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May 27, 2011

Open Letter

An Open Letter To The Management Of My Old Building Who Still Haven't Reprogrammed The Door Code

Dear Russian Douchebag Building Manager,

I moved. Remember? Remember when the police came because my next door neighbor was a psychotic bag of impending disaster and I had to pack up all my crap and move in the middle of the night? You should have some recollection of this moment. If not, let me remind you who I am. I am the one whose deposit you kept. I am the one you had the unmitigated gall to bill for the next month's rent because you couldn't better screen your tenants and let a crazy woman live next to me and I had to move out suddenly and not give a written 30-day notice and I had no legal recourse so I had to pay the bill but then I spent several weeks giving you cancer with my mind.

Does that ring any bells?

Well, speaking of bells, your front door code for what used to be my home still rings to my cell phone. Except I don't live there anymore. So the gas company and the AT&T guy and some woman named Sharon keep calling me for entry to your building. They want to get into my old apartment, the one that I once loved and now secretly hope becomes infested with bedbugs.

When my phone rings and says "Front Door" I get momentarily excited because I think I might be getting a package from Fed Ex or a pizza or a check from Publisher's Clearing House. Then I answer -- too quickly -- and after I say "Hello?" my brain kicks in and remembers that I now live in a slumlord building where the front door buzzer is broken and the only "Front Door" calling me is the old apartment which houses my lost ego, lost money, and one crazyass next door neighbor, unless you finally had any success evicting her. Which I doubt.

So, listen. You need to change the front door code so that it calls the new resident of my old horrible, overpriced, terribly managed yet still very beautiful apartment. Because now I'm on to you. I renamed the phone number for "Front Door" and now it shows up on my phone as "People You Should Taunt." And when they call I'm just messing with them. I tell them Judgment Day is NEAR and God is WATCHING and He is NOT HAPPY. I told the cable guy that he needs to reevaluate his shoe choices. Sharon called me three times and on the last call I informed her she had gout. I don't even know what gout is, but I told her I could sense through the phone she was suffering this grave ailment.

I'm infinitely creative and this could go on for a while. I can work scabies into almost any conversation. And porn. And poop. Consider this while you lollygag and delay updating the front door buzzer access numbers.

Yours Sincerely,
The nice, sane, on-time-rent-paying but now broke ex-resident you screwed over in March, 2011

Posted by laurie at May 27, 2011 10:50 AM