Boot the Motherfucker!
I have an EVIL tenant in my building. I may smoke dope, but I'm hypervigilant about being a good neighbour, respecting my building, and playing by the rules. This punk-ass 19-year-old's been pissing me off, and the landlady knows it. She called me tonight to ask if I would be willing to write a "BOOT HIM!" letter in regards to Punk-Ass. This was what I came up with...
____________________________
To Whom It Bloody Well Oughta Concern:
It has been with increasing frustration that I have tolerated the resident living in the basement suite marked 200 and all his endlessly questionable antics.
Being as I’m self-employed as a tutor and writer, I tend to come and go at odd hours, and I’ve seen far too many groups of completely different people hovering around the back and front doors. They’re not very social or nice as I have to push my way through to get into my apartment, and worse, they tend to be pretty disrespectful to the property. I’ve left and come back within a half-hour to see the crowd that was there now gone, and in their place, strewn cigarette butts and huge gobs of spit everywhere. For awhile, there’d be entire steps covered in big nebulous gobs of saliva – something you’re not looking for with arms filled with groceries, or worse, with arms full of groceries and a full-face motorcycle helmet on your head, like I tend to wear when my arms are bloody full! The word “disgusting” sums it up succinctly.
Other times, I simply find refuse tossed on the doorstop, from cupcake packaging to coffee cups and, yes, more butts, and it’s pretty damned irksome considering that one of the things I’ve always enjoyed about living here is how vigilant and attentive to detail (___) tends to be as a building manager.
It was just a couple weeks ago when I was walking out the back door and saw the resident in question, (___), approaching the building with yet ANOTHER group of completely different people following him in. Every bloody time I see him and his ‘friends,’ it’s a completely different crowd. I began wondering, “The kid can’t be THAT popular. Nobody has THIS many friends! Oh, ho!”
I suddenly had a lightbulb ding on and I realized, “I betcha he’s dealing pot! It’s Vancouver, it makes sense!”
I’m no hypocrite, I live in this city – born and raised, in fact – and I’ve behaved badly on occasion, but I’ve never dealt drugs and I sure as hell would never do so in my building! This is a small building and gossip gets around, and I heard about the recent visit the police paid our good buddy and the shopping bag they took away that was full of Vancouver’s pride and joy, marijuana. Not surprised; not me, not in the least.
What I am, though, is bothered. Having a few joints or a baggie in the fridge is one thing. It’s still another thing to hang on to what had to be a couple thousand dollars worth of marijuana in a low-security garden-level basement apartment, but it’s a completely unacceptable thing to be putting my entire building’s security at risk via doing “business” inside the building. And having the assorted characters one meets during drug deals KNOWING that that quantity of bud’s kicking around in a basement suite? Yeah, that’s good security sense. Geez! I’ve even heard that one of this dude’s buddies has been seen coming and going through the front door on his own – the security-locked front door. I’ve been here SEVEN years and I don’t have any spare keys for my place. Something tells me (___)’s not handing them out too readily, you know?
As a tenant, I want this guy gone. Now. Immediately.
Things have been different since he showed up. There’s garbage constantly being left around, the bottom floor occasionally smells of "hey, let's hot-box this shit!" dope (although it used to constantly smell of dope, and as high as the second-floor staircase, too), and just recently my best friend found a used hypodermic syringe discarded on the front lawn, near the entrance. This guy might be nice, but some of his friends are right dicks. They show no respect, and he’s an idiot to be letting them into our building on a regular basis. They come and go at all hours, and I, for one, think it’s time this place gets back to normal.
Thanks for listening. Boot’im! Please! I beg ya! (Please?)
Regards.
(I omitted a couple more personal-fact paragraphs for my own damned good. Hey, look, Letterman's about to get started! All in a day's work, people. All in a day's work. Oh, and if you recognize yourself in this email? Get a fuckin' grip!)
Funny thing is, this reminds me of the encounter GayBoy (who was visiting the Great White North) and I had with a neighbour of mine in Whitehorse, in the Yukon, who was also selling dope, and who received a letter from me after I found vomit on my door's threshold one morning. I'll have to conjure that story for you kids.
To Whom It Bloody Well Oughta Concern:
It has been with increasing frustration that I have tolerated the resident living in the basement suite marked 200 and all his endlessly questionable antics.
Being as I’m self-employed as a tutor and writer, I tend to come and go at odd hours, and I’ve seen far too many groups of completely different people hovering around the back and front doors. They’re not very social or nice as I have to push my way through to get into my apartment, and worse, they tend to be pretty disrespectful to the property. I’ve left and come back within a half-hour to see the crowd that was there now gone, and in their place, strewn cigarette butts and huge gobs of spit everywhere. For awhile, there’d be entire steps covered in big nebulous gobs of saliva – something you’re not looking for with arms filled with groceries, or worse, with arms full of groceries and a full-face motorcycle helmet on your head, like I tend to wear when my arms are bloody full! The word “disgusting” sums it up succinctly.
Other times, I simply find refuse tossed on the doorstop, from cupcake packaging to coffee cups and, yes, more butts, and it’s pretty damned irksome considering that one of the things I’ve always enjoyed about living here is how vigilant and attentive to detail (___) tends to be as a building manager.
It was just a couple weeks ago when I was walking out the back door and saw the resident in question, (___), approaching the building with yet ANOTHER group of completely different people following him in. Every bloody time I see him and his ‘friends,’ it’s a completely different crowd. I began wondering, “The kid can’t be THAT popular. Nobody has THIS many friends! Oh, ho!”
I suddenly had a lightbulb ding on and I realized, “I betcha he’s dealing pot! It’s Vancouver, it makes sense!”
I’m no hypocrite, I live in this city – born and raised, in fact – and I’ve behaved badly on occasion, but I’ve never dealt drugs and I sure as hell would never do so in my building! This is a small building and gossip gets around, and I heard about the recent visit the police paid our good buddy and the shopping bag they took away that was full of Vancouver’s pride and joy, marijuana. Not surprised; not me, not in the least.
What I am, though, is bothered. Having a few joints or a baggie in the fridge is one thing. It’s still another thing to hang on to what had to be a couple thousand dollars worth of marijuana in a low-security garden-level basement apartment, but it’s a completely unacceptable thing to be putting my entire building’s security at risk via doing “business” inside the building. And having the assorted characters one meets during drug deals KNOWING that that quantity of bud’s kicking around in a basement suite? Yeah, that’s good security sense. Geez! I’ve even heard that one of this dude’s buddies has been seen coming and going through the front door on his own – the security-locked front door. I’ve been here SEVEN years and I don’t have any spare keys for my place. Something tells me (___)’s not handing them out too readily, you know?
As a tenant, I want this guy gone. Now. Immediately.
Things have been different since he showed up. There’s garbage constantly being left around, the bottom floor occasionally smells of "hey, let's hot-box this shit!" dope (although it used to constantly smell of dope, and as high as the second-floor staircase, too), and just recently my best friend found a used hypodermic syringe discarded on the front lawn, near the entrance. This guy might be nice, but some of his friends are right dicks. They show no respect, and he’s an idiot to be letting them into our building on a regular basis. They come and go at all hours, and I, for one, think it’s time this place gets back to normal.
Thanks for listening. Boot’im! Please! I beg ya! (Please?)
Regards.
(I omitted a couple more personal-fact paragraphs for my own damned good. Hey, look, Letterman's about to get started! All in a day's work, people. All in a day's work. Oh, and if you recognize yourself in this email? Get a fuckin' grip!)
____________________________
Funny thing is, this reminds me of the encounter GayBoy (who was visiting the Great White North) and I had with a neighbour of mine in Whitehorse, in the Yukon, who was also selling dope, and who received a letter from me after I found vomit on my door's threshold one morning. I'll have to conjure that story for you kids.
posted by Scribe Called Steff at 11:24 PM
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