Wednesday, April 1, 2015

I don't think I'll regret this at all.

The lazy bums in this damn building don't appreciate me! I'm justified in feeling out-of-sorts. Even my husband doesn't care about me, and God knows I do everything for him.

Jessica Star ran right into me holding some kind of huge, heavy file. When I looked up, she was already dashing to the elevators. She didn't even care that she knocked me down. She's just a rude little person, isn't she? I think she's crossed me before... I can't remember the specifics. But then, the specifics don't really matter, do they? What matters is, she doesn't respect me or what I do for her.

And goddamn Troy Holden, that little jerk I fired about six weeks ago! Well, his apartment is a huge mess, which I noticed when I planted cameras earlier this week. And what do I see the first time I check on him? Complaints! Complaints about the rat he saw in the elevator! News flash, honey, it's winter. Rats come inside during the winter. They do it at the Hilton, they do it at the White House, and they do it here. I don't understand him, anyway. He has all of these groupies, little teenage college students, but I'm pretty sure he's in (or almost in) his 30's! It's all just a little distasteful, in my opinion.

The worst, though, is that Senka has been ignoring me. Why, she passed me in the lobby just today and didn't even make eye contact, though I followed her with my eyes the whole way from the elevators to the front doors. Didn't we have a deal? I thought she liked me.

Why isn't anybody behaving? Why do I always have to be the one to correct people? Why can't they just act right without my guidance?

I guess it's impossible to know these things. It's just the role in life that I've been given - the enforcer. The one whose job it is to move everyone down the path to civilized behavior.

I created an anonymous YouTube account and uploaded the videos.

Jessica Star? Now the whole world knows you spend your time looking at pictures of little girls in your apartment.

Troy Holden? I hope you didn't want to keep your nightmares a secret. Who did you kill? You certainly yell a lot about how you "killed her" in your sleep.

Senka? Do you remember that 7th floor apartment you broke into? Well, now everyone else remembers it too.

I sent the link ( out to everyone on the Dreamwood Terrace email list, from a newly-created anonymous email address. Maybe next time they'll think twice about crossing me.

Now, all that's left to do is wait.

Oh, and Catherine? I know you stabbed that man in apartment 43. I have footage with me and in other, secret locations. But you've never been rude to me or misbehaved before now, so I see no reason why we couldn't work something out. If you somehow read this (and I get the feeling that you might, for some reason), why don't we see if there's another way we can go about disposing of the evidence? You have a week.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Am I invisible today?

No, that's ridiculous. Let's review: my husband sort of grunted when I passed him the milk at the breakfast table, so at least that's something. Also, Hank hugged me before he left for school. I guess that means I'm not technically transparent.

But then how can I explain any of the rest of my day?

Not that I ever expect any significant interaction with the tenants, but they all seemed not to even notice my presence in the morning during my rounds. I took a little longer than usual vacuuming up some feathers outside of Senka's door, but she didn't come outside. The lack of human contact meant I finished up a little after four, so I headed out early.

On my way to the bar, a car started right as I walked past it. It scared the bejeezus out of me. When I rapped on the dark-tinted window to express my displeasure, it just peeled off, rounded the corner, and sped off down Main. Chasing after it, I noticed a woman staring into the fountain, directly in the path of the out-of-control vehicle. Screaming at her to move did no good, and I'm not built to outrun a car, even a Subaru, at top speed. Luckily, a young man tackled her out of the way.

Look, I'm not proud of this, but I turned around and left. Nobody needs a real police investigation around here, and I certainly wasn't going to raise a fuss. Besides, the two kids were fine (I couldn't see them behind the car wreck, but I could tell they weren't hit), and it's my opinion that whoever was in that car deserves whatever injuries they might have received. You don't just run people down in the street. It isn't done.

The bar looked normal from the outside, but on the inside, it was as crowded as I've ever seen it. I was jostled this way and that from the moment I walked in right up until I was crushed against the bar next to an old man being cursed out by someone I assume was his grandson. I tried to get the bartender's attention, even grabbing his arm as he walked by, but to no avail. The strangest part was when I knocked over the old man's drink. He wasn't angry, not even mildly upset; he didn't seem to notice at all. When I touched his arm where the drink had sloshed onto his sleeve, it felt completely dry. You can be sure I left after that.

I don't know whether I'm invisible today, but something's off. That girl who almost got crushed? She was fifty feet away from me at most. I was yelling at the top of my voice! She should have heard me. And the thing with the old man's drink is almost too weird to think about. I realize now that I had no real effect on my surroundings after I left the building. It's almost like... I wasn't actually where I thought I was all day.

Hank wanted tortellini, and I was loath to disappoint him after such an off-putting day, so I headed out to the grocery store. It was the strangest thing, though: my little Subaru was cool, as if the air-conditioner had been on all day, when I know for a fact that David's key is in the sewer drain down the street.

The worst part, though, was the deep dent in my front bumper. I have no idea how it got there, but it's bad. The light blue paint I love so much is almost entirely scraped away.

Monday, February 2, 2015

I guess I have a partner in crime now?

That's if you really count this as a crime, which I think is questionable. That Russian girl was rude to me in the lobby this morning (though she may have just been hungover boys that I think about it), so I decided that she would be my newest Candid Camera contestant.

The second I got inside her apartment, armed with three new cameras plus the old one I fixed up, I noticed the multiple fire hazards littering the floor. Somewhere in another room, there was a soft crooning, almost like a dove. Also a violation of tenant policy, because birds will shit wherever it's the least possible to clean.

She clearly needed some supervision.

Unfortunately, she walked in while I was putting the cameras up in her living room. I didn't even have time to hide my drill. In one second, one miserable mistake that undid all of the work I've done for years, I was caught and I was ruined. The paint bucket spontaneously combusting  was just the rotten cherry on the fucked up sundae.

In the orange light, her eyes were inhuman. I knew, vaguely, that she was jabbering at me in Russian, but all I could focus on was the jail bars I could see encircling my future.

She asked me if I was spying on her  and the only thing I could think to say was something condescending about her paint rags. I guess I seemed to have bravado, because she stopped yelling and considered me for a second. I think, maybe, we understand each other.

When I got home,  I went to bed. My husband was asleep, so he didn't notice the flowers I arranged in the vase on our dresser.

Senka. I never knew her name before today. Senka.

It's beautiful.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Apartment off the Dreamwood Terrace Lobby

You know how drain cleaner works? Sodium bicarbonate reacts violently with water and citric acid breaks down almost any kind of blockage. It's incredibly potent. You know what it doesn't do, though? FIX FROZEN PIPES. I've had a bad day, in case you couldn't tell.

Of course, every day can be a shitty one if it starts at four in the morning. David flat out refused to get up when the cops started banging on the door. I had to do it, which strikes me as a little unfair. After all, is it my job to deal with random police searches in the middle of the night? I think not.

To be honest, I was scared shitless when I saw those uniforms. Thank Christ they weren't here for my cameras.

Speaking of the cameras, the one in 610 is on the fritz. I'm trying to fix it, but the electronics book I got from the kid at Frank's bookstore is way too up-to-date for this model. It's actually the first camera I bought, maybe... eight years ago?

Yeah, it must have been eight years, because I was pregnant with Hank when David first hired a hooker. I knew immediately, of course. When he walked in after his little rendezvous, he was smiling like he hadn't since I first started gaining weight. Within 24 hours, my first camera was secreted away under the front seat of his car.

He's a regular now. I always know, just like I knew the first time. I guess I didn't really need the camera, but there's something so compelling about knowing exactly when and how somebody's doing wrong. That way, I know exactly how much Veet to put in his shampoo the next morning. He really hates that bald spot.

After the police finished, Della Breed, the little girl from 503, asked me for a job. I wasn't going to say yes, but she told me she'd make sure to dust on top of the fan blades. How she knew about the dust complaints I have no idea, but I was convinced. It's under the table, obviously. I don't exactly approve of her sister's lifestyle, but I suppose it's not really misbehaving. Sarah seems like a nice girl, even with a girlfriend, and if she keeps behaving herself, I won't have to punish her.

Except for the Veet in David's shampoo, I haven't punished anyone since that horrible man in 508 threatened to sue me a few months ago. He didn't follow through, but it was still rude. Bad behavior, I call it. He and his family weren't exactly star tenants, either. I've never seen an apartment more saturated with dog piss. They left pretty soon after they threatened me, but I still had time to punish them.

You remember how drain cleaner works? Sodium bicarbonate and citric acid? Turns out, it works real well on dogs.

Monday, January 12, 2015

I am just about done hearing about the damn leaks in the ceiling. Jessica Star emailed me (again) about some water dripping in her shower. Her shower! That is what it's made for, isn't it?

Whatever. I fixed the shower. It took until 4 pm, though, because I had to sweep up all the glitter people tracked into the lobby first. I know Jessica was one of them, too, because I saw her on the monitors shaking it out of her shoes. Her parents seem like good people, though. I saw them on the cameras too. What they did to raise such a rude, selfish woman I'll never know.

In other news, I saw Troy again. He's working at the cupcake store down the street. How he got that job I have no idea, because I certainly didn't give him any references! I don't think he saw me, though, thank God.

Still haven't had any interested renters in 316. I guess my cameras will have to go elsewhere. Maybe that tall Russian girl's rooms? She seems like she needs a little outside supervision. A little guidance to point her in the right direction, towards behaving better than she is now.

That's all I want, really. I just want people to behave themselves in a civilized manner.

And if they won't?  Well, that's where I come in.