way!


#43 Rick Asshole

Since the biggest asshole in the building transferred out, the hole has been replaced by another sack.  Normally, when I put phone numbers in my baby monitor, it goes Unit Number - Name.  For example, #916 - Gary.  In my contacts, my #1 is input at #401 - Rick Asshole.

I first learned Rick was an asshole a month after he moved in with his roommate.  The roommate, a very polite, quiet guy came in my office asking if he can get his name off the lease and move out.

"Why do you want your name off the lease?"
"Because Rick is illogical and I didn't know he was like this when I agreed to move in with him."
"What do you mean he's illogical?"
"He doesn't think like a normal person.  Since we live in a one-bedroom, I made the living room area into my room.  I was trying to go to sleep once, and he started playing his music really loud while doing push ups."
"You just signed the lease, and I can't have your name taken off.  If he agrees to pay rent in full, then you are free to move out."

Okay, so...I don't hate the guy yet.  He may be a little weird.  It's his roommate's fault for not knowing that Rick was crazy before they moved in.

A few months after that, I get a call:
Hey, it's Rick from #401.  I won't be able to get my rent in until the 8th. 
Thanks for telling me.  Please make sure you add a late fee of $150. 
That's so much.  You can't not charge me that. 
Well...since you asked so kindly, fine.  The first late fee I can waive as a favor to you. (it's something the company does, is allow one late fee to be waived, but only if they ask, and only for the first time)
Just know that any other time you are late, you have to pay a late fee. 
Well that's fucked up.
Every time I'm late you're charging me $150?  That's so fucked up.
It may seem like a lot, but that's to keep you from paying late. It's nothing personal. 
Yeah, but if I tell you ahead of time I'm late, it's really fucked up of you to charge me every time.  It's not my fault. 
It is your fault.  You're the one that's not keeping enough money in your account.  The late fee is the consequence. How are you not getting this?
And literally, this conversation goes on and on for no fucking reason.  I'm just repeating myself and he keeps telling me how it's 'fucked up'.  This is what made me start hating him.

The following week. I get this call:
Hello.  It's Rick's mother.  I want to pay for my son's parking as a gift. 
Sure, you can send in a payment for parking for him, but he hasn't paid rent yet, so you should probably give him money for that.   (Oh, by the way, Rick Asshole is like, 35)
Don't tell him, though.  It's a surprise.  My poor boy, he doesn't have money this month. I want to give him a present....
And then SHE wouldn't shut the fuck up about her 'poor son.'  I see where he gets it from.  I, now, not only hate Rick, but his long-winded mother, too.

Rick Asshole gave me shit about my signs during Labor Day. Which was the worst day I've ever had at this goddamn job.   He says he finds them 'inappropriate' for when he has "business clients" over.  Also that he "doesn't need a stupid reminder," because he "knows when rent is due, and knows when it's late."  He really sent me over the ledge that day
A few months later, I run into Rick Asshole at an American Apparel Warehouse sale.  He tries to say hi and butter me up.  I know he hates me. He thinks if he pretends to be all nice and friendly to me, that I'll like him. I'm sure he thinks at least if I like him, he can be on my good side.  I can see right through this motherfucker.  He's not sly enough nor good-looking enough to get away with it. 
For awhile after that, when he'd see me, he would mention meeting up at American Apparel again, like that's our only common bond of fun.  He can fuck off.
We have bike racks in the basement, and it started to get really cluttered and people were just abandoning bikes.  It was a huge mess.  I put up a sign for a month that said for people to either claim their bikes and register them with me, or we are cutting the locks and giving away the bikes for donation.  Mostly everyone got their bike and registered. Those that didn't, got their lock cut and put into storage for a few days before they were donated.
*ring ring*
Hey, it's Rick!  Where's my bike?
Well, it's in storage.  We can go get it now if you want.  (It's 8pm on a Sunday night)  Let's meet in the basement.
So we meet in the basement.  He doesn't say anything and I take him into storage.  He's huffing and puffing the whole time he's  trying to find his bike in this clusterfuck of trash bikes.  He finds it and walks away without acknowledging me.
Then out of annoyance he blurts out,
"This is illegal!  How can you just cut my lock?"
"I don't know why you're mad, I had the sign up saying this was happening and on what date."
"No one reads those stupid signs, Mapple!"
"People do read them.  Maybe you should read them because there is important information on them, because if you did, we wouldn't be in this predicament."

As you can see, my interactions with Rick Asshole are not funny.  It's annoying as fuck.  That is why I have kept from talking about him. I'm only telling you this now to keep you up to date for this next entry...#44 Rick Asshole is in Eviction.
Here is a palette cleanser for the both of us

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

#42 Even More Elevator Signs

I feel the need to entertain these babies with my "Rent is Due" signs.  People tell me they either look forward to it or they fucking hate the signs because they hate me.  They don't so much tell me this, as much as they just write all over my signs and then tear them down or scratch at them.  Sometimes they write on it just to correct any grammar.  Either way, everyone's a critic.
 I really racked my brain on trying to figure out a word that wasn't offensive to call these people.  Naturally, I wanted to go with "assholes" but that, of course, is not acceptable.  Goobers was the least offensive thing to call them...unless there is an underlying horrible origin of calling someone a "goober." Either way, this one didn't incite anger in anyone.
 This one was referencing this event.  I really was encouraging people to go.  As for seeing their faces...I "love" it.
People really didn't care for this one.  In one of the elevators, the NBA reference was strategically ripped out. In another elevator, it was torn in half, and only half of it remained.  You can't please everyone.

 I had friends visiting from out of town.  I didn't feel like thinking of anything.  This one is a total phoner.

Recently, I had a tenant tell me that he was in the elevator, and he watched someone scrape the shit out of my sign with a key.  Some people just don't get my humor. Mainly, humorless dicks that pay late and make my life a living hell.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

#41 Zombies

Downtown Los Angeles is home to the well known neighborhood of Skid Row, where roughly 4,000 homeless people dwell.  My loft building is but a few blocks from this area, so there is no shortage of homeless zombies wandering the streets.
It's obvious as to why I call them zombies, as they roam around aimlessly in a near comatose state, shuffling around with their tattered clothes, asking for change like it's brains. I've had my fair share of run-ins with said zombies.  Living downtown is interesting because it's not just the speedbump hobo that you find sleeping on the sidewalk.  They are a varied as a Whitman's Sampler.  You've got your:
  • Toothless Drunks
  • Crackheads
  • Lady Crackheads
  • Recycling Collectors
  • Veterans
  • Handicapped in Wheelchairs
  • Fake Handicapped, that somehow found a wheelchair to evoke pity, and uses his working legs to scoot around
  • Loitering cat-callers
  • Business zombies, trying to sell the wares they found in the dump
  • Mumble cussers
  • Half naked fat women
  • Flashers (front and back)
  • Soap Box zombies, the ones that stand on a corner and scream about non-sense
  • Teenage runaways
  • Calling Card Zombies, which is the zombie that has a gimmick, everyone knows his schtick, and he becomes like a local 4-block celebrity.  For instance, we have one that we simply called "The Pirate Guy," as he wears a pirate hat and greets you with a "YARRR" or the Joker, who tries to get change from you by telling you the same two jokes, one of them racist.
  • Cardboard signers, most of which tell you that either "God Loves You" or "Give Money or Weed" 
...the list goes on.

Homeless dudes always know their dog breeds, too.  Anyone that owns a dog knows that people always ask you what kind of dog you have.  They usually guess wrong.  I own a greyhound.  I get a lot of "that's a Great Dane, Whippet,  Italian Greyhound, Weimereiner..."  But from not homeless guys.  They will know straight away what dog she is, and yell it.   I've seen them do it other people; owners of Basenji's, Rhodesian Ridgebacks, all the complicated ones.  Once, one zombie yelled from across an intersection "THAT'S A GREYHOUND. WHY THAT GREYHOUND WEAR SHOES? HE CAN'T RUN IN THOSE SHOES!" (oh yeah, my dog wears shoes because the sidewalks are disgusting.)
We downtowners are like homeless anthropology majors.

I opened the side door of my building yesterday into a zombie that was standing there.  He held the door open for me, and tried to go in,
"I'm just going in to see a friend."
"NO YOU'RE NOT....and even if you are, you have to go to the front and sign in." (I can't really discriminate, he could just be a super dirty hipster)
"She works during the day."
"Sure she does."
I gotta commend him for this quick, albeit terrible, response he came up with it pretty fast.
I don't fear the homeless.  However, living here has manifested a fear that I never had prior.

I'm really scared of walking down the street and a zombie grabs my boob.

That's it.
It's never happened. I've never heard of it happening.  But  it could.
Zombies don't give a fuck about anything.  You think they'd give a shit if they traumatized a random stranger while they got a cheap (nay, free) thrill?  No. Like the Honey Badger, they do not give a shit. 
This picture sucks, but it gets the point across.  Also, Googling "homeless" results only in sadness.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

#40 Hero

I'm moderately sick and my internet in the office is down, so I decide to just watch TV in my place and do jack shit.
*ring ring*
"Hey, it's Dennis in #527.  Can security go to my unit?"
"I'll do it.  What is it?"
"My ex-girlfriend is in there and I think she's trying to hurt herself."
*sigh* "What do you want me to do?"
"Call me back when you get there."

I don't mind doing this as much because I live on the same floor, so it's just a simple walk down the hall.  How bad can it be?  I get to the unit and hear sobbing.  After knocking with no answer, I bust in and see an empty apartment.
Now imagine a girl sitting at the bottom of the stairs crying, yelling on the phone, and feverishly sawing at her wrist with a steak knife.
" need to stop that."
She ignores me and continues to scream into her phone.  I'm inching my way towards her to take the knife away, but I'm a little scared. Since she isn't bleeding everywhere, it must be dull, however, it's still pointy enough to stab.  She's in hysterics as she hangs up her phone, throws herself onto the stairs in the most dramatic way, and drops the knife.  I quickly grab the knife and put it far from her reach.
By now, the security guard has come in to help.  He tries to calm her while I call back Dennis.
"Hey, she's in here freaking out."
"Let me talk to her."
I really do not want to give her my phone because I fear she's going to go into a fit of rage and throw it.  I hand it to her anyway.
She grabs the phone and immediately starts screaming into it:
I yank the phone back,
"Dennis, where are you?  You need to come deal with this."
"I'm at the airport."
"Are you hearing this, dude? What do you want me to do?  Also, you have clearly moved out and I need all copies of your keys...."
I look over and the crazy bitch is pilfering through her purse.  She finds a smaller knife and starts hacking at her wrists again.  The security guard says, "Where did that other one come from?" and takes it away from her.  (into the phone)
"Oh goddamn it, Dennis, she has another knife"
"Put her on the phone again."
I stand near her and put it on speakphone instead.
(Dennis responds over speakerphone) "What does that have to do with anything?"
She pulls out her phone, and goes through the photos.
"LOOK AT THIS!" and she proceeds to scroll through her pictures, she can't find what she's looking for, so all I'm seeing is her posing in club clothes. Finally she stops at one photo of Dennis holding a knife to his neck.
Taking it off speakerphone,
"Dennis, I'm getting her out of here.  What she does when he leaves is not my problem."
I make her turn over the keys, and while doing so, I notice her wrists are all red and scraped up.  
The security guard makes her gather her things, escorts her to the door, and out she goes. 

I'm imagining she's out there now, bruised and cut up due to failed, halfhearted attempts to commit suicide, eating pancakes at IHOP and crying.

*Later on, when I was telling this story to my leasing agent, Charlotte, she says,
"Mapple!  You're a hero!"
"If being generally annoyed while incredibly indifferent about a dumb girl's self destruction makes me a hero, then yes, I'm a goddamn hero."
Check out that dried blood at the tip.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

#39 Pigeon VI

Let's begin the new year like we did last year with our favorite tenant, Pigeon.

She has been on a roll in recent months about how much she wants to transfer to a bigger unit even though she's already transferred.  She is the kind of person who wants what she can't have.
We have an open house every weekend, and every weekend she will call me with something along the lines of...
"Yo Mapple, what's up with this unit?  Why is it so cheap, it looks bigger than mine."
"It's not bigger, it just looks bigger because it's empty."
"Why this unit gotta be so expensive?"
"...because it's 1,200 square feet and is on the 10th floor with a view."
"Yeah, but it ain't need to be that expensive."
"Tell that to the City of Los Angeles."

Her next door neighbors recently upgraded to a small penthouse.  They told me they were glad to move away from her because she would knock on their door several times a day either to have the husband fix something for her or show her how to do something on the computer.
A text exchange between them went like this:
Pigeon: Can Mark come 2 fix my washer? It's broke.
Neighbor: My husband can't do that. Call Maintenance.
I understand why she goes to the nice Christian family next door, as Pigeon dislikes my maintenance guy.  She treats him like a servant (not cool), thinks he's racist (wrong), and thinks he doesn't like her (the only thing she's ever gotten right).  

This weekend, when the family moved out, she calls me:
"Hey Mapple, I'm glad that my friends (heh) are moving to the Penthouse."
"Why didn't you give it to me?"
"You didn't show interest, and you don't qualify for it. How could you think I could just give it to you?"
then other random things were said, and we hung up.
Moments later...*ring ring*
"Yo Mapple!  It's Pigeon.  Why you gotta say I don't qualify for shit, when I wanted that penthouse?"
"Pigeon, we've gone through this.  You only qualify for a certain amount based on your income, plus you said that penthouse was too small for you, and you never put down anything saying you wanted it."
"I told you I liked it."
"I can't save a unit for you because you like it."
"Things have changed.  I make more money."
"Well you have to prove that to me..."
"I didn't say it was too small, you said it was too small for me. I could have turned that closet into another room."
And she continues to blather on, basically accusing me of calling her poor and choosing that family instead of her. It's totally unreasonable, and I don't know why I even pick up the phone.  Although I've done that before.  She'll just call from a restricted number because she knows I won't answer if I know it's her. 

On a more hilarious note, her "friends," the neighbors that moved to get away from her, sent me a link to...get this...Pigeon's MUSIC VIDEO.  I was not aware of her rap career, until the other day we were in the elevator together and she said, 
"Yo, they playin' my song in clubs now."
"Good for you."
Every part of my being wants to link you this video or tell you the name, but I can't because it's so easy  to track it back.  Plus, Pigeon's anonymous, guys.  Let's keep it that way.  
I will give you a morsel, though.
Oh yes.  That blue spacesuit exists, and it's fabulous.  
I will regale you with a play by play, and my thoughts on this music video another time.  Stay tuned.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Happy New Year/One Year Anniversary

Dear gang,

Happy new year.   I've posted a whole year's worth of terrible stories of my shitty job for your amusement.  If you don't already subscribe, please do, and tell your friends.
I want to thank my former tenant that essentially gave me the idea of this blog, "Gonald Dlover."
I was helping him take the last things out of his unit when he said to me, "You should really write this shit down." With that statement, begat 
I want to say, "Here's to another year of horror stories," but really, how long do I want to do this job as I barely have any soul left for it to suck out. 
What I will say is, "Thank you for moderately amusing yourself by reading my blog.  You're the best."
Notice how I didn't put "best" in quotes?  You know I mean it. 

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