Boss

My interactions with tenants were often punctuated by a corporate staff that shamelessly sexually harassed me to my face, via e-mail and on the phone. The ring leader of this over-sexed crew was Stephen, CEO of the company. When tenants were not calling to tell me that their oven knob was a bit loose, or that their water was a bit too “clear,” I would usually get calls from Stephen, who made me wish I had never left my mother’s uterine cave. Instead of calling my office and saying, “Hello Allison - How are you” my boss had to play a twisted game of “let me verbally rape you:”

1. Me: Good morning, Logan Circle Apartments, How can I help you?

Stephen: "What is this? Your sexy voice? You want something?"

2. Good morning Logan Circle Apartments, How can I help you?

"So I take you out to lunch and I don’t even get a good nut tug? What are you waiting for a weekend get-a-way?

3. Good morning Logan Circle Apartments, How can I help you?

"WAKE UP! Who were YOU with last night? Because you definitely weren't with me."

4. Good Morning Logan Circle Apartments how can I help you?

"So how is my little potato latkah?"

5. Good Morning Logan Circle Apartments how can I help you?

"You've seen Snoop Dog's Girls Gone Wild tape, right? I think I even saw you in it."

6. Good Morning Logan Circle Apartments How can I help you?

"So when are you quitting?"

Me: "Tomorrow"

"Ah, so we can finally sleep together."

Me: "yup. I guess so."

"Yea Vanessa did that too. But she forgot to sleep with me."

Music

Meet John, tenant in 513; enthusiastic musician.

John entered my office at 9am Tuesday morning in a huff.

“Allison, did anyone file a noise complaint last night about my apartment?”

“No. Not that I heard of.”

“Good. Because I decided to play my electric violin really loudly at 1am this morning. Tell who

ever complains that I’m sorry, but I need to express myself.”

Elevators

One of the most difficult aspects of being a property manager was receiving full blame when anything went wrong in the building. In cases where the hot water wasn’t running, or the lobby ceiling was leaking, I tried to remind the tenants that there is currently a global war on terror, and at least they weren’t overseas.

Besides water and sewage problems, the building’s elevators were constantly malfunctioning. Maintaining these two moving karts became a primary source of frustration in my life, not only because it caused a safety hazard, but because this problem gave tenants an actual reason to complain. I had to suck it up and absorb it like a sponge.

Sarah, from apartment 209 was one of the tenants who decided to yell at me when she found out the elevators were not working: “Allison, the elevators shake a lot when I’m in them, and it’s making me nauseous. Can’t you just flip a switch or something?!”

I was especially mad that Sarah had been pissy with me about the elevators since I listened to her whine about her ex boyfriend for forty five minutes only two days prior. Apparently her ex has an erectile dysfunction and continues to take out his insecurities on her. Sarah explained that she made a mistake letting him treat her with such “horror” for so long. She also made the mistake of thinking that therapy was one of the buildings’ amenities.

“Sarah, I will make sure this issue is fixed ASAP.” I then picked up the phone acting like I was calling our elevator contractors so she would leave my office. As Sarah left, I decided to test the elevators and write down what exactly was going on so I could report it to our contractors. I found out that not only was the elevator kart bouncing up and down, but the elevator doors shut so abruptly, I was almost killed… or almost the victim of acute bruising. As I jumped feverishly out of the elevator, I realized that there were three tenants waiting in the lobby for the elevator. After they saw me, they opted to use the stairs.

I took my pad of paper with my bullet points, and went back to my office to call our elevator contractors. I had to practice sounding serious on the phone before I actually dialed their number since our “elevator guys” were like a strange rat pack with Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. Whenever I would tell their team about a problem, they would say “Don’t worry babe, I’ll fix this problem. You get back to typing,” and hang up before I could say anything back; even before they told me what time they would arrive. Once they did arrive, they would play around with some wires for ten minutes, and always leave laughing as if they were retelling stories of the “good ‘ole elevator days.” They’d stop by my office, wink at and me and say that they did “everything they could” but the problem could not be “completely fixed.”

I finally gathered the confidence to call Billy, Jo and Tom, our elevator rat pack:

“Hi guys, this is Allison again. Our elevator door is closing so hard that it shakes the building. It also almost shut on top of me, potentially crushing my body. Now everyone is scared to use them.

Elevator guy: “Yeaaa, see the elevators at your building have a special technology that is really outdated, so we can never “fully” fix them because your company has really old elevator technological……..technology.”

Me: “They were built last year.”

Elevator guy: “Riiiiiiight, ok I’ll send someone over to fix it”

That evening, I wrote a memo to the whole building:

“Hello all:

Unfortunately our elevators are malfunctioning again. Please do NOT use them unless you want you and your family to be crushed like a mosquito on a windshield. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Lawyers

It's true that Dorothy, Tom, Beth and Denise gave me a fair share of migraines. However, as it got closer to September, a new breed of tenants emerged: LAW students. Law students are the absolute worst tenants to have (If you are a law student, YES I'm talking to you!). Every time I answered "no" to one of their requests, I would get a letter dropped underneath my office door citing various legal terms, and why I am "legally liable" for their well being. These contract breeders made me feel like "no" was an illegal term. To this day, I still find other words to say no such as, "hell no" or "are you stupid?" or "talk to me again, and I'll kill you."

My first Law student experience was with Brendan. Brendan went to GWU, and decided out of the blue that he wanted to move out a week after his lease expired. He called me two mornings before he was scheduled to move out:

"Hi Allison. It's Brendan from 903. I wanted to know if it would be alright if I took an extra week to move out. I just broke up with my girlfriend, and it's just taking a bit longer to get some stuff out."

"I'm sorry to hear that Brendan," I said. "But we have to get your apartment ready for the new tenant moving in next week. Our staff would be happy to help you move out if need be."

To this, Brendan replied "OK" and hung up. The next morning, before I could even open my blueberry yogurt, I saw Brendan slide a letter under my office door and walk away. I put down my yogurt and opened his letter instead. The letter was typed on thick off-white paper, and I may have been imagining this, but I think the paper smelled like felafel.

Brendan's opening statement: "Motion to extend Move-Out Date By 72 Hours." If I had rolled my eyes any harder, they would still be lodged in my skull.

"Dear Allison:

I apologize for ending our conversation yesterday so abruptly. I was saddened by the prospect of my personal life being infringed upon. I understand the terms of my lease. However due to unexpected personal drama of my break up, and my emotional status, it is beneficial to my health and well being to take a little extra time to move my belongings. With the added pressure of school, it would almost be physically impossible for me to move out my posters, which are of high value, and my very clunky furniture. After this extensive discovery, I hope you will rescind you previous statement preventing me from moving out at a later date, and understand these unexpected circumstances.

Fondly, Brendan (903)"

I felt weird reading such a formal letter since my gap shirt had several hot sauce stains on it, and I wasn't wearing any underwear. Now I had to write a letter back to Brendan without sounding like I wanted to throw his clunky furniture out the window. The worst part is that Brendan had been dating this girl for no more than two weeks! I knew this is because she picked up his mail one afternoon and made some lame joke like "we just started dating, and he's already asking me to get his mail. hehehe." Maybe that's why they broke up. Maybe Brendan's girlfriend refused to get his mail, and Brendan chose to write a letter to her, requesting that she retrieve his mail to save the relationship.

It was time to squash this legal bug. I had to write a letter equally as compelling, but sharp enough to make him back down. Brendan may attend one of the top law schools in the nation, but I've watched about 3 years of Law and Order.

"Dear Brendan:

We are deeply sorry about your emotional state. Unfortunately, your personal life has nothing to do with your lease terms for this apartment. If you wish to appeal this statement, you'll have to take it up with the head of the company, who helped me write this statement. Again, if you need help moving your belongings, please do not hesitate to ask. Thanks again."

Padding

After processing various late rent checks one morning, wondering why DC housing is so expensive, Dorothy, from 915, called my office.

"Hello – Logan Circle Apartments – this is Allison – How can I help you?"

"Hi Allison. It's Dorothy from apartment 915. Something very disturbing has happened. I'd like for you to come upstairs immediately."

"Alright, before I go up, let me know what's wrong just incase I need to call maintenance."

"OK. Well, there seems to be a large dead animal underneath my carpet in the middle of my living room."

While many people would feel alarmed by this call, my eyes remained glazed from processing the late rent checks with notes attached that said "Sorry Allison, but you should have told me rent was due," or "Hi Allison, can you wave the late fee, I have bad credit as it is," or "Allison, my bank ruined my bank accounts. You'll have to call Citibank for the rest of my rent." How these tenants expected me to take these requests seriously when their checks featured Hello Kitty in the background, I'll never know.

I got up from my desk and walked up nine floors to Dorothy's apartment. I'd taken to walking instead of riding the elevator because of the excessive amounts of booze and salt and vinegar chips I'd consumed since taking the job. On my way up the stairs, I tried to give Dorothy the benefit of the doubt: Maybe a large animal did crawl up nine floors to Dororthy's apartment. Maybe the animal smelled Dorothy's homemade macaroni and cheese, entered her home without her knowledge, crawled seamlessly underneath her carpet, only to die in the living room on its road to perdition. If this is the case, then why has no one else seen this giant rat, raccoon/unicorn?

I knocked on Dorothy's door, and she let me in. As she was explaining her concern for the health and maintenance of her home, I tried to look for any food or trash laying around. Everything was cleaned. Dorothy then pointed to the spot in her living room where the dead monster ended its journey. The carpet was slightly raised. I stepped on what I like to call a "carpet bubble." The dead monster Dorothy feared was actually….the carpet pad.

"Hm, well Dorothy. The only thing underneath your carpet is the carpet pad." I said.

"What? It isn't an animal? It feels very unusual. Very squishy. Like an animal."

"Right. Well, sometimes, as carpet gets stepped on, it's possible for the carpet to separate a bit from the padding, resulting in an uneven, maybe squishy, surface." To this day, I am annoyed that Dorothy prompted me to use the word "squishy" while on the clock.

"Hm. I’m just very nervous sleeping with this here, at night,” she added.

"Dorothy, I'm 99.9% positive there is not a dead animal under your carpet." Luckily, this statement ended our back and forth. On my way back to the office, I saw Amadeo in the lobby. “What the problem?” Amadeo asked

“(sigh) Esta señora piensa que hay un monstruo muerto bajo su carpet.” which means, "There is a lady who thinks there is a dead monster under her carpet."

Amadeo replied, “ROAR.”

When I got back to the office, I wrote Dorothy a note:

“Hi Dorothy:

Thank you for voicing your concerns today. I have scheduled an appointment for maintenance to smooth out your carpet. Please let me know if you see anything else unusual in your living space.”

Clogged

After Tom from apartment 309 called me one afternoon saying his toilet was clogged, I sent Amadeo and Mauricio, our two maintenance men to fix the issue. I called all of our maintenance complaints "issues" because each tenant made their toilet/sink/oven malfunctions into something personal: "Allison, my toilet is clogged, and I really do not know what I did to deserve this type of experience as a resident." "I completely understand," I would say. "Please know we will do everything in our power to make sure this doesn't happen again."

After Mauricio and Amadeo went upstairs to de-clog the toilet, I ran out to get some lunch. When I got back, Mauricio and Amadeo were standing around in my office, tossing around what looked like two small...balls. As I looked closer, I saw that these "balls" was made of shiny metal."What is that?" I asked both of them. Amadeo explained that they found "bolas de metal" (metal balls) in the tenant's toilet as they de-clogged the drain. They thought this finding represented a larger plumbing problem.

While they were waiting for me in my office, Mauricio threw one at Amadeo, which explained the game of toss they were playing as I walked in."Let me see one" I said.Amadeo showed one to me. I paused. These "metal balls" were anal beads. The two found in the toilet must have fallen off the string that was holding the family of beads together. I looked up. There must have been a look of constipation on my face. Amadeo asked "What's wrong?" I tried to think of every word I knew in Spanish to try and explain what they were. The only way to really learn another language is to take these chances. This was my moment to shine like a gringa star.

"Amadeo, Mauricio"

"Si senorita?," Amadeo replied.

"Estas pertenecen al inquilino...(These belong to the tenant)"

"Que'? (What?)"

"Pertenecen...estas bolas........en mi culo." I said self consciously pointing to my derriere, embarking on a twisted game of charades. I found out later that this means, "these balls belong on my ass. "Mauricio replied "En Tu culo?"(In your ass?) They both laughed, covering their faces with their hands, understanding my lingual struggle, or that I was American girl who wanted balls on her ass.

"No, sorry. sorry. La gente utiliza estas.....(people...use these),"

"...en la culo...(in the butt)..."

"...para el sexo...(for sex)..."

I began to giggle like a school girl. Amadeo and Mauricio raised their heads as if they were beginning to comprehend. I then jumped to my computer and googled: "spanish translation: anal beads." The translation was simple:

"Anal bolas?" I said.

“Anal bolas!? Positivo?” said Amadeo.

"Si.’"

Without skipping a heart beat, Amadeo and Mauricio tossed the anal beads to the floor and ran to the sink where they washed off the first layer of their skin. "No acapara el jabon!" (Don't hog the soap!) said Amadeo, laughing and splashing Mauricio with water. Even doctors don't scrub their hands as hard as they did.

A few moments later, Mauricio poignantly noted:

“Nosotros debería saber mejor que jugar con los juguetes en un tazón de mierda.” which means, "We should know better than to play with toys in a bowl of shit."

Later that day, I wrote Tom the tenant a note:

"Hi Tom:

We fixed your toilet. It seems that several small, silver balls were disrupting the natural flow of water to the drain. Enclosed are the objects secured in a plastic bag. Please do not hesitate to call me with any questions or concerns. Thank you for your time."

Carpet

As a property manager, tenants asked me such obvious questions it became increasingly difficult to find words in the English language that could quell my tenants' woes, without sounding incredibly condescending.

One morning, after checking my e-mail for the 90th time, the phone rang. It was Beth from apartment 713:

“Logan Circle Apartments - This is Allison - How can I help you?

“Hey Allison, it's Beth from apartment 713. Ever since I moved into my apartment about a month ago, the carpet has had a potent carpet smell. Is there any way you could install new carpet without the carpet smell? Or could you wash the carpet so it smells less like....carpet?"

"How should I begin to answer this question?" I thought. Should we elaborate on other smells it could possibly be? Should I tell her that carpet usually smells like…carpet? Should I make a vagina joke, “Honey, sounds like what your smelling is the carpet south of your border,” and then pull the fire alarm?

After five seconds of silence I replied, “Ok, Beth. I will be sure to check out your carpet today with our maintenance staff.” This turned out to be an even better vagina joke.

I called Amadeo, our maintenance man, to the office. “Amadeo,
tenemos que hacer la alfombra olor menos como alfombra,” which means “we must make the carpet smell less like carpet.” Amadeo replied, “Eso es estúpido” which means “That’s stupid.”

We went upstairs to Beth’s apartment. Nothing smelled out of the ordinary. We checked everywhere to see what could be causing the "carpet aroma" Beth complained about. Puzzled, I bent down on my knees to smell the carpet. I began crawling around with my nose to the floor trying to trace some sort of funky stench, simultaneously saying “adios” to my dignity.

When I looked up, I saw Amadeo in Beth’s walk-in closet, smelling various pairs of shoes scattered messily on her floor. “Los pies. Vayamos” said Amadeo: “It’s her feet. Let’s go.”

We went back downstairs. I wrote Beth a note:

"Hello Beth. Unfortunately, we do not have any carpet that does not have a carpet smell. It is difficult to find carpet that does not smell like carpet. I have sent our maintenance staff to spray your room to muffle the smell until the carpet is worn in.

I apologize for the inconvenience this smell has caused."