#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:

Salsa. 

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.

#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.

#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 it...so 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?"
"NO.  NO ONE TOLD ME." 

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!

GODDAMN IT, RICK ASSHOLE!

#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)

Good. 

Just know that any other time you are late, you have to pay a late fee. 

Well that's fucked up.

What?  

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

#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.

#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.

#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.
"Uhhhh....you 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:
"YOU MOTHERFUCKER. YOU LYING PIECE OF SHIT.  I HATE YOU....NO, NO, FUCK YOU!"
I yank the phone back,
"Dennis, where are you?  You need to come deal with this."
"I'm at the airport."
She chimes in, "THAT FUCKER IS LEAVING! HE'S LEAVING ME! HE TRIED TO KILL ME!"
"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.
"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?! WE WERE ENGAGED! I HAD ANOTHER MISCARRIAGE  BECAUSE OF YOU. (to me) HOW MANY TIMES HAS HE PAID LATE? ISN'T HE SUCH AN ASSHOLE?!"
(Dennis responds over speakerphone) "What does that have to do with anything?"
"HAVEN'T YOU HEARD COMPLAINTS ABOUT HIM? HE CHASED ME DOWN THE ALLEY WITH A KNIFE AND SAYS HE'S GOING TO KILL ME.  LOOK AT WHAT HE SENDS ME!"
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.
"SEE, THIS! THIS IS THE KIND OF SHIT HE SENDS ME!  I HAD THREE MISCARRIAGES WITH HIM IN THE LAST TWO YEARS!"
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.

#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."
or
"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."

"Yeah."

"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.

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 awfulgig.com. 
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. 

Love, 

Mapple 

#38 The Boss

Since this is the last post of 2011, let's make it worthwhile.  I have yet to really talk about my boss.

My boss sucks.

I don't mean the various amounts of people I have to deal with at the head office, but the main guy that is boss of everyone and owns the buildings.  He's vaguely foreign, has a thick, questionable accent, glosses over words and speaks really fast so he sounds more fluent.  It's really weird.

He's a one percenter that just doesn't get it. For instance, the evening after the Tenant Appreciation Party, he has a housewarming party and invites all of us lowly workers.  It's a fancy house in the Hollywood Hills, and for you guys that don't know, homes in hills are ridiculous for various reasons: extremely steep, narrow, and windy roads, nowhere to park, everyone has a giant window that looks out to the whole city or the very least, the Sunset Strip, it's very developed, yet there's still coyotes that run around and kidnap rich people's rat dogs...I could go on.
Anyway, I begrudgingly go to this housewarming party.  His house looks nice from the outside.  Then you walk up to the door, and who is greeting you but a life-sized steampunk statue of The Predator made out of scrap metal.

...on the porch, atop the steps...seriously.

It just gets worse.  The inside looks like a cheesy European club with purple lights, zebra stripes everywhere, picture frames with the original stock photo still in it, black toilets (which you never know if it's dirty or clean).  It's the prime example of when rich people have too much money and no taste. 
The boss is so clueless to invite his employees to a party, where the point is to show off his riches and his wife's shoe closet. Meanwhile, we get paid dick and have no health insurance.  He has a mashed potato martini bar (no shit) and bartenders, so my plan was to eat all his stupid fancy food and drink a lot, then steal something out of sheer principle and irritation.

My boss is also sexist.  He only hires women because, I believe, it looks nice for him to have a harem of pretty girls running his buildings, and he, the figurehead is the only man that takes care of us all.  He also has to make sure we all have boyfriends or husbands, so someone else can live there and pay the bills. The boss gives me the bullshit claim that tenants are less likely to get into confrontation and fights with a female manager than a male one.  Sure thing.  

On another occasion, my leasing agent, Charlotte, told our boss she got engaged.  As a wedding gift, he offered her the grand event hall for her wedding location.  She was so happy about it because that saves thousands of dollars on a wedding venue.  Then he told her she can only have it if she gets married in three months.  Which she sort of considered.  It's not a lot of time if you plan on a lavish wedding, but if the venue is free, might as well.  Then he straight took back his offer after a few weeks because he realized he can probably make money off of someone else renting it on whatever day she never chose. 

In general, when it comes to the things I need for the building or a raise, he usually says no because he's a cheap motherfucker. He also made me pay a full security deposit for my unit. Oh that's right, I gave him $1800 to start the job.

UUUuarrrarrghghghghajajraaaaahhhh fuck that guy, right?

Happy Holidays, gang!  See you next year.

#37 Parents

The majority of the babies that dwell in my building are modern, working adults ages 25-40.  I have a very low percentage of students that live here, but with the noise issues, parties and general mess they make, it would seem like I run a dorm.
I have three sets of Greek roommates (not fraternity Greeks, like phyllo-feta-European-debt-crisis Greek) that go to USC.  I get complaints from their neighbors below saying they jump rope at 3AM.
Mostly, though, I have FIDM girls.  FIDM is The Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising.  It is a few blocks away.  Since it's only kind of a real university, they don't have dorms.  Some of them come to my building, where they'll jam four of themselves into a tiny two-bedroom.  All of the time, mommy and daddy take care of the bill.
Since the parents handle the money, I have to deal with the parents on various occasions:

• A mother walks in my office "I just moved my daughter into #210, and I have a few concerns to address before I fly back to Georgia. Is there a vent for the air conditioner or is it just going to blow down on her bed, because she gets very cold.  Can the lights in front of the building be brighter? Why does she only have hot water but no cold water?"
  "I understand your concern.  Since this is a loft building and the central A/C isn't build in the walls, the air just blows, she can get her own vent if she wants to install it.  The light issue is not with the building, it's with the city. For some reason, that unit only gets hot water.  We will work on it."
  She left with the most defeated and disappointed look on her Paula Deen-esque face. Sorry, lady.
• A girl's parents paid for her rent six months in advance.  This girl has this crappy, burnout boyfriend that is clearly just mooching off her.  Since he lives for free, he has to pay for parking, which is $150 each month.  I get a voicemail from this guy's mom: "Hello, I'm Alex's mom, and my son needs to pay for parking.  I will pay for this month, so can you please tell me how much money I should put in his account?  Text me back, as I get bad reception here in Vegas." I text her back about how much he owes.  I get a text back that says "I am puttng money in your accnt this month, for the rest of the time, young man, I do NOT want to hear about the consequnces if you get towed. Do you umberstand me? Learn to be responsible."  Then..."I apologize for that.  That was to go to my son, not to you. I'm very sorry." The mom-tone still comes across in text form.
• "Hello, I'm Sarah's mom. I need to pay for parking underground for my daughter because downtown is just so unsafe."
  "Well, that's $200 a month for garage parking."
  "How can I get her to break her lease?  I just don't want her living downtown.  We're from Scottsdale, Arizona and she's not used to the danger. I bought her pepper spray."
  Not used to danger?  Suburban moms are so scared of the city and driving on freeways. 
• "Hi, I'm Jillian's dad.  My daughter got beat up by a homeless person in the street and now she doesn't want to live downtown anymore, and she's going to finish her school at FIDM in San Francisco."
  "What happened to her, is she okay?"
  "She's fine.  A homeless woman thought Jillian said something to her, and she pushed her and then started hitting her.  Anyway, I want to pay for her part of the rent for the rest of the time, as her roommates are still going to stay in the unit." 
  
  Okay...so this is valid, I guess.  How weak is Jillian, though? Homeless zombie females are not strong.  They are usually cracked out, super skinny and frail.   I'm kind of amazed that no one did anything, however, no one wants to actually touch a zombie.  Although, I think the story is exaggerated, as the zombie probably didn't beat her up, but maybe weakly slapped her a few times and it took poor Jillian by surprise.  It's probably the closest thing to a fight she's ever been in. 

Basically, parents are freaked out that their 19-year old daughter would live in downtown LA, but they aren't concerned about spending a stupid amount of money on a trade school, where their daughters will face a sad future of only knowing the world of fashion, and having no other discernible skills in life?  Okay, mom and dad. Get your priorities straight.

#36 Tenant "Appreciation" "Party"

My company owns the building next door, where the first and second floor was the grand lobby of Bank of America back in the olden days.  It has been turned into an event hall where it is rented to people who hold swank parties, lavish weddings, and various filmings.
My boss decided to hold a Holiday Tenant Appreciation Party for all the tenants of all five of his buildings. I actually thought it was a nice idea.  Around 500 people showed up.  What enticed people to come was the promise of free food, booze and a "free rent lottery". 
Here I am, dreading this stupid party because as much as I like eating and drinking on someone else's dime, I have to make nicey with the idiots.

Since I don't have a dress code with this job, I usually look like total shit.  (for instance, I'm wearing workout clothes right now.  Will I work out? Who knows.)  When I put makeup on, it's for an audition.  I'm sure when people from the building see me dressed well, they must think I'm going to court.
What I'm saying is that I normally look like a Kathy cartoon.

Ack!

I get all gussied up for this party with the full intention of getting straight hammered.  I talk to the various tenants I actually like, harass the caterers to bring more shrimp my way, and pour Amstel Light down my throat.
There is a stage where a band (one of the tenants) plays, the rent lottery was announced (where right after, half the crowd left) and it's also where my boss wanted to thank everyone for coming.  I did not know this was happening.  He proceeds to call all of us managers and leasing agents up.  My leasing agent Charlotte slunk out awhile ago.  Smart.
Of course, no one knows how to talk into a mic, and no one can hear anything.  In my drunken stupor, I decide to take charge since I was the only one that knows how to use a mic on stage. I yank the mic from my boss' hand while saying "Give it" and proceed with this:

"Hello everybody, I'm Mapple from the building next door.  Where are you people that live in next door?  I know you're out there."  I hear various parts of the room clap and woot.
"Great.  Well, guys, thanks for being here.  I hope you're having a good time..." and since I didn't know I was even going up there, I didn't have anything prepared, so I just said:
"...I don't know what I'm doing up here.  I've got nothing.  Should I do some stand-up?"
Silence.
"Ok, sure.  Guys, what's the deal with beer, right?"
Here's a fact:  I don't have a standup routine, nor do I do any standup.  I'm just an attention hogging actor with a mic.  I had a beer in my hand and that was the only thing I could think to say.  I was really amused with myself, however, but since I had no punchline, I just said:
"I'm kidding, take this mic away from me."
And then the boss is so confused, and he takes the mic, says something inaudible, and puts it on the stand.  I asked "Is that it?" and he shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess."
The audience is just standing there watching us, so I just yell back into the mic, "Ok, cool, guys.  That's it. Party on!"

Ok, cool, guys.  That's it.  Party on.

.

#35 Lost and Found

From time to time, I get people that lose jewelry, wallets and cell phones in common areas like the hallway, pool, or gym.  People will either steal it, give it to security or give it to me.  I had a few lost phones that no one ever claimed, so after a few months I sent them off for phone recycling.  I decided to keep one of the microSD cards, because I knew I was going to need one when I upgraded my phone.  It keeps me from  doing the additional task of going and getting one.

This microSD card has been in my desk for four months, and I finally got myself a phone that needed one of these things.  I insert it into my phone, and yea! I can take pictures and store music on my phone.  Happy day.

Oh...what's this?  There's already data on this microSD card. Of course there is.  It did belong to someone prior.  Why whatever could it be?  Let's look at the photos.  Oh, I recognize this guy.  He's one of my tenants.  Boring.  Let me delete these to save some space, but wait, what's this?:

 

Oh, a picture of his cat and his girlfriend.  Precious. 

 Woah.  Alright body.  What's up?

 Hey, a kitty cat.  Adorable.

 Dick.

 Just me and my grandma.

 Dick.

Dick.

Doggie.

It just goes on and on with more pictures of him shirtless, pets, girlfriends, family members and his member.  Why SO many photos of your penis?  After you send it, you delete that shit, right?  

I kind of hate this tenant, too, because  he and his roommates decided they wanted to be ballers and get one of the most expensive units in my building.  Little did they know, their lavish lifestyle of being waiters isn't always steady.  They never get their full rent in on time.  

The other day, I pass him going into the elevator as he walks out the elevator.  He said, 

"Oh, hey, I'm going to get you rent today, for sure.  You know, it's always in cash, so I have to deposit my tips into the bank."

"Sure thing, dude."

*elevator doors close*

"I know what your penis looks like."

I was, of course, alone.  

Oh my god, how weird would it be if someone were in there when I said that.  I guess it's as weird as having pictures of your tenant's junk on your phone.

#34 Pigeon V - The Haunting

*ring ring*

"Mapple! Guess what?"

"I don't know. What."

"I went to my cabinet to get my pills I take in the morning, you know, for my acid reflux, and the cap was open. And then yesterday, I heard the door click, like someone tried to open my door, so I talked to the neighbor and they said it wasn't them."

"What are you telling me, you think someone came in your place?  Maintenance didn't go into your place, if you think that's it."
"No.  There is something creepy going on.  I'm about to take my Halloween decorations down, because it's gettin' creepy up in this, you feelin' me?"

"So you think that you're experiencing paranormal activity in this new unit?"

"No, Mapple, I ain't being paranoid.  I'm normal.  I ain't crazy."

"I meant...paranormal means...ugh.  So you think you have ghosts."

"Yeah, I gotta show you.  Come up."

"No, Pigeon, I have stuff to do.  What do you want me to do?  I can't do anything about this.  This is a really old building..."

And she won't get off the phone with me, so again, to sate her, I go up to her place.  She's showing me her proof, like her decorations have been turned askew or at the angle she didn't leave it at.

"Why they messin' with my stuff?  Also, one day, I was all sleepin' on the couch and I wake up and there's a tall black bald man in a suit standing near the door.  Was this an office before?"  
And by now, I'm just humoring her. She's convinced that spirits are haunting her, so there's really no way to logically explain shit to her, like maybe her asshole kid moved shit around, or maybe she forgot to screw the cap back on her acid reflux meds.

"You know, this was an office building before it was a loft building.  This used to be an old bank back in the 30's.  I haven't heard much from the other tenants about ghosts, but maybe they are around and you're just more spiritual, so you can sense it better than everyone else."

"Yeah, I am more spiritual.  I feel a presence. When I be washing my dishes, I am finding shapes in the water on my counter, like hearts, giraffes and dinosaurs."

"Woah, a dinosaur.  That really is a distinct shape to spot."

"No, it's real.  I know they ain't real, but how are their shapes appearing on my counter?"

"I said distinct, not extinct...I know you know that dinosaurs are extinct...(sigh)...I'm sorry, what do you want me to do again?"

"I got pictures. Three are on my phone, but I can't show you because it's dead, but I'll show you the one I have on my computer."

"Email that to me."

"How do I do that?"

Just so I could get this picture and show you guys, I taught her how to log into Gmail on her computer and send a fucking email, because she only knows how to do it on her phone.

I present to you her proof she has ghosts.

See the heart?  I guess that means the ghost loves her

 Happy Halloween, folks.

#33 Additional Elevator Signs

After that annoying conversation I had on the roof with one of the babies I hate most, I thought, "Should I still put up my entertaining as shit elevator signs?"  Then, after no consideration, I thought, "Fuck this guy for making me doubt the wonderfulness of my work."

As I've mentioned before, I went and purchased Febreze plugins to make the hallway around the trash chute smell not like trash.  As of this date, 5 (out of 12) remain.

I found two of these signs ripped down on the floor. This incited anger in a few people. (I'm thinking the ones that stole the air freshners.) I don't even take offense anymore.  I just imagine a baby reading it and getting so angry at a sign that they tear it down, rip it up, crumple it, and then throw in on the ground in rage.  What a spaz.

I really phoned this one in.  I did not even feel like being creative for these ungrateful dicks because I figured it was going to get ripped down anyway.  Turns out, this one stayed up the longest.

 

Copying and pasting pictures makes for a very easy and visual sign.  I didn't want to make it too Halloweeny with pumpkins and shit because this isn't an elementary school.  Mustaches have become more socially acceptable and not just a hipster thing anymore, so I figured this general mass of assholes may find humor in it.  Ugh, I don't even care anymore.  

The bottom part may be too small to read, but in an attempt of self promotion, it says to look for me in a Walgreens commercial coming up this month.  It's a Halloween one.  I also have a JC Penney out right now.  If you don't know what I look like, well, just watch any of those above mentioned commercials this month and pick out one woman.  Use whomever you choose as your mind avatar for Mapple.