kind of funny, kind of sad
Towards the end of the month, tenants begin to worry about where the rent is coming from. This, I suppose, is when a lot of them start writing up their excuses. Original ones, such as "the check's in the mail." I live on the first floor, you idiot. One has to walk past my apartment, the one with "Jake Paxton, Landlord" on it's front door. Black letters on a shiny brass plate. I have it in Braille, so you'd have to be blind and have no hands to miss it.
"I'll get you the money. I promise."
That's nice. But I collect the check on the 28th of the month, every month. It's not like I snuck up behind you, wrapped a filthy, brawny arm around your throat, dragged you down an alley, and demanded you pay your rent. No. You signed the rental agreement. You had an entire month to come up with it, and $400 is cheap, for New York. Sheesh.
Lying to your landlord is bad enough, but please, please, come up with something good. Thank you.
There is one particular tenant, whom I went to see today, who consistently "forgets" to show me the money. I think the weed has something to do with it, as he always pays me precisely one week late. He said he was in electronics when he started renting, but lost his job soon afterward. I have no idea where his money comes from now. I'm not sure, but I suspect it has something to do with said smokies, probably dealing, or doing some sort of job for the dealers. I don't know, don't ask, and have no opinion. When the police come and ask, I have deniability.
After the knock, I gave him a few seconds to put on his pants and change. I knew that he'd probably be slowed down by the drugs, and amused myself by whistling that song by the Blue Man Group feat. Dave Matthews. "Sing Along", I think it is.
Google says those aren't the lyrics. Screw it.
Like any good New Yorkian, he opened the door a crack. Chain, as everyone knows full well, couldn't stop a determined 13-yearold, much less a180172 lb. guy like me.
"What do you want?" he says, his voice raspy from the smoke, his grey tail whipping back and forth. I saw some brown streaks down it. Apaprently, he didn't think it worth the time to change, or clean up, or even hastily spray air freshener and open a window like I did in college. I tied to ignore the erection; I've tried sex high before. It was slightly harder to ignore the smell of fresh ...spill, though.
"Rent's due on the 28th." I said as aimiably as possible, which wasn't very.
"It's only the..."I watched him mull it over a few seconds. It was somewhat akin to watching a naked black guy try to hide in a snowbank. "It's not the 28th."
"I know," I replied. Since you always give me the rent a week late, I decided to give you notice a week early. Hopefully, they'll cancel each other out." Still aimiable.
He blinks. "Well, okay then." and closes the door slowly. Somehow, he manages to leave a smear of brown on the doorframe. I do not check to see what it is. Instead, I go back down to my apartment, and hope that a replay of last night's X-Play is on.
"I'll get you the money. I promise."
That's nice. But I collect the check on the 28th of the month, every month. It's not like I snuck up behind you, wrapped a filthy, brawny arm around your throat, dragged you down an alley, and demanded you pay your rent. No. You signed the rental agreement. You had an entire month to come up with it, and $400 is cheap, for New York. Sheesh.
Lying to your landlord is bad enough, but please, please, come up with something good. Thank you.
There is one particular tenant, whom I went to see today, who consistently "forgets" to show me the money. I think the weed has something to do with it, as he always pays me precisely one week late. He said he was in electronics when he started renting, but lost his job soon afterward. I have no idea where his money comes from now. I'm not sure, but I suspect it has something to do with said smokies, probably dealing, or doing some sort of job for the dealers. I don't know, don't ask, and have no opinion. When the police come and ask, I have deniability.
After the knock, I gave him a few seconds to put on his pants and change. I knew that he'd probably be slowed down by the drugs, and amused myself by whistling that song by the Blue Man Group feat. Dave Matthews. "Sing Along", I think it is.
If I tell you I'm strong,
Will you play along?
If I tell you I'm strong,
Will you play along?
If I tell you I don't feel different from everybody else?
Google says those aren't the lyrics. Screw it.
Like any good New Yorkian, he opened the door a crack. Chain, as everyone knows full well, couldn't stop a determined 13-yearold, much less a
"What do you want?" he says, his voice raspy from the smoke, his grey tail whipping back and forth. I saw some brown streaks down it. Apaprently, he didn't think it worth the time to change, or clean up, or even hastily spray air freshener and open a window like I did in college. I tied to ignore the erection; I've tried sex high before. It was slightly harder to ignore the smell of fresh ...spill, though.
"Rent's due on the 28th." I said as aimiably as possible, which wasn't very.
"It's only the..."I watched him mull it over a few seconds. It was somewhat akin to watching a naked black guy try to hide in a snowbank. "It's not the 28th."
"I know," I replied. Since you always give me the rent a week late, I decided to give you notice a week early. Hopefully, they'll cancel each other out." Still aimiable.
He blinks. "Well, okay then." and closes the door slowly. Somehow, he manages to leave a smear of brown on the doorframe. I do not check to see what it is. Instead, I go back down to my apartment, and hope that a replay of last night's X-Play is on.
