Still On the Kitchen Sink : Apartment Saga

I’m trying to not have an emotional reaction to this and since it’s not my property, I honestly don’t care if it gets ruined by water damage. What I CARE ABOUT is not being able to use the kitchen because of flooding. So we are trying to nip that shit in the bud as soon as possible…okay well, there is a certain amount of common courtesy we have because we aren’t psychopaths who wish irreparable damage on an old lady’s property.

So when one of us sees a problem LIKE A LEAKING SINK, we let her know about it.

We pay rent here, ON TIME, we are decent tenants who have experience together and separately living in different places and this Nasty wants to insult our intelligence by telling us that the leak under our kitchen sink is condensation!!!

No! It’s not.

So it was leaking like crazy last Sunday (not yesterday). There were drops of water all over the hose (we don’t have pipes under there…hoses. And we could visibly see the water on the hose and it dripping off the hose. We had already seen that it was leaking before that by leaving a paper towel under there and then checking to see if it was wet.  The leak is and has been tricky, I’ll give her that, but it’s a leak none the less. Some days it leaked and we’d find a damp or even wet paper towel. Other days it didn’t leak at all.

I texted her that Sunday and told her it was really dripping so it would be good for her to see that. Nope. She said she couldn’t come up. She fucking lives right below us. Not even a whole flight of stairs between us. No driving involved. Her property, but ‘it wasn’t a good day’ for her to come to look at a leak in the sink in the apartment she rents out.

By the time she was ready to come check it out the next morning, late morning that is, there was no dripping and the hose was dry.

When she finally made it upstairs at some point this past week, she stood in the kitchen and swore that it was condensation. I didn’t agree, but there’s only so much you can debate with this psycho so I just nodded knowing full well that in the very near future she would be proven wrong.

She told me that she’d go buy some insulation and WE could wrap it around the pipe…yeah, she said pipe. I said, “That’s not a pipe, it’s a hose.”

She insisted it would work and I knew that it wouldn’t.  So thinking she was such a genius, she went out to Home Depot to buy a very obviously-too-big-and-bulky-to-fit on-the-hoses piece of insulation.

B had gone out for a bit last night and when he came home he let me know he was in the midst of texting Nasty to let her know that “Now the condensation is dripping at 8 second intervals…it’s not condensation.”

He then told me about the piece of insulation she’d tossed to him on his way out last night.

I checked with him this morning and she has not been in touch with him. In case she didn’t see the text, he called and got voicemail and then left a message.  She’s pretty good about answering that phone so I have a difficult time believing she’s not ignoring him.

It’s hard not to get pissed off. I’m sure since she’s so convinced that it’s condensation and that we have no clue what we’re seeing or talking about, her solution is to just ignore it all.  It will take water all over the fucking kitchen floor to get her attention on this it seems.

Below is the long piece of insulation. Of course it can be cut to fit a pipe.

And then just for shits and giggles here’s the size of the opening of the insulation.

And for even more of your viewing pleasure…below is the hose under our sink. Not the black piece. The white thing that tangles around from the left of the black thing to the right of it.

Not the right kind of insulation first of all.

Second as tenants, not something we should have to do.

Third, even if it actually was condensation, putting a rubber on it is just going to cause mold.

But of course it’s not condensation, so putting that thing on is just a band aid…a moldy, sopping wet band-aid.

 

 

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I was a Lost Child

I was probably always a scapegoat in one form or another when it came to my parents, but not always with my siblings. When I was younger, the scapegoat role was a bit subtle. And when we were really young, if I had to name one of us as a Golden Child, I’d have to say it was my sister, who was the youngest. But I don’t know…it was a running joke between my brother and me that she was the favorite of my mothers. But I honestly can’t say that she would have accurately fit the role of Golden Child.

Much later though, once my brother became fairly successful with his music, well, I can say with confidence that he would be the Golden Child.  It’s difficult to name one of us though really because not one of us was chosen to fulfill a particular career, which is what I’d equate being the GC with.  My brother just happened to want to learn guitar at a young age. He dropped it for a few years but later picked it up and became really good at it.

I had the opportunity to do things I was interested in and I was signed up for tennis lessons one summer, because I wanted to take them. But I soon lost interest and quit. I also took gymnastics for a short stint and again lost interest and wanted to stop going.

We all had the opportunity to go to college IF we wanted to. Both my sister and myself spent a little time at the local community college but didn’t graduate. I tried a number of times to go back, taking a class here and a class there but never really ‘feeling’ it.  I had no idea where I was heading and so I would just drop out and get a job.  A usually directionless job I couldn’t stand.

Now that I’ve started this, I’ve realized how difficult it is to continue in explaining it all and I really don’t want to.

The roles in my family just were not that cut and dry.

But back the idea of the lost child.

That role fit me quite well as a young child, and it is probably what even led me to become the scapegoat later.

I often played alone. I had friends sure. But when they weren’t around, I generally played alone…as young as three. I can remember playing in my bedroom, hanging a big rope across the room to hang my dripping wet doll clothes on to dry. I can remember flipping my little plastic see saw upside down to pretend it was a big rock and  there were a bunch of animals under it, that I pretended to ‘just happen to find.’ Makes me smile though at the imagination of that.

Later, I had a huge doll house and a couple gerbils. I loved to let those gerbils run around in my doll house. I was usually alone for that as well. In one house, one neighborhood, there weren’t many kids but there was a playground next door. I used to love to play over there quite often by myself.  I learned how to blow bubbles with bubble gum alone, in that playground.  I was so excited, I sat down in the parking lot and used a hubcap of the only car parked there to watch as I blew bubble after bubble after bubble.

I was abused by the nun in first grade. She’d pull my hair and ear and I would never tell my parents.  I came home from school one day to my siblings and mother sitting on the couch waiting to break the news to me that one of my gerbils had been killed by the dog.

Oh but my little sister…my three year old sister had gotten on a chair on the second floor, supervised only by our Doberman/Lab mix, and opened up the gerbil cage. From what I was told, Snoopy (that was our dog) wanted to play and his big paw was too much for the little gerbil.

There were two incidents I can think of that my mother had to know I was being bullied and she did nothing. One was right in front of our house when I was 10. We hadn’t even lived in the house for very long and two girls I’d already met, rode up on their bikes saying mean things and laughing. I was scared but didn’t want them to know that so I just kept doing what I was doing…which was weeding for my mother.  I probably asked her for something to do since we were new to the neighborhood and I didn’t know too many kids yet.

Another time was on the phone. Two girls, one who was supposed to be my best friend, called me specifically to fuck with me. They said some mean shit too and then told me that if I hang up they’ll beat the shit out of me when they see me. So I was scared and stayed on the phone.  Now I know my mother didn’t hear them say that. But she was in the kitchen, while I was very close by in the dining room.  My side of the conversation was not the usual happy, laughing with friends tone, so being the mother I know she was…always knew what was going on…she did nothing until I asked her to. I was 13 and no comfort was forthcoming from her once I was off the phone. All I got was a little relief that I didn’t have to listen to those two bashing me anymore.

And then there was the winter when I was 16 that my coat was a sweat jacket and a jean jacket layered. Oh it was cool and all, but not warm enough.  I guess I was supposed to say, “Hey mom, I need a winter coat.”
Nope…even at 16, she was still responsible for initiating that.

I started this post because I wanted to share a link but then I got into all that stuff I wrote above. I googled “lost child and scapegoat” and in the list was a link to an article that really resonated with me. That link is here.

But I continued to read the site and also came across this one…The Narcissist Family Cult. Another one I resonated with. So I thought I’d share in case you resonate too or want to look around what looks like a pretty good blog/website on the topic of narcissistic parents.

Satis-fuckin-Faction

The basement dweller next door, otherwise known as ‘Speaker Boy’ has left the area…I do believe.

It took three months approximately from the time I finally found the phone number to the real estate agency that owns the building next door. And that was not for the lack of trying. I could not, for the life of me, find the info on who owned that building.

As fate would have it, one of the tenants, J, was getting out of his car when I pulled up to park in back of him. The properties are next door to each other. My building’s back is on the same street as that building’s front. So generally, I park my car behind J’s car.

Anyhow, we got to talking about the fuckwad I named Speaker Boy and J gave me the number to the RE agency that owns the building. So even though Speaker Boy had been disturbing the peace since the end of October, it wasn’t til February that I had a contact number to start the complaint ball rolling.

I had spoken to the woman in charge of complaints (TWICC…I’ll just call her that for simplicity) via phone at first. It was then that I became aware that I was the first one to speak up, even though I know for a fact that I was not the only one he was bothering.

The noise nuisance he impinged upon our previously peaceful living situation, started at the end of October 2017 as I stated above.

I first tried to talk to him and became immediately regretful of that, because he was quite difficult, arrogant and obviously had no concern for the fact that he was disturbing others’ peace. Quite frankly he’s a dick.

We put up with shit like this:

And this:

And this too:

And there were many other times and nights.
Even after the complaints started he didn’t stop.

I don’t know if he is a sociopath, stupid or both. I’m not sure what made him think he had the right to come live here and behave that way. There are children in the building.  And many nights he’d sit right by the windows of the apartment on the first floor in which these children reside.

Makes me shake my head that the parents never complained. I would’ve been on the phone the first night.  He would sit in his car, speakers at concert level volume and in addition he had set them up to bang so loud it sounded more like hammering than it did bass that was supposed to be music.

My correspondence with TWICC turned into texting after the phone calls and then emails.
She’d sent me her email address when I texted to ask her if I could email her links to some of the videos on my channel on youtube that illustrated this noise from hell.

So if the videos I’ve posted here, don’t convince you that he made life a living hell here from October 2017 to just a couple days ago, then there are plenty of other videos on the channel. Just click the user name under a video, which takes you to the home page of the channel. For some reason it says there are not videos on the channel, but when you click on the tab that says, “Videos” the videos all come up. So have at it and enjoy. There are some peaceful snow and rain videos there too.

When I heard him yelling outside on Monday, at first I was pissed and disturbed. I thought, “Jesus Christ, this fucker is a parasite that just won’t go away.” I knew that the landlord had been working to get his ass out of there, because of different times I’d emailed her to complain some more and let her know Speaker Boy was still being a douche.

She couldn’t give me details, but let me know they were working on it and that evicting someone takes quite a bit of time. (Because of all the legal red tape they needed to go through.) < My addition in parentheses. TWICC didn’t say that.

From some research I’ve done, it is apparently difficult to get someone who’s under lease out of a rental property, particularly on noise, mostly because it’s so subjective. I am pretty sure the videos I sent TWICC helped to eliminate that subjectivity. There’s no question his noise was obnoxious, illegal and disturbing.

Eventually, one day, I noticed some cops in the parking lot next door. I happened to see one of them talking to one of the residents…the resident who’d actually shouted out her window to Speaker Boy one night to “TURN IT DOWN.”  That was at least a month and a half ago.

I remember that evening she’d shouted out to him. It was a Sunday. His response to her, “I am.” Just like a little boy, responding to mommy about something he doesn’t really want to stop doing.

From talking to him, this is attitude I picked up:  If what he’s doing wrong isn’t happening in the present moment, then you have no right to call him out on it. So that’s the wall I ran up against when I attempted reasoning with him and telling him the loud volume was a problem.

So fast forward back to Monday:
After I’d had the initial reaction of annoyed and disturbed by yet another scenario of Speaker Boy’s, (yelling outside loud enough for the next town to hear him, I decided, instead of calling the police, (my initial thought) that I’d record him, while he paced a small portion of the block while speaking on his cell phone, distressed, wanting his wife to ‘come home.’

I’m not usually one to be so sadistic and wallow in a little joy of someone’s distress, but it was difficult not to in this case.  He whined about how awful the last two months have been and I just wanted to shout out to him, “How dare you!!! You have made living here a living hell since October and you are complaining about the last two months. You brought it on yourself. That’s what happens when you move into a place and disturb the previous peace that was here before you arrived. You deserve everything you are going through right now.”

Before I turned the camera on, this shit had already been going on for at least 15 minutes. A couple little snippets I heard him say:
“The lock’s have been changed” -and-
“I wasn’t inside.” (He yelled that as if he’d been accused of being inside when he wasn’t supposed to be.)

When I heard him say the former, I knew the latter would never happen again, which also meant I and others were (are) free from his inconsiderate, anti-social behavior and we have gained back some semblance of peace… At least for now. That basement apartment is not empty and likely up for rent. So you never know what you’re gonna get. Hopefully the RE agency/landlord to the building has learned to screen better.

I feel so sorry for Speaker Boy’s new neighbors. That’s the thing about anti-social people, you get rid of them, but they have to go somewhere.

So without further ado, the final act of Speaker Boy. Good riddance you piece of shit!