A-partment-POPLEXY

I hope there is a special place in hell for apartment managers.

In the week after our return from Disneyland, I’ve seen the closing of my show and a violent illness. I’ve watched my mother compile a scrapbook while I, on the other hand, compiled my taxes. The trip to Anaheim was wonderful and I hope to write about it soon, but the week that followed was the pits.

Today, feeling somewhat better, I set about cleaning the San Diego apartment with my mother. It was a chore that had been neglected during and aggravated by my sickness, and one overdue after having had quite a few visitors the week before. As I walked outside with the trash, I found a notice from the apartment complex at the door. A notice reminding “all residents” that no items may hang over the balcony rail. A notice that only one residence received. Ours.

It turns out that my mother, after laundering the hall rug, had set it over the rail to dry. And, it seems, this is against policy. I haven’t read the lease; I suppose that she was warned. However, I am starting to lose my patience with an apartment complex that can spot a 3 foot throw rug at 900 yards and find time to print and post a notice before the thing is dry but cannot manage to stop alarms ringing in the middle of the night, provide after-hours lock-out service for its thousands of residents, or bother to admonish privileged college kids who vibrate the building with bass-enhanced rap music at 2 and 3 in the morning. It’s the eagle-eyed deaf patrol. At least our clean rugs suggest that we are maintaining the property rather than shaking the foundation apart from it. When our place does a Tacoma Narrows tumble into the apartment below, I had darn well better see an Equity Residential notice outside the crumblings of Mr. Jiggy-With-It’s door!

Meanwhile, in Nashville, AIMCO is no better steward of my money. Despite my monthly rent payments and communication with property managers, AIMCO is threatening to tow my vehicle from a parking spot included in my lease. While I’ve been in California, my tags have expired, causing the complex to label my van “abandoned.” Though I’ve explained my situation, they’ve explained that only making the tags current will rectify it. This is a bit difficult to handle from several thousand miles away and I resent having to; I pay for that parking spot, AIMCO takes my money and has been told the van’s not abandoned, and new tags will not move the vehicle or bring me home to drive it. It is no more or less “abandoned” by the changing of one single sticky digit when the situation is known and the rent is paid.

So now I sit stewing, knowing that I’ve seen neighboring balconies used for storage, concerned that I’ll be vehicle-free when I return to Nashville, and unsure when my return will be. I am hoping to see a Padres game before I leave San Diego, after all. Wait! Let’s think about this. The bus and trolley lines converge at PETCO Park, so there would be no parking problems; there’s bound to be plenty of shelter under the bleachers; and there are probably no rails to worry about hanging rugs on. Maybe they need a troll.

On second thought… maybe I’ll pass. The upstairs neighbors might get a bit rowdy.