Diatribe Time!!

This is an open letter to the inhabitants of the apartment building that I have found myself stuck inside. Excuse my outpouring of negativity and anger, it needs to be said.

Dear Tenants,

Since I made the financially wise, and emotionally unwise, decision to move into your beloved brick building, I have been inundated with obstacles that have become too overwhelming for me to handle.  Where shall we start?

Oh, my favorite until this morning has always been the man in the wheelchair accusing me of leaving him a hateful note on his windshield one day after pleasantly meeting him. There's nothing quite like being accused of a hate crime by an irate man waiting for me in my elevator on my way to work. I did not know which car was yours, I do not think you are on a "high horse, or high wheelchair," and I will never understand why you so fervently believe that note to have been mine. 

The woman who lives down the hall, who has made me suffer through fifteen minute speeches on her aching back, her 63rd birthday party, her love of New York, and childhood stories is another classic. I lived for months and months under the assumption that her constant monopolizing of my time, and ears, meant that I had an ally on my floor.  All hopes of that were shattered when I heard her cursing about me in spanish to a friend of hers. Yes, I know what "puta" means, and so does the rest of the free world, so thank you for your thoughtful and shallow attempt to hide me from your contempt. It feels nice.

The eighty year old man whose spot I accidentally parked in after a year and a half of not parking there. Thank you, kind sir, for not only assuming that I was personally attacking you and that I carried your cone down into the dumpster. But thank you for writing me an angry note and placing it under my windshield wiper. And thank you for sitting by my car for however long it would take so you could confront me and yell at me in person. I know I don't need to remind you that our building offers no assigned parking spots at all. You are eighty, and your years on this Earth have obviously warmed you to the plight of all human beings.

Thank you to whoever drove into the left side of my brand new car last night. I had actually hesitated buying a new car, due to the fact that I feel such an overwhelming sense of dread parking my car in the same lot with you people, but I fought it and bought something I love. How did you know how to so quickly ruin something I love? Quite astute of you all, really. 

A special thanks to the Superintendent, who doesn't care that my hot water in the bathtub is literally streaming out. Who also doesn't mind that I have toilet problems, severe leaks, noticeably growing wall deterioration, and no way to regulate the temperature in my unit. Your job of doing absolutely nothing certainly excuses you for accidentally handing my keys to the wrong person, causing me to replace all of my locks with no payment for it. Keep up the good work!

Thanks to the owner of the building. You have been a model citizen.  Thank you for the eviction notice after my check bounced due to identity theft a while back. I appreciated your understanding on the matter, and I especially appreciated your complete lack of regard over the conversation we had together when you excused the mishap.  Thank you for paying so little to fix the elevator and washing machines so that they are in constant need of repair to even barely work. And thank you for billing me extra dollars every month for things I have no control over. I loved paying $150 to you, because I missed an unscheduled and random Verizon visit to my door that I had nothing to do with. I love all those little fees and then threats of eviction, to make sure I can never quite save enough to leave.

You have all been wonderful to me. I love coming home at night. To no water, no hot water, drilling outside, and a sense of hopelessness and resent.  Things couldn't be better.

Sincerely,

Apt. 5-G