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.|
|Here's the little asshole|
"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.