Monday, June 18, 2007

I officially love the management at my apartment--for once.

I arrived home from my trip to Carmel/Indy this evening, and as I pulled into my parking space, I noticed a folded piece of paper stuck in my door. Probably from management... What this time? A fourth query into whether I was planning to renew my lease? An entreaty to pick up dog poop, because they! are! inspecting! ? I was annoyed before I even got to the door. I lumbered up to the door, laden with my bigass school tote bag, my smaller messenger bag, the purse I borrowed from Other Jane, my sunglasses, my wad of keys, the dress I'd just bought, and a bag of Arby's (well, to be fair, it was just the sandwich... I'd already eaten the curly fries by the time I got home), and I ripped that damn piece of paper out of the door crack. Shook it open, read it as I struggled with my door locks... and started to laugh. I went inside, dropped all my stuff, and read the note thoroughly. Here's what it said:

Dear Tenant(s),

Wapehani Hills has been experiencing a high amount of damage to buildings and to our property by children. We as management must insist that your child/children stay around your unit and parking lot to help control this matter. Also, we can no longer have children roaming the property day and night unattended. Children hanging out and riding bikes out on the main roads is dangerous and drivers are becoming very concerned. We will be patrolling the site regularly. We appreciate your help and cooperation in this matter.

Ok, this is so awesome I can't even stand it. It's fantastic that they're at least saying something about these friggin' night children--although whether they actually do anything is another story. I have called the cops on these kids, who run around, scream (literally, scream), bounce basketballs, ride their skateboards, ride their bikes, etc. as late as 2 a.m. I am not kidding. 2 a.m. And these are not teenagers--I'm talking 6-year olds. 2 a.m. In the parking lot right behind my bedroom. In the middle of the week.

I hate them.

They ride their bikes in the middle of the street and play chicken with cars. I win, though, so that doesn't really bother me. A) I'm in a car. B) I will hit you. C) I do a great "I will hit you" staredown. D) I'm in a car, and I will hit you. E) Alternatively, I will long horn you, and you will be scared. But please do not soil those Hot Topic pants--that's just awkward.

They ding-dong-ditched my apartment the other night, banging on my door loud so loud I called 911. My apartment shook. Puck barked for a good five minutes. Steadily. It scared the bejeesus out of me. The next night, I called the cops (non-emergency line this time) with a noise complaint for the rugrats in the parking lot behind me. A-holes. Two days later, I came outside to find "my dick" written on the sidewalk in front of my apartment in chalk. Lovely little children. Then this past Friday night a whole passel of them went screaming by my apartment at about 12:45. Screaming. And then back. And then back again.

So, yes, I think this letter is great. Except, "we will be patrolling the site regularly"? Really? Somehow I doubt that my landlords are gonna haul their lazy butts into their fat white Escalade and come rolling around the 'hood in the middle of the night. But it's sweet of them to offer.

3 comments:

Jen said...

This might be a good time to tell you the story of Tim, circa 4 years old, who got irritated with a neighbor kid. He wrote in the dirt in front of his house with a stick, "Chad is a fukker."

Obviously, he was bound for greatness from a very early age.

Tim said...

This post indicates to me that it's time for you to move to the sleepy suburbs of the HC, where it's generally quiet. Did I mention the house next door is for sale?

sweet jane said...

How fukken awesome would that be?!?!?