#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!

#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?"
"Why?"
"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. 

 

#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. 

#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

Hi...

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!!!!

#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.

#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.