It's funny, I've attempted to update this blog for several weeks now. It's not for lack of things happening in my life that has kept me from blogging. In fact, I've started and stopped several times to write something. The words are just stuck in my head. A result, no doubt, of fibrofog that seems to be coming around more often these days.
It's the same routine, change in meds, change in dosages. A slippery slope that we keep teetering on each visit. Too much of one medicine makes my nerves hyper aware, too little and I have no relief. I think this would be so much more manageable if I knew what makes the fibro flare up. It's not like I know that a+b = flareup. It's not so concrete.
Really though, I just want my life back. I'm normally extroverted but lately I haven't felt so social outside of my own house. It's just easier that way. Getting out sometimes is a chore and I can't always predict when I'll have a good day. They're few and far-between and that can lead to not being such a good friend.
Just started Aqua therapy. Being in the warm water is less stressful on my nerves and takes some of the strain off of my muscles. Who knows, this aqua therapy thing could really help. It at least offers some relief from pain. There's nothing like getting into 90+ degree water to ease these nerves of mine. The temporary relief is worth it though.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
G
I miss you more than I can bear some days. What I wouldn't give to have those five months one more time. Five weeks, five days, five minutes, just one more time to tell you how much I love you. I see you, every night, in my dreams. I wake, arms heavy but empty. I'm sorry you did not have the life that you deserved; but I have been forever changed by the brief time you were here with me.
My sweet boy, I never thought that I would love something so unconditionally, so purely. I loved you the moment I saw you, the moment you first cried, the first time I held you and the last time even more. I'm sorry that I was not there for your last breath. I would give everything to have been there, so you would know that I was there, so you could feel my love as you left this life.
I take comfort in knowing that I will see you someday. I write this now, the words forever imprinted on my heart. I love you more than words, more than the universe my beautiful boy.
My sweet boy, I never thought that I would love something so unconditionally, so purely. I loved you the moment I saw you, the moment you first cried, the first time I held you and the last time even more. I'm sorry that I was not there for your last breath. I would give everything to have been there, so you would know that I was there, so you could feel my love as you left this life.
I take comfort in knowing that I will see you someday. I write this now, the words forever imprinted on my heart. I love you more than words, more than the universe my beautiful boy.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Teenage Wasteland
I grew up in a very small town, in what most people called the armpit of Pennsylvania, where the state meets Maryland and Delaware. The bucolic farm fields and lazy 3-light town left little to do by means of entertainment. In fact, when cow-tipping and loitering became tiresome, one found themselves on a 45-minute car ride to greater things like movie-theatres and shopping malls.
In fact, one often found themselves crossing state lines twice in pursuit of something other than what O-Town (the place I lived, not the very bad boy-band) had to offer. Small-town meant limited opportunity for employment. Teens often found that the three major employers were 2 fast-food joints and a grocery store. Wanting more and at the suggestion of a friend; I found myself on a daily commute to Amish-Country. Smack dab in the middle, in fact.
What better, to educate the masses on the lives of the Amish, was ironically a theme-park. Yes, the Amish, who shunned all forms of modern life and technology were represented by a roller-coaster, game-filled 'amusement' park for children. While most people chose to work in the park as a ride operator or in the games or food booths; I chose to work in the Gift Shop thinking that of the employment positions, Gift Shop would require the least effort and would be the least likely to put me in with the throngs of crying, hyper, temper-tantrum throwing children. BIG MISTAKE.
The Gift Shop was located in the Castle (yes, Dutch Wonderland, an Amish Theme Park had a castle, moat, dragon and 'roller coaster' named Sky Princess). The Castle was the ONLY entrance into the park. So while the quiet, polite children entered the park in the morning; they were replaced with screaming, spitting, demon-children at the end of the day. These spawns of Satan would descend on a recently stocked and straightened display like locusts and in a matter of seconds have it destroyed and the nearest Gift Shop employee in near mental-breakdown.
Parents, whose cherubic children turned demon, were haggard and tired after a day in the sun riding dated theme park rides. Strollers that once carried happy children were now filled with the spoils of the carnival games. These strollers that now turned the already tight quarters of the gift shop into mazes booby trapped with sticky, dirty children. Displays meant to attract children became death traps for the poor souls working in the Gift Shop.
I routinely found myself dodging bouncy super balls, weaving through a gauntlet of hula hoops and jumping to avoid the snap of bull-whips and pop guns at the cowboy stand. Keeping a well-stocked and orderly gift shop was a near Sisyphean attempt once the park closed. The last-minute park goers were shuffled into the Gift Shop, which conveniently was open an hour later than the park.
Considered Ambassadors to the park we often fielded questions that most times bordered on pure idiocy. 'What time do the Amish go home?' They don't, that is actually how they live. 'Why don't they have televisions?' 'How do you audition to be an Amish?'. 'Where do I get an Amish Costume?' 'Where is the beach in PA, the one by Ocean City Maryland?' Yeah, I looked at him the same way too. PA, the land-locked state with Oceanfront beaches.
This job that left me exhausted, that tested my patience, was not without perks. My name badge afforded me something invaluable to a teenager living in the middle of nowhere. In addition to free entrance to the very park that I worked, I payed half-price at the movie theatre that was adjacent to the park. Most importantly though, my name badge awarded me and one lucky friend half-priced tickets to Hershey Park and Dorney Park. The grown-up versions of Dutch Wonderland.
As the beginning of the summer-season approached I would question my sanity as I signed up for 3 months of torture, the long and windy back road trip filled with molasses slow horse and buggies, closing shifts only to come back the next day to open. Each time, I agreed. Dug out the pleated-front blue khaki pants and blue and white striped shirt. I laced my white and blue sneakers and attached my name tag and prepared to enter the insanity. All in the name of a boredom free summer.
In fact, one often found themselves crossing state lines twice in pursuit of something other than what O-Town (the place I lived, not the very bad boy-band) had to offer. Small-town meant limited opportunity for employment. Teens often found that the three major employers were 2 fast-food joints and a grocery store. Wanting more and at the suggestion of a friend; I found myself on a daily commute to Amish-Country. Smack dab in the middle, in fact.
What better, to educate the masses on the lives of the Amish, was ironically a theme-park. Yes, the Amish, who shunned all forms of modern life and technology were represented by a roller-coaster, game-filled 'amusement' park for children. While most people chose to work in the park as a ride operator or in the games or food booths; I chose to work in the Gift Shop thinking that of the employment positions, Gift Shop would require the least effort and would be the least likely to put me in with the throngs of crying, hyper, temper-tantrum throwing children. BIG MISTAKE.
The Gift Shop was located in the Castle (yes, Dutch Wonderland, an Amish Theme Park had a castle, moat, dragon and 'roller coaster' named Sky Princess). The Castle was the ONLY entrance into the park. So while the quiet, polite children entered the park in the morning; they were replaced with screaming, spitting, demon-children at the end of the day. These spawns of Satan would descend on a recently stocked and straightened display like locusts and in a matter of seconds have it destroyed and the nearest Gift Shop employee in near mental-breakdown.
Parents, whose cherubic children turned demon, were haggard and tired after a day in the sun riding dated theme park rides. Strollers that once carried happy children were now filled with the spoils of the carnival games. These strollers that now turned the already tight quarters of the gift shop into mazes booby trapped with sticky, dirty children. Displays meant to attract children became death traps for the poor souls working in the Gift Shop.
I routinely found myself dodging bouncy super balls, weaving through a gauntlet of hula hoops and jumping to avoid the snap of bull-whips and pop guns at the cowboy stand. Keeping a well-stocked and orderly gift shop was a near Sisyphean attempt once the park closed. The last-minute park goers were shuffled into the Gift Shop, which conveniently was open an hour later than the park.
Considered Ambassadors to the park we often fielded questions that most times bordered on pure idiocy. 'What time do the Amish go home?' They don't, that is actually how they live. 'Why don't they have televisions?' 'How do you audition to be an Amish?'. 'Where do I get an Amish Costume?' 'Where is the beach in PA, the one by Ocean City Maryland?' Yeah, I looked at him the same way too. PA, the land-locked state with Oceanfront beaches.
This job that left me exhausted, that tested my patience, was not without perks. My name badge afforded me something invaluable to a teenager living in the middle of nowhere. In addition to free entrance to the very park that I worked, I payed half-price at the movie theatre that was adjacent to the park. Most importantly though, my name badge awarded me and one lucky friend half-priced tickets to Hershey Park and Dorney Park. The grown-up versions of Dutch Wonderland.
As the beginning of the summer-season approached I would question my sanity as I signed up for 3 months of torture, the long and windy back road trip filled with molasses slow horse and buggies, closing shifts only to come back the next day to open. Each time, I agreed. Dug out the pleated-front blue khaki pants and blue and white striped shirt. I laced my white and blue sneakers and attached my name tag and prepared to enter the insanity. All in the name of a boredom free summer.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Crazier
To give an apartment complex a sense of community, it's often the role of the leasing staff and property manager to schedule and plan events that will bring the residents together. I've done events from cookie exchanges around the holidays, pot-luck BBQs in the summer, pizza night, movie night at the pool and monthly breakfasts. It allows residents who might not meet otherwise to get to know each other. Plus, who doesn't like free food? In fact, one resident liked free food so much he earned himself a nickname among staff.
Tater Salad
Most of the picnics, BBQs and Pot-Lucks that I hosted over the summers had a basic menu with variations based on what looked interesting at the store. However, I always had potato salad. The area the apartment community was located in was primarily Pennsylvania Dutch. The PA Dutch eat potato salad with everything. To prepare, I would always go to the local Bulk Foods store and get 2 1-gallon containers of Potato Salad.
Tater Salad always showed up to events at least 15 minutes before they started. Which meant that he would plop himself down right in the middle of things while we were trying to set up. As soon as the potato salad hit the table he would ask if he could start eating. Before any other resident arrived, Tater Salad would have had at least two plates filled with potato salad. I'm not talking about small party plates either. He'd wolf down at least a half-gallon before anyone else had the chance to arrive.
Not only was tater salad the first to arrive but he was the last to leave. He commandeered every conversation at the parties. He was loud, borderline obnoxious and pretty much clueless to those around him. As we would clean up at the end of the party, Tater Salad made sure to stick around long enough to beg for the leftovers. So, any cooked and uneaten burgers and hotdogs went home with him. As did any food that would spoil between the end of the party and the weekend. He always made out like a bandit so much so that other residents were left with little to take home with them.
Tater Salad wasn't just obsessed with Potato Salad. Any food that we had he wanted his share and then some. Here are some classics:
Discount Pizza Night: For resident appreciation week, I negotiated a discounted price for large pizzas for the residents of the community with a local chain pizza company. So rather than $8 per large cheese pizza, I got them for $5 and charged the residents $2. Residents had to call in their reservation and pay the day before the delivery. (It was quite impressive to have 50+ pizzas sitting in my office waiting for delivery) We, the staff, personally delivered the pizzas. You can't beat $4 for 2 large pizzas! Tater Salad, wanting as much as he could get ordered 4. Thinking he was having guests over, I didn't make a big deal about it. However, when I delivered his pizzas it was just him. He proudly told me that this was his breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next month.
Breakfast to Go Another resident appreciation event, the office staff put together brown-bag breakfasts with pastries, granola bars, fruit and juice. We gave notice to the residents that we would be at the entrance to the communities between 6am and 8am passing out breakfast as they leave for work. The idea was that we would catch them as they were in their cars leaving for work. With 5 minutes to go, we were packing up the breakfasts that weren't delivered. Through the morning fog we see someone walking. As the figure gets closer and closer, we see that it's Tater Salad. He knows that time is up and that there will be extras. I prepare his breakfast and as I pass it to him he asks 'Is that all?'
A little stunned, I say that there is quite a bit in the bag. He says, 'no, where's my leftovers? You've got to have extras.' I tell him, yes there are some extras but I planned on keeping some in the office for those leaving for work a little bit later than we would be out at the entrance. He asks me how long I was keeping them after that. I say 11:00, then we'll see what's left.
Sure enough, at 11:00 on the dot, in walks Tater Salad holding a canvas bag open waiting for his goodies.
Tater Salad also showed up in the office at least once a day to browse the snacks and beverages I had sitting out for prospects. Every day he'd come in and announce 'I'm here to do my daily shopping'. One of the maintenance staff asked him one day, why it was that he always insisted on taking home leftovers and more than others normally took (often times he decimated entire foods so that others didn't have any or only had very little.) His response was that if we didn't want him to eat it, we shouldn't offer it. When asked why he didn't share with others he said that he didn't like anyone else enough to share.
So as it turns out, we were not only his grocery store but his personal caterers and everyone else was just there for his entertainment purposes. That attitude was not shocking, especially after an incident where his rent check bounced. He stormed into the office and screamed at me because his check bounced telling me that it was the responsibility of the company to make sure that the check didn't bounce. He demanded to speak to someone over my head and that he'd have me fired. Not only that but I was taking advantage of a poor old man.
Puh-lease. Not only did I have proof in his lease that it was the residents responsibility to pay rent and assure that all funds were accessible (in other words common sense); but I also told him that if he didn't have the money to pay rent, he shouldn't write me a bad check. Because not only would it result in the start of the eviction process but that he could be reported to the police. He stormed out of the office saying he was going to sue and have my job. The next morning I found a money order for his rental payment and fees in the lock box.
I'm not sure what happened to Tater Salad after I left that position. If I recall correctly, he bounced yet another check and pulled the same antics. A week later the eviction process was started. So, whoever out there has the pleasure of calling Tater Salad a resident, do I feel sorry for you!
**on a side note, if I had a penny for every time a resident has threatened to
call my boss, have my job, sue me or question whether or not I have a soul (true story, by the way) I'd be a very rich person! It's amazing who the blame gets passed to when a resident is at fault for something. this itself is worthy of it's own post.
Tater Salad
Most of the picnics, BBQs and Pot-Lucks that I hosted over the summers had a basic menu with variations based on what looked interesting at the store. However, I always had potato salad. The area the apartment community was located in was primarily Pennsylvania Dutch. The PA Dutch eat potato salad with everything. To prepare, I would always go to the local Bulk Foods store and get 2 1-gallon containers of Potato Salad.
Tater Salad always showed up to events at least 15 minutes before they started. Which meant that he would plop himself down right in the middle of things while we were trying to set up. As soon as the potato salad hit the table he would ask if he could start eating. Before any other resident arrived, Tater Salad would have had at least two plates filled with potato salad. I'm not talking about small party plates either. He'd wolf down at least a half-gallon before anyone else had the chance to arrive.
Not only was tater salad the first to arrive but he was the last to leave. He commandeered every conversation at the parties. He was loud, borderline obnoxious and pretty much clueless to those around him. As we would clean up at the end of the party, Tater Salad made sure to stick around long enough to beg for the leftovers. So, any cooked and uneaten burgers and hotdogs went home with him. As did any food that would spoil between the end of the party and the weekend. He always made out like a bandit so much so that other residents were left with little to take home with them.
Tater Salad wasn't just obsessed with Potato Salad. Any food that we had he wanted his share and then some. Here are some classics:
Discount Pizza Night: For resident appreciation week, I negotiated a discounted price for large pizzas for the residents of the community with a local chain pizza company. So rather than $8 per large cheese pizza, I got them for $5 and charged the residents $2. Residents had to call in their reservation and pay the day before the delivery. (It was quite impressive to have 50+ pizzas sitting in my office waiting for delivery) We, the staff, personally delivered the pizzas. You can't beat $4 for 2 large pizzas! Tater Salad, wanting as much as he could get ordered 4. Thinking he was having guests over, I didn't make a big deal about it. However, when I delivered his pizzas it was just him. He proudly told me that this was his breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next month.
Breakfast to Go Another resident appreciation event, the office staff put together brown-bag breakfasts with pastries, granola bars, fruit and juice. We gave notice to the residents that we would be at the entrance to the communities between 6am and 8am passing out breakfast as they leave for work. The idea was that we would catch them as they were in their cars leaving for work. With 5 minutes to go, we were packing up the breakfasts that weren't delivered. Through the morning fog we see someone walking. As the figure gets closer and closer, we see that it's Tater Salad. He knows that time is up and that there will be extras. I prepare his breakfast and as I pass it to him he asks 'Is that all?'
A little stunned, I say that there is quite a bit in the bag. He says, 'no, where's my leftovers? You've got to have extras.' I tell him, yes there are some extras but I planned on keeping some in the office for those leaving for work a little bit later than we would be out at the entrance. He asks me how long I was keeping them after that. I say 11:00, then we'll see what's left.
Sure enough, at 11:00 on the dot, in walks Tater Salad holding a canvas bag open waiting for his goodies.
Tater Salad also showed up in the office at least once a day to browse the snacks and beverages I had sitting out for prospects. Every day he'd come in and announce 'I'm here to do my daily shopping'. One of the maintenance staff asked him one day, why it was that he always insisted on taking home leftovers and more than others normally took (often times he decimated entire foods so that others didn't have any or only had very little.) His response was that if we didn't want him to eat it, we shouldn't offer it. When asked why he didn't share with others he said that he didn't like anyone else enough to share.
So as it turns out, we were not only his grocery store but his personal caterers and everyone else was just there for his entertainment purposes. That attitude was not shocking, especially after an incident where his rent check bounced. He stormed into the office and screamed at me because his check bounced telling me that it was the responsibility of the company to make sure that the check didn't bounce. He demanded to speak to someone over my head and that he'd have me fired. Not only that but I was taking advantage of a poor old man.
Puh-lease. Not only did I have proof in his lease that it was the residents responsibility to pay rent and assure that all funds were accessible (in other words common sense); but I also told him that if he didn't have the money to pay rent, he shouldn't write me a bad check. Because not only would it result in the start of the eviction process but that he could be reported to the police. He stormed out of the office saying he was going to sue and have my job. The next morning I found a money order for his rental payment and fees in the lock box.
I'm not sure what happened to Tater Salad after I left that position. If I recall correctly, he bounced yet another check and pulled the same antics. A week later the eviction process was started. So, whoever out there has the pleasure of calling Tater Salad a resident, do I feel sorry for you!
**on a side note, if I had a penny for every time a resident has threatened to
call my boss, have my job, sue me or question whether or not I have a soul (true story, by the way) I'd be a very rich person! It's amazing who the blame gets passed to when a resident is at fault for something. this itself is worthy of it's own post.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Crazy
What they don't tell you when you get in the leasing industry is that not only do you have to perform the administrative duties of leasing a property; but you have to be an (unwilling) confidante, sometimes friend, mediator, referee, counselor and babysitter. When you put 100+ adults in a small area all common sense seems to go out the window and people start acting like children. They also don't tell you that for every 3 normal residents you have there is 1 not operating on a full deck.
I've Got I.D.
When you fill out an application to live in an apartment you have to identify whether or not you have a pet. When you do that you have to list the type of pet (bird, cat, dog) and the breed of the pet. We also want to know how old, how tall and how heavy your pet is. It's not to be mean. We just know that your downstairs neighbor will appreciate you much more if you don't have a Great Dane running around your apartment in the middle of the night. We also want to know identifying features of your pet. That's so if your beloved dog Ruffles gets loose that we'll know who to return him to.
The company I was working for at the time had recently purchased a new property. We were two weeks from the official takeover so I was at a property close by auditing the files of the applicants waiting to move in as well as the current residents. If someone was a chronic late-payer I made sure to make a note so these things could be brought up when we met with the old company before the purchase.
I came across one apartment that had a rather thick file. Not only were they habitually late payers but they had a very aggressive dog that made working on maintenance requests difficult as the dog had to be removed from the apartment or double-caged to keep it from getting out and attacking the maintenance team. I was looking over the pet rider (a rider is any amendment or addition to a standard lease that can change during the residency. ie: owner no longer has pet, we simply note it on the rider rather than having them sign a new lease.)
As I was reading this rider, I'm noting that the dog is a pitbull mix. As I skim to the physical markings part of the rider I notice: 5'3", brunette, tattoo on left breast, wrist and ankle. Yes dear reader, the resident described themselves and NOT the dog. Good to know, because if she ever got loose on the property, I was sure to know what apartment to send her back to!
We'll see a lot of this particular resident in the future.
Ed McMann
In order to rent an apartment, you have to have money. Not only do you have to have money but you have to have proof of having money. I mean, we're not going to give you your apartment for free. That would be just silly.
I had a prospective resident who would call every month to ask about availability and pricing. The prices never changed but she would always say that she was waiting until the price was low enough for her to move in. Over the course of a year, I got to know her well as she would always tell me about her troubles. And because I have nothing better to do (I mean, seriously, managing a multi-million dollar property is a cakewalk.) she liked to keep me on the phone for as long as she could. One day, I receive a call from her. She was so excited and happy.
Caller: You'll never guess what happened to me. I finally have my money. I am so excited, I came upon a windfall of money. I can finally move in! And I'll pay for my for a year right away. I'm so happy!
Me: Oh, that's so wonderful! I'm very happy for you. When would you like to come in and pick out your new apartment?
Caller: Well, my letter said that I just won $10million and that I have some paperwork to fill out before I can claim my money. But I think I'll have it within the month.
Me: (starting to get suspicious). That's. . . great. So, do you want to schedule an appointment?
Caller: Well, in order to claim my money, I just have to order some magazines. Why don't I call you once I get everything set up.
Me: Did your letter happen to come from Ed McMann?
Caller: How did you know?! Oh this is such a wonderful day.
Me: (shaking my head). How about this, why don't you call the number on the letter. I think this is from Publishers Clearing House. Why don't you call me back when you get all of this sorted out and set up an appointment when you know when you'll be receiving the money and we'll make our plans from there.
Caller: That sounds great! I can't wait to come in. I'll be talking to you soon!
Really, I couldn't burst her bubble. I'm not a monster. I figured that she would realize the truth when she called the 1-800 number on the letter. As much as she kept me on the phone when she called other times, I just couldn't rain on her parade. She was so happy and it was kinda cute.
I Want What He's Having!
Sometimes the crazy doesn't come from the residents. Sometimes it comes from the people that pop in to the office. Sometimes they want information on the property, or are inquiring about employment opportunities, some are looking for their friend's apartment or just want directions. I had made a habit of making sure the leasing office was as welcoming as possible. We had snacks, free coffee, tea or hot chocolate and sodas in the fridge. I'd bake cookies or have popcorn just popped ready and waiting. It was about the experience for not only residents but people who may be interested in renting an apartment.
One spring morning, I was refreshing the snacks. Office hours didn't officially start but I had the door unlocked because I was bringing things in from my car. I look up and standing in the doorway is a gentleman. There wasn't anything remarkable about his appearance but he looked a little lost. I asked him if there's anything I could help him with.
Man: What's going on over there? (nods towards the pool that is covered in a green tarp)
Me: Oh, we're in the process of uncovering the pool so we can drain it and get it ready for the summer.
Man: Yeah, but what's going on. They're setting up all that stuff.
Me: Oh the tools. Yes, they are rather unusual, aren't they? (Our pool cover attached with a complicated bolt mechanism that required large wrenches).
Man: No, no, the concert they're setting up.
Me: Excuse me?
Man: Yeah, see all the speakers? Do you know who is playing?
Me: No, sorry, I. . . don't?!
Man: Oh well, looks pretty rad. Can I have a muffin?
And with that, as quickly as appeared, he was gone. Muffin in hand happily walking out of the complex.
Coming Soon! Crazier and Craziest!
I've Got I.D.
When you fill out an application to live in an apartment you have to identify whether or not you have a pet. When you do that you have to list the type of pet (bird, cat, dog) and the breed of the pet. We also want to know how old, how tall and how heavy your pet is. It's not to be mean. We just know that your downstairs neighbor will appreciate you much more if you don't have a Great Dane running around your apartment in the middle of the night. We also want to know identifying features of your pet. That's so if your beloved dog Ruffles gets loose that we'll know who to return him to.
The company I was working for at the time had recently purchased a new property. We were two weeks from the official takeover so I was at a property close by auditing the files of the applicants waiting to move in as well as the current residents. If someone was a chronic late-payer I made sure to make a note so these things could be brought up when we met with the old company before the purchase.
I came across one apartment that had a rather thick file. Not only were they habitually late payers but they had a very aggressive dog that made working on maintenance requests difficult as the dog had to be removed from the apartment or double-caged to keep it from getting out and attacking the maintenance team. I was looking over the pet rider (a rider is any amendment or addition to a standard lease that can change during the residency. ie: owner no longer has pet, we simply note it on the rider rather than having them sign a new lease.)
As I was reading this rider, I'm noting that the dog is a pitbull mix. As I skim to the physical markings part of the rider I notice: 5'3", brunette, tattoo on left breast, wrist and ankle. Yes dear reader, the resident described themselves and NOT the dog. Good to know, because if she ever got loose on the property, I was sure to know what apartment to send her back to!
We'll see a lot of this particular resident in the future.
Ed McMann
In order to rent an apartment, you have to have money. Not only do you have to have money but you have to have proof of having money. I mean, we're not going to give you your apartment for free. That would be just silly.
I had a prospective resident who would call every month to ask about availability and pricing. The prices never changed but she would always say that she was waiting until the price was low enough for her to move in. Over the course of a year, I got to know her well as she would always tell me about her troubles. And because I have nothing better to do (I mean, seriously, managing a multi-million dollar property is a cakewalk.) she liked to keep me on the phone for as long as she could. One day, I receive a call from her. She was so excited and happy.
Caller: You'll never guess what happened to me. I finally have my money. I am so excited, I came upon a windfall of money. I can finally move in! And I'll pay for my for a year right away. I'm so happy!
Me: Oh, that's so wonderful! I'm very happy for you. When would you like to come in and pick out your new apartment?
Caller: Well, my letter said that I just won $10million and that I have some paperwork to fill out before I can claim my money. But I think I'll have it within the month.
Me: (starting to get suspicious). That's. . . great. So, do you want to schedule an appointment?
Caller: Well, in order to claim my money, I just have to order some magazines. Why don't I call you once I get everything set up.
Me: Did your letter happen to come from Ed McMann?
Caller: How did you know?! Oh this is such a wonderful day.
Me: (shaking my head). How about this, why don't you call the number on the letter. I think this is from Publishers Clearing House. Why don't you call me back when you get all of this sorted out and set up an appointment when you know when you'll be receiving the money and we'll make our plans from there.
Caller: That sounds great! I can't wait to come in. I'll be talking to you soon!
Really, I couldn't burst her bubble. I'm not a monster. I figured that she would realize the truth when she called the 1-800 number on the letter. As much as she kept me on the phone when she called other times, I just couldn't rain on her parade. She was so happy and it was kinda cute.
I Want What He's Having!
Sometimes the crazy doesn't come from the residents. Sometimes it comes from the people that pop in to the office. Sometimes they want information on the property, or are inquiring about employment opportunities, some are looking for their friend's apartment or just want directions. I had made a habit of making sure the leasing office was as welcoming as possible. We had snacks, free coffee, tea or hot chocolate and sodas in the fridge. I'd bake cookies or have popcorn just popped ready and waiting. It was about the experience for not only residents but people who may be interested in renting an apartment.
One spring morning, I was refreshing the snacks. Office hours didn't officially start but I had the door unlocked because I was bringing things in from my car. I look up and standing in the doorway is a gentleman. There wasn't anything remarkable about his appearance but he looked a little lost. I asked him if there's anything I could help him with.
Man: What's going on over there? (nods towards the pool that is covered in a green tarp)
Me: Oh, we're in the process of uncovering the pool so we can drain it and get it ready for the summer.
Man: Yeah, but what's going on. They're setting up all that stuff.
Me: Oh the tools. Yes, they are rather unusual, aren't they? (Our pool cover attached with a complicated bolt mechanism that required large wrenches).
Man: No, no, the concert they're setting up.
Me: Excuse me?
Man: Yeah, see all the speakers? Do you know who is playing?
Me: No, sorry, I. . . don't?!
Man: Oh well, looks pretty rad. Can I have a muffin?
And with that, as quickly as appeared, he was gone. Muffin in hand happily walking out of the complex.
Coming Soon! Crazier and Craziest!
Tales From a Property Manager
I've accumulated quite a few stories over the years I spent working in the property management field. I figured I shouldn't be the only one to benefit from the strange but true stories.
Annie Oakley
Annie got her name because she liked to carry a rifle in a bag wherever she went. Like taking her trash out or paying her rent, this rifle went everywhere with her. One day, I get a call in the office from Annie. She was requesting that we remove the unused outlets from her apartment. Curious, I asked why. Her response:
Annie: Well, Sirhan Sirhan and Hitler use my outlets to communicate with eachother. They're plotting something bad and I don't want to be responsible for their trouble.
Me: I'm sorry, we can't remove the electrical outlets, but I will send a maintenance tech over to your apartment to have a look.
About a half-hour the maintenance guy returns to the office laughing. I asked him how things went. He said that Annie became even more adamant about having the outlets removed. After a good 10 minutes of back and forth he finally compromised by placing electrical tape over the unused outlets. He told her that it was special CIA approved tape and it would stop them from communicating with eachother.
Laundry Thief
It was the end of my work day and I was at a property my company just took over. I was sitting at the desk in the leasing area going over the application with a couple who were looking at renting a two bedroom apartment. As I was going through the paperwork, in walks C with two large trash bags.
C demands that she speak with me now. Seeing that she was clearly upset, I excused myself from the couple, telling them to read over the paperwork and that I would be back with them in a few minutes to answer any questions. I walk over to C and ask her if I could help her.
C: Here (she thrusts the bags at me). Someone stole my laundry basket. I know who it is, it's the damn kids upstairs. I took their laundry out of the dryer and put them in these bags.
Me: What do you want me to do with this?
C: I want you to call them and demand that they give me my laundry basket.
At this point, she's starting to yell. The couple reviewing the paperwork can clearly hear what is going on.
C: This is clearly an issue of theft. I demand that you stop these people from stealing. It's unacceptable and disgusting and if you don't do something about it I'm going to move.
I calmly look at C:
Me:I will most certainly look into the situation. What number can I call you back at? I'm currently helping this couple but I will look into it when I'm through with them.
C: (yelling now) This is absurd. You need to handle this RIGHT NOW. Theft is unacceptable.
Me: (almost nearling my level for no longer being calm) I will absoultely deal with this when I am done with this couple and I will call you when I am through.
C: No, I will wait here. People can't walk around stealing things. I don't want them to get their clothes until I get my basket back.
Me: (up until this point, I was willing to just give her money from petty cash for a new basket, just to get her to leave. But now she's taken it too far and the couple that is sitting close by could be considering whether they want to move into a community with people like her. Then it hits me.)C, you need to leave the office now. Besides, what do you think you just did by bringing me their laundry. You stole it from them and now you want me to ransom their clothing for a $1 basket?
C storms out of the office in a huff. I apologize profusely to the couple and assure them that things like this do not happen here on a regular basis and that we don't tolerate behavior like that and that I will be dealing with the disturbance. Fortunately they had a good attitude about it and were able to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Once the couple left, I called the residents who were missing their laundry. They come down to the office with the laundry basket and tell me that the basket was actually theirs and that it was stolen from them. He then proceeds to show me the bottom of his basket. In faded and scratched sharpie was the residents name and his dorm room # from college. Thankfully HE had a good sense of humor and took his clothes back of him.
I never heard back from C, but from what I understand she left the couple alone from then on out.
Coming Soon: More Tales of the Crazy, Crazier and Craziest Residents
Annie Oakley
Annie got her name because she liked to carry a rifle in a bag wherever she went. Like taking her trash out or paying her rent, this rifle went everywhere with her. One day, I get a call in the office from Annie. She was requesting that we remove the unused outlets from her apartment. Curious, I asked why. Her response:
Annie: Well, Sirhan Sirhan and Hitler use my outlets to communicate with eachother. They're plotting something bad and I don't want to be responsible for their trouble.
Me: I'm sorry, we can't remove the electrical outlets, but I will send a maintenance tech over to your apartment to have a look.
About a half-hour the maintenance guy returns to the office laughing. I asked him how things went. He said that Annie became even more adamant about having the outlets removed. After a good 10 minutes of back and forth he finally compromised by placing electrical tape over the unused outlets. He told her that it was special CIA approved tape and it would stop them from communicating with eachother.
Laundry Thief
It was the end of my work day and I was at a property my company just took over. I was sitting at the desk in the leasing area going over the application with a couple who were looking at renting a two bedroom apartment. As I was going through the paperwork, in walks C with two large trash bags.
C demands that she speak with me now. Seeing that she was clearly upset, I excused myself from the couple, telling them to read over the paperwork and that I would be back with them in a few minutes to answer any questions. I walk over to C and ask her if I could help her.
C: Here (she thrusts the bags at me). Someone stole my laundry basket. I know who it is, it's the damn kids upstairs. I took their laundry out of the dryer and put them in these bags.
Me: What do you want me to do with this?
C: I want you to call them and demand that they give me my laundry basket.
At this point, she's starting to yell. The couple reviewing the paperwork can clearly hear what is going on.
C: This is clearly an issue of theft. I demand that you stop these people from stealing. It's unacceptable and disgusting and if you don't do something about it I'm going to move.
I calmly look at C:
Me:I will most certainly look into the situation. What number can I call you back at? I'm currently helping this couple but I will look into it when I'm through with them.
C: (yelling now) This is absurd. You need to handle this RIGHT NOW. Theft is unacceptable.
Me: (almost nearling my level for no longer being calm) I will absoultely deal with this when I am done with this couple and I will call you when I am through.
C: No, I will wait here. People can't walk around stealing things. I don't want them to get their clothes until I get my basket back.
Me: (up until this point, I was willing to just give her money from petty cash for a new basket, just to get her to leave. But now she's taken it too far and the couple that is sitting close by could be considering whether they want to move into a community with people like her. Then it hits me.)C, you need to leave the office now. Besides, what do you think you just did by bringing me their laundry. You stole it from them and now you want me to ransom their clothing for a $1 basket?
C storms out of the office in a huff. I apologize profusely to the couple and assure them that things like this do not happen here on a regular basis and that we don't tolerate behavior like that and that I will be dealing with the disturbance. Fortunately they had a good attitude about it and were able to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Once the couple left, I called the residents who were missing their laundry. They come down to the office with the laundry basket and tell me that the basket was actually theirs and that it was stolen from them. He then proceeds to show me the bottom of his basket. In faded and scratched sharpie was the residents name and his dorm room # from college. Thankfully HE had a good sense of humor and took his clothes back of him.
I never heard back from C, but from what I understand she left the couple alone from then on out.
Coming Soon: More Tales of the Crazy, Crazier and Craziest Residents
Sunday, December 5, 2010
We survived the TSA
Remember a couple of posts ago, I was worried about what I was going to tell my 90 year old grandmother about the new TSA process? Well, we had a bit of an issue getting to and from Key West. Let me start by saying that I appreciate the efforts to make flying safe and I understand that these screening efforts are in place because there are people trying to do very bad things. However, I believe that *if* you find something suspicious that you explain the process as you go.
We were flying out of Harrisburg International. One, because it's a smaller airport and two because we only had one stop between there and key west. We arrived at the airport nice and early with the understanding that we'll be flying on one of the busiest days for travel. There really wasn't a huge crowd so we thought getting through security would be a breeze.
As we zig-zagged through the cattle chutes people were being split between the X-Ray machines and the one full body scanner. Mom and Mom Mom went through X-Ray without problem. Brad, Eddie and I were put in the full body scanner line. Brad and I went through without incident. Eddie was pulled to the side. We figured his insulin pump gave them cause to do a pat-down and he was prepared in advance and provided medical documentation stating that he had the pump and vials of insulin.
What we weren't prepared for was after the pat-down when they pulled him into an opaque room and told me I couldn't follow him. I was told to go to my gate or wait at the seating area outside of the security area. This was AFTER I told them I was his wife and after they refused to tell me what was going on. For well over 15 minutes (that felt like hours) Eddie emerges. It seems that something set off the scanner and indicated that there was some kind of chemical that was on the 'list' of potential dangers.
For 15 minutes they went through his backpack that had our camera and computer. They ran gloved hands all over him and tested them. All the while not telling him why they were doing it. When it was all said and done, they told him that it was probably the gasoline from the gas station we stopped at on the way to the airport that triggered this extra treatment. They never once told him that he had the right to have someone with him or that he had a right to refuse this extra attention. They made him sign a piece of paper that stated something along the lines of being pleased with the treatment he received. At this time, they were calling for the pre-boarding of our flight. So what was he to do? Miss the flight and potentially not be permitted to fly? Of course he signed it.
Not to mention the fact that I was told nothing and watched 3 different security personnel go into the opaque room that held my husband. Uncertain as to what was going on. As he was being escorted to the seating area where I was anxiously waiting, the security escort told him that he was really sorry and that most of them didn't have a whole lot of training and what training they did have didn't include how to treat the people they were essentially groping.
Since we were leaving for what was going to be a very nice and relaxing trip to warmer weather, we boarded our plane. Thinking that this was just a once and done occurrence, we put this incident out of the way with the intent to voice our concern when we returned. Knowing that Eddie wouldn't be pumping gas on the return flight home, we didn't really think we'd experience the same incident again.
Key West was great. The weather was warm and we had beautiful weather. Mom Mom really enjoyed seeing all of the cats, chickens and houses. We ate fresh seafood, saw stunning sunsets and many ships large and small. Because we were constantly going, Mom Mom's joints were bothering her so she was using quite a bit of ben-gay and horse lineament. And not just a little bit either. We could feel it on our skin just by pushing her in the wheel chair.
The day we left, Mom Mom applied her standard quarter of a tube of ben-gay and horse lineament, packed her bags and waited til it was time to leave the house for the air port. Key West doesn't have the body scanners so we really didn't think we would run into any issues in security. Mom walked through ok, Brad and I walked through ok and Eddie walked through without incident. Mom Mom made it through fine but they had to inspect her wheel chair.
As we are sitting on the other side of security putting our shoes back on and helping Mom Mom, a TSA agent tells Mom Mom that they need to do further screening. THIS was what I was worried about. The agent was very nice and explained exactly what she was doing. She was even a little less gropey when performing the pat-down. She explained that the wheel chair tested positive for chemical traces. They noticed that Mom Mom was older and likely not a terrorist but protocol indicated that they had to test their gloves after the pat-down just in case.
We anxiously waited, praying that Mom Mom wouldn't have to go through the same indignity that Eddie had to. After a minute or so the agent walks up to Mom Mom and asks her if she takes any medication as that was what the machine indicated. So Mom Mom rattled off the booklet of medication she takes on a daily basis. The TSA agent asks if any of them are liquid to which Mom Mom replied no.
This confused the TSA agent, who then mentioned that they will more than likely have to do further screening. As she was walking to get an airport wheel chair to transport Mom Mom to locations unknown, my brilliant brother says 'wait! Does ben-gay count?' The TSA agent said of course, the chemicals could very easily have set off the machines. We all look at each other and laugh. The near entire tube that Mom Mom applied the past week had seeped into the wheelchair, coating it in the chemicals and lotion.
Satisfied with our revelation, the TSA agent released us and let us continue on to our gate. It's amazing what sets off these machines. It's also amazing that most agents have little to no training on how to deal with the people they are 'investigating' and how far they are willing to go based on appearance. So lesson learned, be extremely careful before going through security. Hope that you get someone who has good interpersonal skills and who has been properly trained. And for gods sake, don't coat yourself in ben-gay!!!
We were flying out of Harrisburg International. One, because it's a smaller airport and two because we only had one stop between there and key west. We arrived at the airport nice and early with the understanding that we'll be flying on one of the busiest days for travel. There really wasn't a huge crowd so we thought getting through security would be a breeze.
As we zig-zagged through the cattle chutes people were being split between the X-Ray machines and the one full body scanner. Mom and Mom Mom went through X-Ray without problem. Brad, Eddie and I were put in the full body scanner line. Brad and I went through without incident. Eddie was pulled to the side. We figured his insulin pump gave them cause to do a pat-down and he was prepared in advance and provided medical documentation stating that he had the pump and vials of insulin.
What we weren't prepared for was after the pat-down when they pulled him into an opaque room and told me I couldn't follow him. I was told to go to my gate or wait at the seating area outside of the security area. This was AFTER I told them I was his wife and after they refused to tell me what was going on. For well over 15 minutes (that felt like hours) Eddie emerges. It seems that something set off the scanner and indicated that there was some kind of chemical that was on the 'list' of potential dangers.
For 15 minutes they went through his backpack that had our camera and computer. They ran gloved hands all over him and tested them. All the while not telling him why they were doing it. When it was all said and done, they told him that it was probably the gasoline from the gas station we stopped at on the way to the airport that triggered this extra treatment. They never once told him that he had the right to have someone with him or that he had a right to refuse this extra attention. They made him sign a piece of paper that stated something along the lines of being pleased with the treatment he received. At this time, they were calling for the pre-boarding of our flight. So what was he to do? Miss the flight and potentially not be permitted to fly? Of course he signed it.
Not to mention the fact that I was told nothing and watched 3 different security personnel go into the opaque room that held my husband. Uncertain as to what was going on. As he was being escorted to the seating area where I was anxiously waiting, the security escort told him that he was really sorry and that most of them didn't have a whole lot of training and what training they did have didn't include how to treat the people they were essentially groping.
Since we were leaving for what was going to be a very nice and relaxing trip to warmer weather, we boarded our plane. Thinking that this was just a once and done occurrence, we put this incident out of the way with the intent to voice our concern when we returned. Knowing that Eddie wouldn't be pumping gas on the return flight home, we didn't really think we'd experience the same incident again.
Key West was great. The weather was warm and we had beautiful weather. Mom Mom really enjoyed seeing all of the cats, chickens and houses. We ate fresh seafood, saw stunning sunsets and many ships large and small. Because we were constantly going, Mom Mom's joints were bothering her so she was using quite a bit of ben-gay and horse lineament. And not just a little bit either. We could feel it on our skin just by pushing her in the wheel chair.
The day we left, Mom Mom applied her standard quarter of a tube of ben-gay and horse lineament, packed her bags and waited til it was time to leave the house for the air port. Key West doesn't have the body scanners so we really didn't think we would run into any issues in security. Mom walked through ok, Brad and I walked through ok and Eddie walked through without incident. Mom Mom made it through fine but they had to inspect her wheel chair.
As we are sitting on the other side of security putting our shoes back on and helping Mom Mom, a TSA agent tells Mom Mom that they need to do further screening. THIS was what I was worried about. The agent was very nice and explained exactly what she was doing. She was even a little less gropey when performing the pat-down. She explained that the wheel chair tested positive for chemical traces. They noticed that Mom Mom was older and likely not a terrorist but protocol indicated that they had to test their gloves after the pat-down just in case.
We anxiously waited, praying that Mom Mom wouldn't have to go through the same indignity that Eddie had to. After a minute or so the agent walks up to Mom Mom and asks her if she takes any medication as that was what the machine indicated. So Mom Mom rattled off the booklet of medication she takes on a daily basis. The TSA agent asks if any of them are liquid to which Mom Mom replied no.
This confused the TSA agent, who then mentioned that they will more than likely have to do further screening. As she was walking to get an airport wheel chair to transport Mom Mom to locations unknown, my brilliant brother says 'wait! Does ben-gay count?' The TSA agent said of course, the chemicals could very easily have set off the machines. We all look at each other and laugh. The near entire tube that Mom Mom applied the past week had seeped into the wheelchair, coating it in the chemicals and lotion.
Satisfied with our revelation, the TSA agent released us and let us continue on to our gate. It's amazing what sets off these machines. It's also amazing that most agents have little to no training on how to deal with the people they are 'investigating' and how far they are willing to go based on appearance. So lesson learned, be extremely careful before going through security. Hope that you get someone who has good interpersonal skills and who has been properly trained. And for gods sake, don't coat yourself in ben-gay!!!
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