Gayle Madwin (queerbychoice) wrote,
Gayle Madwin

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When Suddenly It Turns Out That the Continuing Saga of Gayle and the Air Conditioner Hasn't Really Ended Yet After All

Still no digicam, grr! All mail takes two to six weeks longer to arrive here than it does to any normal location, and I don't know why. I routinely receive birthday presents in the mail a month late and when I look at the postmark they were actually mailed a month early. It's weird. And annoying. Someday, though. Someday, I shall have pictures for you. In fact, I'll probably go utterly nuts and post nothing but six zillion pictures until you're sick to death of my pictures.

But when I went to pick up my mail, I got waylaid by the guy who works in my apartment complex rental office. I should explain that there are two people who work in the rental office, a youngish black man and an older white woman, neither of whose names I know - plus a maintenance guy named Angel, whose name I do know because he's been around a lot longer than the other two. Anyway, the older white woman is the one I was stuck dealing with when my air conditioner broke, who was an ABSOLUTE @#$%^&*! IDIOT and didn't get it fixed for, like, most of a week or something, in 100+ degree weather. I also dragged Angel in as an intermediary because although Angel doesn't speak that great of English, he has sufficiently more brain cells than the idiot woman that it's easier to get anything done by working around the language barrier with him than by working around the absence-of-brain barrier with her.

So, today the youngish black guy whose name I don't know, who wasn't anywhere around during the dreaded air conditioner crisis (unfortunate, since to date he seems to be perfectly competent, unlike the idiot woman), stopped me in the mailbox area, and we had the following conversation:
Him: Cynthia?
Me: Yeah?
Him: You live in that one there, right?
Me: Uh huh.
Him: I just wanted to let you know I'm aware your air conditioner's going out . . .
Me: No, they fixed it now.
Him: No. No, trust me on this, it's going out.
Me: [quizzical expression]
Him: We called someone in to fix it, see, and he did something to it, but he said it's not going to last the summer. So I wanted to let you know I got approval from my boss to buy you a new one, for when it breaks. She's ready for it. Just let me know right away when it breaks, call my office and we'll get it fixed for you right away, okay?
Me: [wide-eyed and disturbed-looking] Um . . . okay.
I hope his boss isn't the idiot woman. I have a bad feeling it probably is. What's it's like to be bossed around by someone with fewer brain cells than the average fruit fly, I wonder? I just hope he knows how to get around her and actually get things done despite her. I think Angel and/or Idiot Woman reported to him that I didn't seem very happy with the handling of the previous Extremely Unpleasant Air Conditioner Incident, so he decided to warn me in advance in order to help avert future wrath.

My air conditioner had just better not break at a time when he's gone again and I have to deal with her all over again.
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