i have the funniest mom on the planet.
you may not understand just how funny until you get to the end of this post, but it will make you laugh. i promise. stick with me.
for several months r house has been battling with the single mom in her mid-twenties that lives downstairs with her five small children under that age of five, her boyfriend, her sister and her sister’s boyfriend.
they have always listened to their music loudly. always. when my mom was in town to help us after gavin’s surgery, she actually pretended to be management, went downstairs and told the lady off. (funniest mom ever, remember?) it worked for the rest of december.
on january 2nd, remember how i went and checked on her kids to see if she was hurting them since all i could hear was her yelling profanity at her children, telling them how ugly they were and her children screaming bloody murder? remember how i rolled my eyes as she answered the door wearing jeans and a hot pink bra?
we now only refer to her as Pink Bra.
incidentally, she was yelling at her children because her sister didn’t get home from her night out until 2pm (yes, in the afternoon) and she had to go to work. who was supposed to watch her kids? i suggested myself and she said, “i don’t know you, B___.” classy, i know. have i mentioned how much i love living here?
fast forward to january 13th at 2am. mr. r and i are startled awake by blaring, crazy loud latin rap. so is the family that lives above us–TWO floors up from Pink Bra and her latin rap.
we all call security.
no one answers.
we all call maintenance.
no one answers.
we all call the police.
the police come.
no one answers.
the police officer says that the music is so loud that when he got out of his car 50 yards away he knew exactly which house it was coming from. he then looked at my huge and angry husband and said, “if this was my house and my kids were trying to sleep, i would break down this door, tear out the stereo and throw it out the window.”
dumbfounded, mr. r looked at the officer. he later told me,
“it was like he was daring me to do it.”
finally, we convice the maintenance man to open the door and turn the music off. get this:
…it’s a programmed clock radio.
it was programmed to go off at 2am. classy, right? unfortunately for us, he didn’t unplug the stereo. he just turned it off.
you better believe i was complaining the next day in the office.
january 15th–two days later–the same thing happens at 8:15am. only this time it was a latin morning show that had this chicken noise every 5 minutes. i call the office all crazy with anger. the office manager comes over herself and bangs on the door.
no one answers.
she calls me when she gets back to the office to personally apologize for how loud the freaking music is. she said as soon as she turned the corner from the office, she knew exactly where it was coming from. gag me. she said she called Pink Bra’s mother and that her mom would come over in the next half hour to turn it off. “half hour???” i thought, “that’s another 6 chicken noises. death!”
this time on a saturday–two days later–the music goes off again. i call the office and get hung up on three times. they would not help me. they said maintenance wasn’t working that day and there was nothing she (the lady on the phone) could do nor would she call anyone that could help me.
i told her to call the Pink Bra’s mom again. she said she couldn’t find the number. (did i mention hatred?)
Pink Bra is ruining my life at this point.
finally, mr. r can’t take it any more, he goes into the office to call them out on their poor management. the maintenence guy who wasn’t working was “hanging out” and he rudely told mr. r to stop whining and to just turn the power off and that he wasn’t going to go into Pink Bra’s apartment because he didn’t want to get shot.
several things should shock you about this:
- they wouldn’t call maintenence because it was their day off even though they were still in the office.
- the maintenance guy told mr. r to stop whining. poor decision making.
- the maintenance guy offered as a solution to a noise problem, turning off someone else’s power. are you serious? he then told mr. r exactly how to do it–telling him where the boxes were, that each box is unlocked and labeled with the apartment number. classy.
- the maintenance guy didn’t want to enter Pink Bra’s apartment because he didn’t want to get shot. what does that tell you about Pink Bra? classy. super classy.
the next regular work day …boy i let them have it. i even talked to my real estate attorney (aka Dad) about how to get us out of our lease if Pink Bra is not evicted and/or arrested and destroy this management company. which he does with the help of my brother currently in law school. (bless them.)
the office is shocked (picture here a giant mrs. r eye roll) and tells me they will have her evicted. i tell them that they had better because now my attorney is involved. funny how people suddenly take you more seriously when you drop the a-bomb on them. (that’s “a” for attorney.)
the very next morning, i look down the hallway and see mr. r tip-toeing while he is getting dressed for work. what in the world? i go back to see what he is doing and he is listening to the people downstairs. it was the sister. she was in serious trouble. she was being hurt in some way. she was whimpering telling some guy to “please just go.” we exchange worried looks and suddenly mr. r quickly gets dressed a lot faster. “i am going down there,” he says to me. i start yelling that mr. r is coming downstairs in hopes that whomever is hurting the sister will get scared. mr. r runs downstairs as yelling, screaming and loud banging noises start. suddenly a thuggish looking guy runs out of the apartment.
mr. r is so jack bauer. holla.
i call the police and file a domestic violence complaint giving them a description of the guy who is walking to his car. officers are on their way. mr. r is yelling at him asking if he hurt her, asking what his name is, asking what is going on as he slowly walks out to his gray crown victoria. then mr. r knocks on Pink Bra’s door.
no one answers.
he asks through the door is she is okay.
no one answers. (are you seeing a pattern here?)
mr. r comes upstairs …puzzled. what just happened?
several minutes later, he knocks on Pink Bra’s door. the sister is sobbing her insides out just inside the door–face red, tears everywhere. her friend answers. he asks if they are okay. she says yes. mr. r explains that we also called the police.
they girls look at each other and tell mr. r they are just about to leave.
the officers come.
no one answers.
two weeks ago, this was the view from my home office window: joy.
and other elated emotions.
it was the best day of my life.
i could hear Pink Bra et al. packing.
stealthily, i pick up the phone and call my mother.
“mom,” i whisper. “this is your Favorite. i am just calling to tell you that Pink Bra is moving out as we speak. i even took a photo. it’s the best day of my life.”
mom responds (also whispering because it is the cool thing to do), “it’s the best day of my life too.”
a couple days later, guess what my mom sent me in the mail…
that’s right, a pink bra.
oh the legend of Pink Bra, how i will tell thee over and over again to my children and my children’s children. your classiness will live in infamy at the r house.
71 days left on our lease, but who is counting?
i told mr. r i was going to make a paper chain and we could tear a link off every day as we celebrate one day closer to moving …he banned me from such an elementary school teacher idea. i told him to “pull a card.” (