Hello, and welcome to my pity party. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am not one to pity myself; however, there is one problem in my life that is so big, so troubling, that some self-pitying is in order.
This problem is apartment #9. It is cursed, and as the person directly below it, I, too, am cursed.
This all began when the Jimenez family moved in Memorial weekend 2001. They moved in that Saturday, at 7 a.m., dragging all their shit across the floor. Prior to them, the lady who lived there -- well, I can't tell you a damn thing about her, since I never saw nor heard her. I do know that she owned a piano and practiced a lot, yet it was never a problem, since apparently she knew the appropriate hours to practice. How I miss that lady!
Well, from day one the Jimenez's were jerks. For one thing, there is a rule, which you agree to abide by when you sign the lease, that each apartment gets one parking spot in the back. Although I live in Coral Gables, where parking is sometimes scarce or is metered, the entire block in front of the building is full of free parking (all the buildings accommodate tenants with parking in the back). So you would think, then, that this shouldn't be an issue. Or you would think that if anyone would violate this rule it would be someone who'd been living there a long time and felt some sort of entitlement. You would be wrong. From the first week, they both parked in the back. It wouldn't have been a problem if it was a temporary thing (like, to bring out groceries), but each tenant took a hit by getting home last and ending up without a spot. So the complaints began. My landlady confronted them numerous times, and I later learned that were snippy and defensive with her about it (a sure sign of guilt, I say). But they didn't stop.
There was also the noise issue. If I had to judge their lifestyle by the noises I heard, I would have to conclude that their favorite activities were to rearrange the living room furniture twice a day, drop marbles on the floor, and wear high heels from 7 a.m. to 1 a.m. This problem only affected me, and I complained to my landlady at regular intervals. She would repeatedly ask them to use area rugs to both protect the wood flooring and muffle noise, but again, snippiness and defensiveness.
What finally got their asses evicted was when they got pregnant, and then hid both the pregnancy and birth of their daughter from my landlady. One of the other big rules in my building is that only two people are allowed per unit. My landlady found out when a prospective renter told her, "I'm so excited that the lady next door is also having a baby, it'll make things a lot more fun." So when darling Olivia was born, she gave them notice a couple of months later. But relief and peace and quiet were not to be mine...
Enter G & H (they still live there so I won?t write out their names). G is really a lovely person, but she picked a real prick for a boyfriend. H is nice enough to chat you up, but because he owns a (tacky) newish Mustang, he is compelled to "protect" it by parking it in the back. You'd think then that G would take a spot out front, wouldn't you? You would once again be wrong. Both park in the back, and again, the rest of us have been screwed at some point when we've come home late. My landlady put out a general notice reminding tenants that only one car per unit is allowed to park out back, and the prick actually tore it down!
It's this type of discourtesy that drives me nuts. What the fuck gives them the right to be above basic rules? What exactly entitles them to take a stupid spot that's not theirs?
Damn that cursed apartment!
