(You Drive Me) Crazy

There is a woman, and she’s a humorous level of nuts.

I met her when we took over the building, and she put in a request for a repair. Her door was a little sticky, probably because the police had to break it in. Why you ask? Oh! She was having a bi-polar spell and was reported to be throwing her furniture out of the window. She lived on the second floor, but at least the chick likes to keep her place clean.

True Story.

Then she called and mentioned that her kitchen sink was dripping. It’s not a big deal, its about a gallon every 6 hours. Then she called and mentioned that her kitchen sink was dripping. A few days later, she called and mentioned that her kitchen sink was dripping. It was about a gallon every 6 hours. A few days later, she called and mentioned her faucet was dripping. Now it’s about 1 gallon every 5.5 hours. Just a heads up-that sink is still dripping. We’re wasting water.

Think I’m being facetious? She’s programmed into my phone as “nutbag”.

That was nothing.

One day she called that he bathroom sink supply line was leaking, from under the cupboard. Now, completely unrelated to her, we both went through a phase where we did not give a fuck about that building. I was working, and didn’t feel like leaving my jobsite to go running over to that shithole-again-to have to deal with “nutjob”. This problem happened to land right smack dab in the middle of neither of us giving a poo.

So Dino told her I’d be there at 6. It was 10am.

I tried to tell them that the plumbing in the building was screwed. I know what some of you are thinking-turn off the shut off valves, right? Nope. None of them work.

She started calling every 30 minutes with an update. The water has reached the carpet. The water is now 3 inches into the carpet. She would provide estimates on the water volume. I mentioned she was bi-polar, right?

Finally Dino lost it and told her the next time she calls, she had better be floating. She called back 30 minutes later.

OK, so I gave up and went over. Of course, it was the hot water, so I had to change out a supply line with it running. Awesome. Got that fixed. Then it was, what are we going to do about the stained carpet?

I’ll get back to you.

One day she called and I had to talk to her. Her bathtub was slow in draining. She started asking if I had a tool that could go into the drain and clear it out. She didn’t know what it was called, but a long tubey thing that goes into a drain and cleans it.

Me: “I don’t think anything like that exists”

Her: “Oh, its this thing and its long, and like coiled metal in a plastic case that unwinds into the drain and clears it out...blah blah blah...”

I mentioned I do renovations right? I totally knew what she was talking about. Did I have any interest in going into her apartment to clean out a gob of her rotting pubes from her drain?

She then called 2 more times, leaving 5 minute long voice mails describing what it was. She asked her brother, and he said it was a plumbing snake, available at Home Depot. Then she went on to describe-again-in detail, what it was.

I mentioned she was bi-polar, right?

I hear footsteps

She called one night, concerned, because she thought someone was trying to break in from the roof.

What fucking neurons are mis-firing tonight? Is there medication you can be on?

So I listen to her descriptions, in mind-numbing detail. Then I take a moment before I blow her mind for her.

“You know there is a penthouse apartment above you, right?”

Silence.

“oh, well, its probably them.”

Yeah. Maybe.

I fear for the less fortunate

Another night, another phone call. I have really learned to dislike “sabotage” by the Beastie Boys(It’s my ring tone)

It was last winter during the bad cold snap we had.

She kind of knows this guy, and he’s homeless. It’s really cold outside.
Oh fuck. I know where this is going.

She actually phoned to ask if she would be allowed to let him sleep in the laundry room.

Now, I get very few tenants truly surprising me. Some shock me, but few surprise me. And this was a surprising level of crazy.

I tell her, if you are that concerned, why don’t you let him sleep on your sofa?

“Oh, well that doesn’t seem really safe. I don’t know him THAT well. “

Well, by all fucking means then! You don’t know him, or trust the homeless guy enough to sleep in your house, but let’s expose the rest of the building to the risk of having a squatter in the goddamn basement.

I said to her, I want this to be clear. Crystal clear. You are NOT allowed to have some dude sleeping in the hallways. I want you to repeat it to me. I need to hear you say it.

The next day when I was at the building, I saw that it had been broken into. My first thought when I was talking to the police was that they needed to question her about this homeless guy.

Turns out it was cokie the bear.