I’m lucky to be out of that shithole apartment anyway. They actually had the balls to call it, “Autumn Oaks Bluff on the Lake” — you know, so it sounds serene and natural. “Graffiti-strewn stretch of cinderblock and broken glass abutting the sewage treatment plant” would have been just as accurate. And under that, on the brochure, in smaller letters they could add, “where illegal immigrants sit on the steps, get drunk and blast their horrible oom-pah oom-pah music at all hours when I’m trying to watch TV, because they don’t actually all fit in the tiny rooms they can barely afford.”
I guess all I really need is a place to put my casket and a little bit of dirt from my homeland, but I’m used to living in castles and communing with the wolves, not to cramming my treasures into an efficiency and saying, “nice doggie,” to Ray-Ray’s pit bull.
Once, I didn’t move my car for a month because I drive so infrequently. I hadn’t even noticed when someone broke out the window and stole an ancient tin of mints I left in the passenger seat. I guess they thought there were drugs in it. So, because my car hadn’t been moved or repaired, the management had it towed, because they thought it made the place look “trashy.”
Yeah, my Cavalier was the problem.
The thing that sent me over the edge, though, was when they started locking the laundry room at midnight.
It was a Wednesday. I started a load in the washer about 11, like I always did. At 11:45, I went back and switched the load over to the dryer and went back to my room to watch TV. At 12:30 I went back — locked. A sign on the door read: “For the convenience and safety of all our residents, the laundry room will be locked at midnight effective immediately. Thanks for making Autumn Oaks Bluff on the Lake the best. — The Management.”
Convenience? Are they kidding? Whose convenience is met by making the laundry room available less hours?
And safety? I hadn’t drained anyone in there. Were they having problems with people being raped? I doubt it because I’m the only one I’ve ever seen in there past midnight and I’ve never been raped.
I considered busting the door to splinters, but decided I could wait until the next evening to pick up my clothes and file a letter of complaint. So, at 11:30 the next night I went to get my clothes and they were stolen!
Who steals a load of laundry? Especially my laundry, with its faded colors and graying whites because I never bother to separate them.
The response to my incredibly polite-given-the-circumstances complaint was so typical of this ridiculous era.
“We cannot be held responsible for items left overnight in the laundry room.”
So fuck that place. I’m glad they kicked me out.
For the time being, I’m staying at a motel of meager accommodation. It’s suitable for now, as long as the maids abide the “do not disturb” sign on the door handle. But I know my time here is limited. As when you leave one of those signs on the door for too long, people start to talk.
My only problem with the room itself is that one entire wall is a mirror. I suppose it’s to make the room look bigger and allow mortal men to see themselves scratching their balls while they watch television. If I am to stay here for long I shall have to remove it.
On the bright side, I get free HBO and WiFi.