i live in a 110-year old building. everything in it is remarkable: the claw foot tub, the oak moldings (that today would cost a mint), the wood beams in the ceiling, the stained glass, the shelves that are built into the structure...
but last year i did something "wise" - i went and bought a condo. i thought i should "invest", and perhaps "think of my future", and possibly "diversify". the condo was all new and funky: cement floors, brick wall, new kitchen, walk-in glass shower. a world of difference from the old place.
i held onto my apartment when i moved into the condo. having gotten in right before the housing explosion, my rent has remained really, really... really low. i'd be a fool to have let it go. and plus, if the condo was an investment, that meant i was going to sell it, right?
the owner of the old apartment building recently passed away. the five grandchildren who inherited the building all live in the suburbs and hate the building. they are of the ilk where "old is bad". everyone in the building started to fret, thinking that a prospector would buy the building and condo-ize it. thereby either slowly kicking everyone out or raising our rents to, ahem, market level.
fear, as they say, is a great motivator. it motivated a few tenants to mobilize and try to buy the building. somehow we could co-op the building and all would remain good and cheap.
i decided it would be a good time to move back into my apartment. i needed to quiet the rumor mill. because those who were
not motivated were gossiping and stirring up shit.
these putzes did so little, except drag their feet, that the project fell through. seems that the idea of their rent going from, oh, let's say something ridiculous like
$580 to $800 was too much for them to handle.
i secretly wished someone
would swoop down and buy the place. only to see these people get kicked out of their homes and have to deal with the real world. and real rents.
but instead, another cockamamie plan was spawned. and for some reason, instead of being happy that i may be able to keep my oaky, character, cozy, cheap apartment, i became incredibly depressed. i realized that "getting into business" with these people was the last thing i wanted and goes against everything i believe in. fear grabbed me and i saw just how easy it could be to become just like them: entitled, complainy, and gossipy. not to mention pimply, bloated, pallid, and homosexually closeted.
i refused to participate in any co-op meetings. as a consequence, i got nasty looks from tenants on the street, happened up two of them talking about me in the lobby, and got grabbed and scolded in the fresh fruit market.
they all hate me and i loved it. the further i could separate myself from those oafs, the better.
this past saturday, the super of my building scooped up a pile of flyers off the stoop and threw it plum into the street. in the middle of picking it all up, he walked up to me. he was, for a change, drunk.
"you think you're so good. you think you're SOOO much better than everyone."
he stank of booze.
"you know what i'm going to do?” i shook the rubbish in his face. “put these fucking flyers into my recycling bin. does that make me better than you? yeah, it does. go buy your beer."
"you still look like lindsay wagner. you gotta get dressed up in those bionic woman track pants and run around in slow motion. get your boyfriend to dress up as lee majors." he acted out the million dollar man slo-mo run.
"yup." i'd heard this several times before.
he kept me there for 35 minutes. talking non-stop. turns out, in addition to being slurringly drunk, he was also high on speed. "all construction workers do it," he told me.
i returned home, beyond depressed. how could such a beautiful building be filled with such shits? i feel as though i could walk away and not even look back.
