A Temp Job Horror Story

Several years ago, a girlfriend had met this wonderful man on line and began dating him: He was a lawyer with a home office. Since I freelance, she called me and asked if I was interested in picking up some typing and transcription work, which of course, I was.

The Warning Signs:

First Flag: She told me that he had trouble keeping a legal secretary. Odd, Jersey has had a high unemployment rate for several years now.

Second Flag: When I spoke with the lawyer, he did not want to see my resume, nor care to discuss my skills. Really, any warm body will do?

Third Flag: The lawyer would not discuss money over the phone.

Whoa! Legal transcription is NOT minimum wage, but I planned on clearly discussing such basics when we met at his office.

Fourth Flag: He was emphatic, demanding and anal that I should be there promptly at 9 a.m., ready to work.

Fifth Flag: I Googled him, this lawyer was fined several years ago, but reinstated.

The Horror:

I found his house/office. A one-story bungalow, faded green siding, dirt front yard/parking lot, rimmed by overgrown trees, shrubs, weeds, and many of them brown—dead.

There were two unmarked and filthy doors, flanked by windows with crap stacked behind the glass.

Door #1: I knocked. No answer. I went in.

I was not prepared for what I saw. I walked into what had been a custom kitchen; I could see the skylights and some oak cabinets. However, the room was swarming with flies and plastic and paper grocery bags were on every flat surface and strewn across the floor. I could not even discern where the sink or stove were located.

I backed out.

Door #2: Was a louvered glass door, the glass was caked in black filth, but an “Office” sign was dimly visible. Again I knocked. Again no answer, so I went in.

Outside of a cop show, I have NEVER seen nor expected this! It was a, long, dark narrow room, rimmed with ugly metal desks, each desk, each bookcase, each gap between them was stacked with brown, legal binders. Folders were jammed chest high, and some had toppled over to the desks. The rug was worn through to the wood below.

It stank of mildew, a vile dank and musty smell.

I kept calling the man’s name as I walked around.

Finally, I was back in the kitchen, and to the right I saw a bedroom with a man’s naked legs among the twisted blankets. That room had clothes flung everywhere: dressers, chairs, floors and that bedding looked grey and dingy.

I stepped back and called his name, again.

This time he answered and slurring his words, demanded to know who I was.

Told him that I was Rose’s friend.

He asked if Michelle was here.

I replied, “No one is here.”

Here’s where it gets weirder: .

He began barking work instructions to me.

Oh hell no!.

I stated: “I cannot work for you.”

The Lawyer: “Why not?”

Me: “The flies, the filth, the stench.”

I bolted out the door, jumped into my car and sped around the corner.

I called Rose to warn her. She didn’t believe me.

I called another friend, I was actually crying and she calmed me down.

A Poor Conclusion:

My girlfriend continued to date him and make excuses for him: That I came too early and that he took care of the flies. This is why Battered Women’s shelters will never close.

I spoke casually with a church friend who is in the legal field, and the odds of getting such a lawyer shut down were slim.

I would sleep in my car before taking such a job.

Friendship with this woman faded away, we’ve not even reconnected on social websites.

The Great Dog Poop Drama

Alice’s Restaurant

This drama can only be compared to the ballad, “Alice’s Restaurant” by the great balladeer Arlo Guthrie. Those of us who remember the 60’s will still laugh at mere memory of the great lyrics, and a short movie was made from this song. Either way, follow the link to YouTube; there are many versions besides this one to pick from. Enjoy.

But onto The Great Dog Poop Drama!

The players are: the Drunk; the Meddlesome Woman (hereinafter called MW); and Dog Owner #1 and Dog Owner #2.

The Drunk came through my door, very angry: “I just got a call from MW that there is dog poop outside my door and in the laundry room!” Then demanded repeatedly that I need to come down and look at it!

Really? Do you think I have some forensic ability to examine the dog poop and decide which dog did the deed?

Then a long-winded unnecessary side tale about his girlfriend, wearing flip-flops stepped in it, but she left those shoes outside his door.

Well, at least she demonstrated common sense.

Me, at the stove cooking dinner: “Why is MW calling you with this problem? We are both home. I am sorry, but we have not had this problem for several years. Take this bag (I handed him a poop bag) and just pick it up.”

Readers, the anger, shock, and disdain on his face was worth the price of admission!

He stormed out.

Minutes later Dog Owner #1 came in: She also received a called from MW.

The Drunk stormed back into my apartment.

Me: “Don’t you barge into my home without so much as knocking.”

The Drunk actually stepped back and sarcastically knocked on my door.

Words were exchanged between Dog Owner #1 and the Drunk.

Me, to the Drunk: “Do not tell me that you called this woman!”

Angry words to me: The Drunk began arguing about the parking (he doesn’t OWN a car) and then he dropped the N* word! (Yeah readers, THAT reprehensible one!)

My brother-in-law ordered him out.

Dog Owner #2 called and offered to pick up the poop. I told her not to, and asked who called her about this drama?

You guessed it, MW.

Conclusion

So one tenant, with way too much time on her hands, called some tenants and wound them up. The Drunk is still ignoring me (darn), the MW actually smiled and tried to chat with me (hell no), Dog Owner #1 and #2 went on their way (as it should have been).

The alliances among the discontented ones will always change, and two of them are the Garden Grinches.

Be grateful. Be kind. Never know what changes tomorrow will bring. What a sad life the Grinches of this world have, they cannot buy themselves a decent heart or enjoy the gifts that life brings us everyday day!

And my dinner was delicious without further drama.

C’est le vie.

Opportunist Vagrants

They are the bane of every owner and manager. No one wants to discover a busted window lock or collusion by a not-so-trusted worker that allowed a vagrant to camp out in an empty unit, a house or condo–or even your unlocked car.

Yes, even car dealerships share this pain: there are strange stories of discovering vagrants camping out in their new vehicles. Face it . . . 100 cars on the lot and security cameras cannot watch every vehicle. Your brand new SUV may have been someone’s motel room. Real joy!

Sadly, I have found nasty bathtub rings and toothpaste spit smeared on mirrors of a unit that had been cleaned and renovated. I have a firm rule that for every empty unit, the kitchen and hall lights will be left on and all the shades will be open. No #$@% exceptions!

Years ago, we had a terrible tenant, lots of drama, lots of late night traffic. We all knew what was going on. Finally, the police came and took her away. Big yippee!

However, that started another problem; her friends were boldly breaking in late at night and camping out.

So I Called the Police

Three officers, one that stood as tall as Goliath, and a Belgium Sheppard. Wow. I gave them the keys and they went in. Sadly, it was false alarm. They weren’t angry, they understood, they knew what I was up against.

However, the brand new tenants, who had just moved in that day, were very rudely awakened by the sight of several officers and a dog skulking past their back windows, complete with flashing lights, plus other tenants who came out to see the commotion.

They laugh now, but I couldn’t apologize enough then.

As I keep saying, this is a complicated job.

Oops! Shipwreck Island Mini Golf is in Bradley Beach Not Asbury Park!

So today I get to have a little fun and share the pain that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE who has EVER worked in publishing, design or submitted a big report, who swore that they had checked, proofed, read and re-read, and finally so really sure that it was perfect, hit ‘submit’ and then, and only then, does someone point out “The Glitch!”

Shipwreck Island Mini Golf

The mapping software got it wrong! Not just for the Golf site, but when I used Blogger's Location feature, it made the very same error! Hmmm.

It IS in Bradley Beach, however their map pointed a little north, in Asbury Park.

But I will say that the owner was so very gracious when I emailed him of his glitch, and did thank me, however I did warn him that he would make this blog.

Shipwreck Island Mini Golf course is NOT your old-fashioned, static and boring course.

Fountains gush out of shipwrecks, into a river which winds through several pools with more fountains, complete with nets on long poles to pluck your golf balls from these great water hazards.

Two fishing boats, aptly name Sandy and Irene: two killer hurricanes that crashed our shoreline.

A lighthouse, which looks so cool, lit up when the fog rolls in.

The next block over is a great playground: slides, swings and even a pirate’s wheel facing the ocean. Grab an ice cream, stroll the boards, play some golf, breathe the salt air. Spend the day at the beach, after all, how can you not love the ocean, it is so mesmerizing!

My Apologies for Not Posting

Heatstroke:

I have posted several stories about working in the gardens, plus repairing and reseeding the front lawn. I actually gave myself a nasty case of heatstroke. Couldn’t understand why my skin was burning as if I had a wicked sunburn, and my head was pounding. When I finally Googled the symptoms I was shocked.

I should have called the EMTs or gone straight to the Emergency Room! Whoa, despite that, earlier that day I carried 6 loads of laundry downstairs, weeded and watered the gardens and lawn.

I did declare later that day that I would spend the day in the big recliner with a ½ gallon of iced tea, lots of aspirin and have full control of the TV remote. I was sick.

I seriously hurt my hand:

That wasn’t bad enough, I chipped my knuckle. Somehow, in all that garden work, moving the rocks for the rock garden, lugging large planters around, I seriously damaged my middle knuckle.

Yep, woke up with my knuckles painfully swollen. We thought it was a spider bite, we joked that I punched out someone.

Jokes aside, for almost two weeks I walked around with a brace on my hand to protect it from any bumps, or handshakes.

It was so bad, I couldn’t type or even use a computer mouse. I do have a Kindle, good for web surfing and email, but that is a bit awkward for posting and designing.

Hot packs and cold packs were applied.

The medicine cabinet was raided hourly.

I should’ve gone to the doctor.

And the world doesn’t stop: food still must be prepared, dishes must be washed, and laundry must be hauled down to the laundry, then folded and carried back up. Fun with a busted up hand.

My thanks to friends and tenants who helped out and offered sympathy, it was much appreciated.

But this morning I can finally move my hand, I can type, and I got more stories to tell!

Summer tourist season is kicking in . . . and the surf, sand and boardwalk food will be calling all our names!

A Great Garden Despite the Grinch!

You have got to be kidding me! Tenants, neighbors and general passer-bys have complimented me on how great, the sea grass planters around the parking lot, the planters on ground floor retaining wall and the flowers in the rock garden and along the front wall are looking. Superstorm Sandy gave me a reason to dig it all up and start over fresh.
So this is my little rock garden along the front wall. It has taken a few beatings from recent storms, but I have faith that from these humble beginnings lots of flowers will greet every tenant and passerby and give all a reason to smile. (And yes the pots are crooked, after the torrential rain, I tipped the water out, but they're just too heavy for me to straighten back up. Sigh.)

It has been a real workout, but so satisfying, however the six hours I spent scraping the front lawn, spreading new topsoil, and then reseeding it all did cost me a nasty case of heat stroke! Yeah, I had to Google the symptoms, couldn’t understand why I was burning up and ready to pass out. A gallon of fluids and a guilt-free day on the sofa was the only cure.
The owner of the building next door was doing some minor landscaping and he offered me two rose bushes. He not only dug them out, carried them over, but he planted them for me. Wow!
I treated him to a container of my homemade Hot Pepper Relish (follow the link for the recipe). Made us both happy.

However, I digress, the Grinch showed up. Again.
Planters along the ground floor retaining wall filled with yellow and orange Marigolds, and all are blooming and starting to fill out. However, the poor flowers outside the laundry room suddenly shriveled up.

Guess they couldn’t hold their Dollar Store lavender/lilac scented laundry detergent.
Earlier someone complained endlessly about the *itch who left the garden hose strewn across the front lawn and couldn’t roll it up.
Then the sprayer nozzle, an old-style one, made of steel, practically an antique, had its handle snapped off like it was a turkey wishbone.
I was told that someone had ‘stepped’ on the nozzle.
So to the Grinches of the world, I repeat:
I can always buy new plants and tools, however, you cannot buy yourselves a decent heart and enjoy the gifts that life brings us everyday day!
What a sad life you must have.

Ya don’t have to be a Blonde to be a Ditz!

Earlier I was watering the big pots of sea grass in the parking lot when I noticed a woman wandering around. What follows is the actual bizarre conversation.

Me, to the wandering woman, hereafter called ‘the Ditz’: “Excuse me, may I help you?’

The Ditz: “I’m looking for 109.”

Me: “The address or apartment number?”

The Ditz: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Well, this building’s street address is 109. We do not have an apartment 109.”

The Ditz gave me a blank stare and began walking towards the back stairwell.

Me, trying to deter any drama, asked: “What is your friend’s name?”

The Ditz: “I don’t know.”

Me (Are you kidding me!): “How can you say that he's your friend when you don’t even know his name?”

The Ditz giggled.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t have you walking around knocking on random doors.”

Me: “What does your friend look like?”

The Ditz: Blank look and another giggle. Yowzer! (Did she meet him in a bar last night? Or on the beach this morning?)

Me, foolishly repeated: “What does he look like?”

The Ditz: “Blonde.”

Me: “How tall, 5’10 or 6’5?”

The Ditz: Shrugged and giggled and stated that he was 5’10”.

Okay, I am officially done, so I tried to steer her towards the front of the parking lot and hopefully down the block.

Then the ‘friend’ popped out of his door and called her name.

This tenant is a huge, burly guy, about 6’5, and wears a size 3x!

I turned to the Ditz and asked, “I AM 5’8” obviously he is well over 6 feet tall, NOT 5’10”!!”

The Ditz giggled.

He's blonde and she's a Ditz: Oh, those two are so made for each other. Sigh.