#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.

#32 Batman

A lot of filming goes on in downtown Los Angeles.  Almost any movie, TV show or commercial you see with a city background (that's not obviously and distinctly New York) is shot 0-4 blocks from my building.
The other day, the latest Dark Knight was being filmed in the building next door and in the alley.

Baby Mandy from 913, whose window faces the alley, comes in my office:

"What's up with all this filming?  I woke up all half naked and there's creepy production guys looking into my window on their cranes."

"Yeah, they are filming Batman in the alley."
"Well, if I weren't such a big fan of Batman, I would not be okay with this."
Only part of this makes sense to me, but I get it.
"Also, when are we getting new pool furniture?  I mean, you guys are raising rents (Oh yeah, we raised rents.  Imagine how fucking fun it is telling people that) and we are paying for all this stuff and our gym is all broken..."

"I'm sorry, Mandy.  Only the elliptical is broken, and we replaced it with a brand new elliptical.  We'll be getting new furniture at the pool soon.  I know it sucks, but it's coming."

So for the next few hours, I get calls and emails asking these same questions.  Something was up.  Later on, I walked around the building, and someone left this note on the wall in the common areas:

Someone took the time to type this out and post it.  Maybe to cite some kind of revolt.  As if I'm not aware of this shit.  I ask the head office about this crap all the time, and they never give me anything.  You assholes just try to talk to my superiors about this shit.  If you can figure out a way to get what I've been asking of them for months, then please, be my guest.     

Not to totally dog this baby, they have a point.  Rent is fucking expensive here, like I'm talking $1500 for a studio expensive.  Granted, you are just paying for rent, and the pool and gym are just added extras, but I get their kvetch.  However "HELP MAKE our building THE WELL MAINTENED (no spell check in all caps, huh?) AND MANAGED BUILDING THAT IT SHOULD BE!"  I find insulting.  Only two of their six complaints are something I sort of deal with, and I can't do anything without the head office giving me what I want.
"WHAT IT DO...NEPHEW" is pretty great, though.  We all can get behind someone that uses hip-hop slang that makes no sense.

I'm pretty much at the place where I hate both sides, the people that live here and the people I work for.  I'm in the center of this circle of annoyance where any direction I turn, it sucks. 

I did, however, see Anne Hathaway/Catwoman's stunt lady drive the Bat Bike.  It was pretty cool. 

#31 Labor Day

The company I work for doesn't recognize holidays, with the exception of Thanksgiving Day.  Last year, on the day before Thanksgiving, they gave me a frozen turkey.  If I were to prepare a turkey for Thanksgiving, I would have A) Already had it B) would have needed it thawed and C)have allowed it to brine for at least a day.  I thought maybe I could thaw it and give it to my dog, but butchering a turkey is a timely task.  Needless to say, it's still sitting in my office freezer. 

This past Labor Day was included in the list of National Holidays That Don't Exist to the Company I Work For.  Tenants also seem to think I am at their disposal on Labor Day, so even when I want to flake on the day, I can't. No one really called me on the baby monitor during the day, but then all of a sudden 8pm hit.

*ring ring*

Are we allowed to have parties upstairs at the pool?  

No

Well, there's a party up there and they said they had permission from you.

Ugh. No. That's a lie.

Hang up. Then seconds later:

*ring ring*

There's a party at the pool and it's loud and really disruptive.

I'll take care of it.
I get up to the pool area and there's a shit ton of people up there with a whole DJ set up.  The rule is, no parties up at the pool, and each unit can only have two guests. Turns out, there's two separate parties going on in this very small space of the pool.  You aren't allowed to have glass bottles for the obvious reason of there being barefoot people running around.
I first yell at the guy with the DJ set:
"You have to clear out all these people.  You're causing a disruption. You aren't allowed to grill or have amplified music."

"Aw, come on, Mapple. Be cool.  I just finished the bar exam."

"Dude, you're now a lawyer, so you understand rules and regulations.  How about you shut this shit down?"

"Okay.  I'll turn it down.  Have a burger."

I then walk over to the other party at the hot tub and tell them they are not to have glass up there.  They all look at me like I'm an asshole.  Which, I get it, I would also think I sucked if I told myself to stop partying.   They all put their beers in cups and set the bottles aside.
I then walk over to a group of tenants just sitting there, asking them if the music is too loud.  There sits a tenant I fucking hate.  He decides to just argue with me for no reason:

"You know, some people don't like you're elevator signs."

"Oh really.  By some people, do you mean you? Do you find them offensive?"

"Yeah, I do.  I have clients come by and they say that people know when they are going to pay late.  We aren't children.  Where do you even get these signs from?"
"They come from my head, and just because you pay late, don't see it as a personal attack on you."
Even though it is.  
I hate this motherfucker. The signs are for dicks like him that pay late all the time.
This really put me in a mood, because I didn't feel like being the dick that has to break up a party and also be critiqued on my signs, which most people enjoy.  (Until I find them ripped and crumpled up on the ground.)
 Then *sound of broken glass*, I turn around,

"THIS!  This is what I'm fucking talking about people!  Somebody clean that shit up."

And all these drunk people look around for who did it, and no one will fess up, so I have to clean up after the babies.

After the party is broken up, I go back to my place to watch TV.  It is now around 10pm.

*ring ring*

Hey, I'm locked out. 

It's going to cost you $20.

That's fine.  I have it. 

I get up there, and it's one of the fuckers from the party. He's drunk as shit.  I open the door for him.

"Do I really have to pay?  I was the one that brought all the cups for people to drink out of at the pool."

"Yeah, but you were also the one that dropped the bottle of glass."

"I swear that wasn't me.   Fine.  I'll pay you tomorrow."

I still have yet to get paid by this asshole. 


Back at my place, and I almost done watching a full episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

*ring ring*

Hi. The security guard isn't down here, and I need to get some keys that my friend left me at the front desk.

Fine, I'll be there in a few minutes.

I finish watching the episode, and I go to the lobby.  Low and behold, the useless security guard is there, and he handled it.  I'm glad I wasted my time.

 *ring ring*
OH GODFUCKINGDAMNIT!

Hey, something busted in the A/C unit on top of the building, and now my loft is shaking.

I'll call maintenance.
It's 11pm at this point.  Our 24 maintenance guy is the laziest piece of shit.  How he's designated as our 24 hour guy is beyond me.  I leave a message, and he calls me back telling me how to fix it.
It's the big A/C unit that cools the whole building.  I have to scale the side of the building on the roof to get to this A/C unit. I was gripping this metal railing, and didn't look down.  Now I know how the jumper felt.
I get to this giant air conditioning unit and I have no idea what I'm looking at.

This is the giant A/C. Like I know what I'm fucking doing.

The maintenance guy is telling me over the phone

Just turn the switch.

Which switch, there are a million switches.

On the box.

What? They're all boxes.

This goes on for 10 minutes, and then he says,

I'll be there in 10 minutes.

You should have been here 20 minutes ago.

I get back to my place, and it's midnight.  All this bullshit happens in the span of four hours.  I get barely any calls the whole weekend, and out of nowhere, four hours of non-stop shit during times where I'm supposed to be relaxing.
It really made me want to quit.  As much as I hate this fucking job, I hate paying rent more, so...egh. Here I remain.

#30 Neighbors Be Hatin'

I have to do a lot of shit.  I am also forced into some responsibilities that aren't in my job description.  Namely, tenant relations.  Apparently, when neighbors and roommates don't like each other, they feel the need to use me as a moderator.  I don't know why.  This doesn't get me brownie points with the company I work for, nor does it make me any more money.  Not to mention, I really cannot do shit.

• One baby cries to me about how his roommate scares him.  You chose to live with with him.  You were not forced into this roommate situation like some kind of arranged marriage from your tribal father at the age of eight.  What does he want me to do?  Sit there while I listen to them argue in my office.  Luckily for me, the roommate didn't end up showing.  

• Another loud baby keeps getting called on because he's a music producer (a different one), and his "working" causes the walls to vibrate.  Thus, the people next to and below him hate him.  One evening, he wants me to "witness the atrocity" that has happened to him.  One of his neighbors has thrown eggs at his door and left him this note:

So the baby refuses to clean up the eggs, which I understand, but we live in an enclosed building.  It's not some apartment complex where your door opens to the outside.  Eggs in a hallway = not awesome.   And really, if you are going to vandalize and leave a bitchy note, at least check your spelling so you don't look stupid.  It's either the neighbors below, who are bitchy older queens, or the girls next door that are fresh-out-of-college aged.   Judging by the handwriting, it's got to be the girls.

• I had another pair of babies have some loud party, and there was a scuffle in the hall way between two of their guests.  The next door neighbor opened his door to see what the noise was about, and the two dudes starting fighting their way into the neighbor's unit.  The neighbor tried to kick them out, and instead, he got hit, so he became a part of this fist fight.   It all ended with me giving the guys with the party a noise violation fine the next day, which they paid.  I'm actually really amazed by this.  No one ever pays those fines. 

• Of course, this will end with the tenant of all tenants...Pigeon.  She's so goddamn terrible.  Her next door neighbor is this polite Christian family.  She blasts her music which she claims, "Ain't even that loud.  You feel me?" They knock on the wall they share, so she understands to turn it down.  This does not work with her.  She randomly started blasting her music at 4am the other night.  Her neighbor got woken up and went to ask her to turn it down, to which Pigeon was unresponsive and didn't even bother to open the door.  She left them this note the next day:

To those of you that can't read this chicken scratch, it states:

     TO (Who Ever)

        Yo Don't ever Knock 

        at my door At no 

        Damn 4:00 AM in the 

        morning, because the 

        music was not loud.  And 

        for the record, Yall need to 

       quit Knocking on 

       my Walls all the Damn times. 

                 Pigeon (or her real name, which you cannot even make out, so it's fine)

#29 Pigeon IV: A Child and Voicemails

By now, you should be familiar with the antics of my most annoying tenant, Pigeon.   Why is it that one of the worst tenants is the one that calls me every day with some kind of annoying complaint?  Maybe that's what makes her the worst tenant.  Either way, she's a huge pain in my ass.

Pigeon has a child. Upon seeing him, you'd notice this cute four-year old child, with a bright spirit and adorable smile.  It's deceiving, because in reality, this kid is a little shit.  

Our maintenance guy has to go into Pigeon's place every few weeks because her kid has an affinity for unraveling an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet, flushing, and clogging the toilet.  Fucking gross. Like it's my maintenance guy's responsibility to clean up after your dirty ass baby.

I have a coffee table with local business postcards and takeout menus in my office.  In my OCD way, I like to have them in orderly stacks, and placed neatly in categories.
The other day, Pigeon was in my office, and she brought her spawn.  Her asshole kid says,
"Look mommy!  All these cards!"
And then he proceeds to bunch all the cards together and triumphantly throw them in the air with both hands, like LeBron James tossing up talcum powder before a game or Scrooge McDuck relishing in his riches.

After Pigeon scolds him and tells him to sit down, he sits at my Leasing Agent Charlotte's desk, and starts opening up her drawers.  He finds a green highlighter and starts drawing all over her desk calendar.
Pigeon is doing nothing, so I go up to him and take the marker away from him.
"You can't do that."
"Yes I can."
"Why did you draw on my paper?"
"Because I want to."
"Its my marker."
"No! It's my marker."
"No. This is my paper, and my marker and you aren't allowed to draw on it."
"It's my marker and I want to."
I don't even know why I am arguing with this little asshole. He's four-years old.  His logic makes no sense.    All the while, Pigeon is just sitting there looking at her phone.  She chimes in with,
"People tell me he's just hyper and this is normal."
I hear that she beats him.  I kind of don't blame her.

-------------------
Let's end this with some voicemails Pigeon recently left me. Much like the other ones, these are verbatim.

This one should be read in a calm, yet confused tone:

Hey Mapple. This is Pigeon. I want to know what's goin' on with the mail. The mail...I haven't gotten any mail in 7 days, not even no bill papers.  I didn't even get no bill papers! So can you call me and um, and um, see, and let me know what's going on with the mail please, because this is like really weird. I want my mail. I don't even care if it's a little penny saver, K? Thank you, buh bye, later.

Like I know where your mail disappears to.  Turns out, when your mailbox gets filled up because you don't check it, the mail carrier just takes it back to the post office and saves it.  When Pigeon was giving me her daily call the day after, she said, "Hey, I called you yesterday about something...what was it?" Ugh. Why is she calling me about anything?!

This should be read in an angry, demanding way:

Mapple, this is Pigeon! It is the 1st and I need cable in my apartment.  There's no way somebody stayin' up in here with no cable. That's some... a job, in itself for the building, because you guys are the ones that chose that company, and it's unprofessional.  It's a lot of people up in here having problems with they cable, because they told me, so I need y'all to call the cable people so I can get cable in my apartment. I've been here...how long, like three months? Um, and in this particular apartment, and I was having problems in the other apartment with the cable too.  It shouldn't be like that. I need my cable. On the real. I really do. Um, y'all need to let me know sumn.' Alright. Call me back. I know you know my number for this shit. 213-555-5555. There it is again, and alright Mapple, call me again, and I just put the rent in there, too. Peace...Apartment 801...

Yeah, I know what unit you live in.  Plus, this shit is between you and the cable company.  You call them.  

When typing this, I was hesitant to add punctuation, because she just rambles in one long sentence.  This makes it easier to read, and really, you get the idea.

#28 Jumper

While sitting on my couch eating Cheez-Its, and I get a call from the resident manager next door:
"Hey, are you here?"
"Yeah"
"Oh, so you know."
"No. What."
"You have a jumper."

Fan-fucking-tastic.  I actually find this news exhilarating.  As I was running down the stairs, I figured that it was some idiot that found a tall building to jump off of.  Then I got annoyed as to how this idiot got in the building.  After thoughts of annoyances, I realized that that was actually not the case.
When I got to the lobby, the cops were looking for me.   They wanted me to open a door on the 9th floor.
"Do you know an Aaron?"
"Yes, 918, Aaron Green."
"He's the one on the roof.  We need you to open his door, but don't go in.  We'll do that.  There may be dead bodies."
"Um, ok."
I opened the door and they busted in.  There was no one in there but a small dog. While the cops are searching his place, I get on the phone with someone that works at my head office.
"Hey, you know that tenant that used to always pay late, Aaron Green?"
(some girl walking by interrupts me) "Did you say Aaron Green?  I know him!"
(to her) "Well, he's on the roof, (back to the phone) so yeah, he's about to jump, and I don't know what to do..." and I trail off and the chick at the head office tells me to go up, get a police report, and any insurance information (irritated eye roll).
When I get up to the roof, the cops won't let me by, and the girl that I saw in the hall was freaking the fuck out.
"What's you're deal?"
"Aaron is my ex-boyfriend.  I just broke up with him."
"Eeeh."   I replied.
What I really wanted to say was "Oh, bitch, this shit is YOUR fault!"

Since the cops won't let me up the pool area, I know another way where I can watch.  Here's all I could see.

Just a bunch of cops hanging around.  Turns out, he went over the gate of the pool, and our security guard Naseem and another tenant, that just happened to be at the hot tub, grabbed onto him and held him so he wouldn't fall.  Then the cops came and handcuffed him to the gate.  He was just dangling off the roof. 

So the cops just held on to him until the fire department came, in which they brought a saw and cut the fence that Aaron climbed over.
Now, this happens every once in awhile downtown, and cops know the procedure.  Although this has never happened on my building, I've seen it happen to others.  They are mainly hotels.  They block off the streets surrounding the building, and the front of my building looked like this:

Cops everywhere, standing around.  They have way more important shit to do, but just like anyone else, they love the thrill of a jumper. 
After they sawed the fence and took custody of the jumper, they put him in the ambulance pictured above and away he went.  He had all these friends in the lobby sobbing and feeling super uncomfortable because tenants were all a buzz ("Someone tried to jump off the roof?! Who is it? That's nuts!") IN TURN, the huddle of crying friends made everyone else feel uncomfortable because it's A GROUP OF SOBBING ADULTS in, what is normally, an empty lobby.

All the while, this fucking baby is following me around and bothering me.
"Hey, I know you're busy and all, but I saw all the fire trucks and I thought it was a fire, so I ran out, and now I'm locked out.  Can you let me in?"
"Yeah, after I talk to the cops, just hold on a second."
She keeps pestering me, and being super impatient.
Bitch, I have shit to deal with.  See all the police and fire people around asking me questions?  Back up.  Your pot of boiling water can wait.  Fuck.

After all was said and done, Aaron was fine.  He apparently doesn't remember much, and he paid his rent on time.  One of my tenants is a part-time paparazzo and he finagled his way onto the roof enough to capture the action and put it on YouTube.  It has a couple hundred thousand hits.  Aaron's friends are not too happy about it.

They are literally saving his life using the wedgie method.  See how high it is?....shit.