>> Thursday, December 5, 2013
I should say, that I like to think of myself as a logical thinker.
I started my management journey working for a large corporate crap-hole of a management company.
You know, the ones who refuse to spend money on water, yet get pissed when the grass is yellow.
The ones who crank the rents up by 50%, and then are baffled as to why you can't rent that tiny studio apartment, with no parking, in the ghetto?
I could go on forever.....but I wont.
In the LARGE city, where I first managed, it was commonly known that you want to avoid living on streets that are named after a fruit or a nut, and living in the downtown area isn't ideal.
So, of course, it just so happens that the complex I managed was located on a fruit, running parallel to another fruit, and in-between two nuts, in the middle of Downtown. (make sense?)
In short, it was a rough neighborhood.
Well, in the laundry room our dryer seemed to be on the fritz. First off, there always seemed to be a pool of water in there, and it smelled funny. Not that it stopped the residents from using it, and then complaining about it, and then using it again. I called the management company, they said they would add it to the imaginary maintenance list along with the graffiti that needed to be painted over, and the broken faucet in apartment 5C.
In short, it would be replaced sometime between now and never.
Now, I tell you that story so I can tell you this one.
My unit was located next to the laundry room.
One night, as I was getting up to use the restroom, I looked out my window and noticed a backpack next to the laundry room.
I shuffled to the bathroom, took care of business, shuffled back to my room and looked out the window.
The backpack was gone.
So, my mind instantly jumped to the most logical scenario...drugs!
My complex was obviously a drug drop of location, and we were only minutes from death.
I said I like to think of myself a logical thinker, I didn't say I was one.
Anyways, I called 9-1-1. Where I proceeded to sit on hold for fifteen minutes.
Which was oh so comforting.
I then left a message explaining the situation, and never received a call back.
The next night I saw the backpack again! I stood watch and waited, and waited and waited some more.
I tried calling the 9-1-1, again leaving a message, again not hearing back.
Finally, I went to bed.
It should be noted that my husband was fast asleep, for he felt that the backpack was of no concern.
When I woke in the morning the backpack was gone!
The next night I stood watch. (don't worry, I am almost to the arc here)
I swear I was in the bathroom for two minutes, and when I came back to my post, the backpack had returned!
I snuck out of my apartment, not waking my husband, and walked around to the laundry room.
I looked at the backpack, it seemed a bit ragged, and since I am not an expert in drug drop off, and my internet searches all came back with relatively little information on such, I decided to open it to be sure.
Again, I reiterate, I like to think of myself as a logical thinker, doesn't mean that I actually am one.
I reached down to open the backpack, but before I could unzip the larger compartment, I heard a ruffling noise beyond the laundry room door.
Spooked, I go running back to my apartment and call 9-1-1, again.
So, I call the actual police department instead.
Got right through.
The police showed up shortly after and found a homeless man in our laundry room.
Now, here is the best part...well, best if you didn't happen to be a resident there.
The homeless man had been living in our laundry room for several days AND he had been using the dryer as a urinal.
The police found him peeing in the dryer.
So basically, we were all washing our clothes in a homeless man's urine.
Feel free to gag.