The Downside of Condo Living and Other Tales
In the month and some-odd days since I have moved into the new abode, I have racked up a number of pros on the proverbial internal running pro/con list of my new dwelling.
Can do mass amounts of laundry all at once and therefore get major domestic must-do task accomplished in under 2 hours.
No yardwork. No worms. No garden snakes.
No water or gas bill. Minimal association fees cover it all with savings for me.
Elevator elevator elevator (for those lazy days).
Light cleaning = more time for me and my other, more important activities. Like drinking and catching up on bad TV.
I'm sure there are more. But these all seem like big plusses.
When I first saw the place, I thought the biggest added bonus to the joint was the garbage chute on each floor. How cool is that? Just walk halfway down the hall, open the door, open the chute, and down the garbage goes. Convenient, and perfect for me, who really hates making trips to smelly dumpsters.
The cool feature turned into my first con to the new living quarters.
Last night I waltzed down the hall to aforementioned garbage chute, opened chute door, and tossed in the bag only to find that the light little bag of refuse went nowhere. Just sat.
Hmmm, I thought. How strange that the little bag isn't going down the little slide. I looked beyond my bag and saw piles of additional bags in there.
Yes, the chute is clogged. With exactly what or even why, I don't even care to know. The bottom line is it's broken...clogged...not working. First, I got pissy. Not because it was unable to accept my bag but because I had to walk down to the Dumpster and throw it out on my own. Yes, call me lazy, but at 10pm, I had little desire to go the scary, smelly garbage room.
This morning I called the management company. It was early and I figured that when Jody, Tom, and the other staffers got in, they'd hear my cheery voice and take heed to my detailed message. I checked the garbage chute room on my way to my door this evening. Now garbage is just piling up. Yuck yuck YUCK. Obviously, my fellow dwellers are unable to make the trip to the garbage room like I did. But even mopre bothersome is that it's not yet fixed. Is this not considered an emergency?
I can envision bags of rotting trash stuck in the chute. I envision this turning into a really disgusting situation. This is also turning very quickly into a breeding ground for pests. Did I mention I detest the very thought?
Jody, Tom, and the other staffers at the management company are going to get really sick of hearing from me if this isn't fixed soon. And I'm going to get really angry about having a garbage chute that doesn't work properly. What a day-ruiner.
In other, strange news...I had the unfortunate opportunity to sit in front of a girl who was hitting on her co-worker on the train home this evening. She talked a mile a minute and it was so obvious that she adored him. I felt bad for her because her seat-mate wanted so little to do with her, I picked up on it immediately. Being the good Brit that he was, he was too polite to tell her to bugger off apparently. But I caught his frowns, grimaces, and over all exasperated looks in the the reflection in the window. Poor girl. Listen more and open up that perceptive center in your mind and you'd catch all the clues he was giving you.
Perhaps I could dole out therapy for a minimal charge on the train ride. It's just long enough that I could do a little good for humankind, one train ride at a time.
Can do mass amounts of laundry all at once and therefore get major domestic must-do task accomplished in under 2 hours.
No yardwork. No worms. No garden snakes.
No water or gas bill. Minimal association fees cover it all with savings for me.
Elevator elevator elevator (for those lazy days).
Light cleaning = more time for me and my other, more important activities. Like drinking and catching up on bad TV.
I'm sure there are more. But these all seem like big plusses.
When I first saw the place, I thought the biggest added bonus to the joint was the garbage chute on each floor. How cool is that? Just walk halfway down the hall, open the door, open the chute, and down the garbage goes. Convenient, and perfect for me, who really hates making trips to smelly dumpsters.
The cool feature turned into my first con to the new living quarters.
Last night I waltzed down the hall to aforementioned garbage chute, opened chute door, and tossed in the bag only to find that the light little bag of refuse went nowhere. Just sat.
Hmmm, I thought. How strange that the little bag isn't going down the little slide. I looked beyond my bag and saw piles of additional bags in there.
Yes, the chute is clogged. With exactly what or even why, I don't even care to know. The bottom line is it's broken...clogged...not working. First, I got pissy. Not because it was unable to accept my bag but because I had to walk down to the Dumpster and throw it out on my own. Yes, call me lazy, but at 10pm, I had little desire to go the scary, smelly garbage room.
This morning I called the management company. It was early and I figured that when Jody, Tom, and the other staffers got in, they'd hear my cheery voice and take heed to my detailed message. I checked the garbage chute room on my way to my door this evening. Now garbage is just piling up. Yuck yuck YUCK. Obviously, my fellow dwellers are unable to make the trip to the garbage room like I did. But even mopre bothersome is that it's not yet fixed. Is this not considered an emergency?
I can envision bags of rotting trash stuck in the chute. I envision this turning into a really disgusting situation. This is also turning very quickly into a breeding ground for pests. Did I mention I detest the very thought?
Jody, Tom, and the other staffers at the management company are going to get really sick of hearing from me if this isn't fixed soon. And I'm going to get really angry about having a garbage chute that doesn't work properly. What a day-ruiner.
In other, strange news...I had the unfortunate opportunity to sit in front of a girl who was hitting on her co-worker on the train home this evening. She talked a mile a minute and it was so obvious that she adored him. I felt bad for her because her seat-mate wanted so little to do with her, I picked up on it immediately. Being the good Brit that he was, he was too polite to tell her to bugger off apparently. But I caught his frowns, grimaces, and over all exasperated looks in the the reflection in the window. Poor girl. Listen more and open up that perceptive center in your mind and you'd catch all the clues he was giving you.
Perhaps I could dole out therapy for a minimal charge on the train ride. It's just long enough that I could do a little good for humankind, one train ride at a time.
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