Loads of Fun

So I live in an apartment complex that isn’t in the worst part of town.  It’s not even the next to worst.  It’s not ghetto adjacent even.  For some reason, however, while the rent goes up, so does the crime.  Or maybe I am just noticing it more. 

I was trying to do my laundry the other day.  Although it was 10am on a Tuesday and there are five machines (well, currently four since one was broken),  I had to make three attempts to get an empty machine.  I often have as many as 4-8 loads come Laundry Day (who knew my daughter and I could generate so much laundry???) and not a lot of full days off, so, like all residents with a mission to finish their laundry quickly, I usually prefer to use as many of the machines as possible.  Keep in mind it’s also $2/wash and $1.75/dry, so Laundry Day is pursuant to when I have the money to actually do the laundry as well. 

My neighbor (a brassy, but seemingly cool woman in her mid-40s or so) was in the laundry room on my first attempt to get a load in the wash.  She had just finished filling the four working washers, so I returned to my apartment to wait the 30 minutes until she was through.  At 30 minutes I tried again.  The washers had just been re-started.  Damn!  Someone had snuck in while I was watching an episode of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.  Back to the couch. 

Another 30 minutes went by.  I tried again.  This time there were three washers free.  Success!  I loaded them up and returned to hang out with Mrs. Maisel. 

When my wash was ready to transfer to the dryer, I returned to the laundry room.  Another older woman was in there, transferring her clothes to the dryers.  She was talking to a younger man about the hike in rent (mine has been raised $150 in two years).  He was pulling clothes out of one of the dryers.  Upon indicating that I could use the one he’d freed,  I started to load my soggy garments into it.  The man offhandedly mentioned something about how he was supposed to have clothes in two separate dryers, but returned to his upstairs apartment.

Which is when all hell broke loose.  As I was loading my clothes, the brassy neighbor came screaming down the stairs.  Well, not screaming because she had laryngitis, but whispering furiously. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?”  She looked in two of the dryers (one of which I was currently filling).  My neighbor slammed the other dryer door shut.  “Someone took my fucking laundry!!!”  She opened it again in disbelief.  Still no laundry.  “Seriously, where are my fucking clothes?”

So let me explain something here.  In spite of liking to use all the machines at once, I am a super courteous resident when it comes to laundry room usage.  If someone comes to the laundry room at the same time, I will relinquish use of one (some) of the machines.  I set a timer so that I can be sure to clear my machines in a timely manner.  I clean out my lint screens.  I hold the laundry room door open for other residents.  And I absolutely cannot, for the life of me, understand why someone would be motivated to steal another person’s laundry. 

Yes, I have heard stories of a woman who will throw people’s laundry in the trash if they leave it in the washer for too long.  I’ve even walked into the laundry room when it smelled like shit (literally) because someone disposed of their dog’s feces in the same trashcan.  I have even found vomit-covered clothing strewn about outside of the laundry room (not sure what happened there).  Apparently, though, this laundry theft is a semi-common occurrence.  The older woman confirmed it with her own story of having recently found a note in the laundry room that was written by another resident pleading for the return of her newly cleaned clothes. 

This, my friends, is fucking bullshit.  I mean, seriously?  This is where we’re headed?  Is it really necessary to go out of one’s way to enter the laundry room (with a key no less) and steal from one’s neighbors?  To clarify, no one here is wealthy.  We ain’t washing couture in the laundry room.  My own laundry is only a veritable cornucopia of Walmart T-Shirts and Thrift Store Cardigans.  Some of my underwear is so filled with holes, I don’t know that I should even wear them as period panties.    What on earth would someone want with another person’s laundry?  I get freaked out just finding someone else’s sock mixed in with mine.  I don’t care if it’s been washed.  It’s not my fucking sock. 

So I went to the office to complain.  I told them I would happily write up a formal complaint.  Of course they did nothing.  They can’t (won’t) do anything, “management” said.  We’re supposed to stay with our laundry, I was told. So I responded (jokingly?), “Then don’t be surprised if you hear of a lavender-haired women in Laundry Room #5 beating up one of the other residents.” 

And so I went to sit in the fucking laundry room to babysit my clothes, writing this blog entry and throwing shade at anyone walking past.  It wasn’t even my laundry that was stolen, but now it’s my mission to make sure that it won’t be.  No one is to be trusted. 

What a waste of time.  Sigh. 

Until next time, my lovelies….

The Ballad of Crazy No-Pants

So at 4:30 this morning I was awakened by the sound of someone banging on the front door of an upstairs apartment in the building across the way from me. She was crying and screaming what sounded like "Jim" over and over. Readying myself with my best "Girl, he ain't worth it" speech, I went outside to see if there was someone I could call for her. The young woman (Late teens? Early 20's?) wore only a coat and a tank top. She appeared to be putting on her underwear. I asked her if there was someone I could call. She insisted she was fine and didn't need help. I told her that clearly wasn't true if she was outside screaming at 4:30am. She refused my help again so I went inside.

Five minutes later, she resumed screaming. Turns out she was actually screaming, "Mom" (which was way worse. I had, in fact, initially thought she was one of the neighbor children who had been locked out). She'd already been banging on the door for half an hour and thus far only the neighbors in other buildings (mine, mostly, since it faced hers) had gone to check on her (or maybe just to watch). I grabbed a pair of sweatpants for her and went back outside. The neighbor directly across the hall from her had finally come out to see what was going on. Again, I asked her if she was OK and how I could help. I told her, "Please stop being embarrassed. Let me help you. I have some pants for you if you need them." She refused, cowering up against the door. I started back to my apartment. One upstairs neighbor told me she had called 911. The other was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk between the two buildings. We waited outside for the cops to come.

The police arrived within ten minutes. The conversation between the girl and the officers was convoluted. She seemed disoriented and altered. They wrapped a blanket around her and walked her to their vehicle. My neighbor and I had been watching to make sure she was OK (well, I had been...he might have just been waiting to see what the officers would do). Upon seeing us, she said, "I hope you enjoyed yourselves." Before I could respond, my neighbor, who has a temper, said, "Oh f*ck you." Unfortunately, I can't say as I blame him.

I wish I could say this was the first time I'd been awakened by my crazy neighbors, but, sadly, no. My complex is rather large and allegedly one of the least expensive in Reno (tell that to my checking account). Apparently, it is also rife with domestic disputes waiting to happen. In the year and a half-ish amount of time I have lived here I have heard several screaming matches (because they were all outside) and even witnessed a car chase motivated by jealousy and baby mama drama. One of the other upstairs apartment units once had a broken window (from something being thrown out of it) and one could also see through said window what looked like smashed-in drywall in that unit's interior. I have also seen a few sobbing women fleeing their apartments, carrying their paltry belongings in garbage bags. Couple all this with rumours of drug dealers, meth labs, racists, car thieves and a women who allegedly throws out your laundry if you leave it in the washing machine too long, this apartment complex is the stuff of legends. Maybe I should write a sitcom about it.

And yet, as is common for most people living at the poverty level (because, yes, I am), I cannot afford to leave right now. Also, it's not as if I even live in the worst part of the city. For the most part, I live in a relatively safe neighborhood--it's just that some of my neighbors in the immediate vicinity are effing nuts. I guess I have to just keep to myself and hope I can get out of here as soon as my lease is up. Guess I'd best start purging again. Sigh.

Until next time, Lovelies....