>> Thursday, February 6, 2014
I had an older gentlemen, late eighties/early nineties, shuffle into my office one day. He said he was there to rent a downstairs apartment.
I had a studio open, and I gave him a quick tour.
He said he wanted it, and I gave him an application. He filled it out right then, and on the application he wrote that he had lived in the same home for the last thirty years. Also, that he owned this home, and it was in a rather posh part of the county.
He was also a retired attorney.
When I inquired as to why he wanted to leave his nice home, with a beach view, to come live here with this view…
He said he just wanted to.
I had a lot of vacancies at that moment, and he appeared perfectly lucid, kind of mean, and very adamant.
He was approved.
The day after he moved in, he came shuffling past my apartment with a equally old woman on his arm.
He deposited her in the apartment and then shuffled back out.
I met the woman, she was very sweet, smoked like a sailor and had a love for the same literature as myself.
I knew she was living there.
I knew he was not.
But sometimes as an apartment manager you just pretend not to notice certain things, especially when you are extremely pregnant and irritated with all breathing humans.
About two weeks later the old man comes shuffling down the walkway past my window with another old woman on his arm.
He deposits her in the apartment and then shuffles back out.
All right, so now I have two people living there that are not on the lease.
He would come shuffling in at least twice a week to take one of his stowaway girlfriends on a date.
Well, about a month later the man comes shuffling in AGAIN with another old woman on his arm.
He was like Hugh Heffner, excepting he was robbing nursing homes.
When the fourth old woman arrived on his arm I could ignore it no longer.
I shuffled my giant pregnant body over to talk to all of the nursing home pimp’s girls.
They all explained that this was simply a transition house until their “Pimp”(he was obviously not a REAL pimp, at least I don’t think, I just enjoy calling him such) could find them a better location.
See, they al lived in the same nursing home, and hated it.
The Nursing Home Pimp, being the gentlemen that he was, was checking these ladies out of their bad living environment and then jamming them all into a little studio apartment in the armpit of Orange County.
At one point we had six women in there.
The Nursing Home Pimp would get all Lawyer-ee on me when I tried to question him about his pimpettes.
On the flip side, they lived two doors over from me. And all the women would hang out near the window, smoking, and were excellent conversationalist.
So I didn’t push too hard.
One day the Nursing Home Pimp came shuffling by rather fast.
He collected all his girls and left, handing in rent for the month and thirty day notice.
He was gone the next day.
This was the end result.
That is nicotine plastered to the wall.
Even though the apartment took four coats of paint, new carpet, and four months of windows open to air out.
I kind of missed all my pimpettes.