[299] Screed City

[299]

09/19/2024 Thursday. Papers Box. CRISIS HQ. Ridgewood, New York.

Well, our landlord is officially racist as hell. We kind of already knew it. There have been signs all along. Like when she got upset when hair and makeup showed up one day to do Professor Curly's looks and they were carrying roller cases while Black. At the time I assumed that she thought we were subletting the apartment without her permission. A few other things as well, the way she talked about certain people. What her "worries" seemed to be. Assuming she just wanted the apartment building to be safe. About two weeks ago there was a very conspicuous piece of mail that showed up from the Douche campaign. Once again, I thought, odd, sure, she is a homeowner who rents, being a registered Republican seemed fitting. You know? She is an immigrant. A woman in NYC. I assumed it was taxes she most cared about. But if I thought about it, if I really thought about it, which I did not want to do, the apartment is well below market rate and our setup is quite good, and aside from what I think is going through her mind sometimes, which, to take a phrase from the Right when confronted with the opinions of others that are clearly as bad as they seem, "You never know what is in somebodies heart." As an old lady landlord, to me, she has been very kind and probably the best landlord I think I have ever had. And really, I do not want to have to move. But then you get a real taste of things as they truly are and suddenly there is a moral dilemma. And it is not pretty.

We have new neighbors across the hall. They are cool hipsters with bicycles and tattoos. A couple. I have met the bro, he is unpleasant, but neutral. Unfriendly, with no desire to be friendly, but I dont care. I dont have any desire to be his friend. Apparently his partner is nice. A redhead like PC. They have been scolded a few times by the Landlady already. Once for bringing their bicycles into the building. A couple of other times for reasons I dont know what they were, but I thought it kind of funny. She lives in the building. It is kind of best to be on good terms with her, I suppose. For your own sake. I bend over backwards to make sure she is not triggered in any way. If somebody is coming over to water our plants when we are gone, I call her to let her know. I separate the recycling well. Stuff like that. But these new idiots seem like they are on a collision course to cause everyone a huge amount of grief. And its unfortunate, not because I think it is avoidable, what happened today, which I will get to in one second, but because it seems like they have brought quite a bit of baggage with them from somewhere else, and are now foisting it upon our little enclave of dont ask, dont tell, peace hippy good times? Our, cant we all just have cheap rent and forget what is out there in the world? But then this happens.

This morning I was minding my own business. This whole week there has been a construction area at the front door because they have been replacing the front door. This high pitched, handsome, Polish guy with oddly bright white teeth and his Hispanic assistant working from seven until six every day. Giving me sinus headaches and making it impossible to sleep in. I know, poor moi. Professor Curly is currently in Boston protesting with Karen Read and Turtle Boy with her sister, The Red Menace. It has been a wild week that way, considering they, the same two constructioneers just finished remodeling the apartment across the hall, which did the same to PC while I was gone away for work. Something that is not a good sign for a renter. FYI. As the bridesmaids say; When the landlord's tricking, the clock starts ticking. Market rate ahoy! Sorry, I still have nautical brain from all the pirate work I just did. But those "improvements" get passed on to the tenants. And the new front door? I hate to say it, but it is a keeping up appearances move on The Landlady's part. That motherfucker is showing off and it does not bode well for us. But still, as it is, now, sure, we deal with construction all the time while our kitchen tiles leak old adhesive that sticks to our socks and the refrigerator puddles for reasons unknown. But the rent is cheap and the landlord is only kind of racist.

All morning while I was minding my own business I kept hearing commotion. Like the usual commotion all week. There wasnt any power tools because the power toolings were finished. The front door was installed and all that needed to happen now was painting and a reinstall of the ringer bells. I ignored and kept ignoring it. I ate breakfast, took a shower, shaved and dressed. I washed some dishes, sent some emails, listened to some radio and played a little Scrabble. My best word being, HANGDOG for 119 points. After a while I realized I was doing nothing with my life and needed to take a walk. I checked the weather, saw that it was 84F, got irritated because fuck you 84F mid-September. Nothing like sweating your balls off for four months and then tomorrow it is going to be winter already. BRING BACK SEASONS. ABOLISH TURNSTILES. I walked out of the apartment with two things on my mind, what can I do to make my life less like what it is now and should I buy queso?

When I reached the bottom of the stairs The Landlady shuffled out from her apartment to the top of her landing. I said hello like I normally do, expected to have a long conversation about what Professor Curly was up to and how expensive it was to remodel. Instead she walked halfway down the stairs and said:

"Don't let that guy come in when you go outside." She is a Polish immigrant who dies her hair red and looks kind of like, I don't even know, I don't know how to describe her. Sometimes she wears these very cute hats, like baseball caps that are floppy and remind me of Paddington, sometimes she has very tee-shirts on that say stuff like, Bee-Ware Of Hugs, written in cursive, with a little bee flying around the words. Half the time she has a bandage on from getting a thing removed from her face or her ears or her neck. She is very interested in whatever it is in front of her at that very moment and her free time, as far as I can tell, is filled up with meeting up with friends and seeing her family. And also, project managing the new construction on the building she owns. Her husband is long gone. Long dead. She has never once meantioned him in any conversation I have had with her. Oh, she also has a very nice garden out back that we can see from our first floor apartment. A nice garden that we do not have access to. But then again there is the neighbor mom next door that likes to sunbathe in her bikini that I, personally, have access to, and there is the neighbors across the way that PC keeps an eye on, who, supposedly once she saw a naked butt, and the lesbian couple on the other side that have a dog and sometimes there are kids that come over.

"What happened?" I could tell she was upset.

"I don't know. [Muffled] has a guy living in the basement. I am coming in and he is living here. I try to call him but he doesn’t answer."

"That's not good."

I am thinking that the high pitched Polish guy with the white teeth has his buddy sleeping in the basement. That he gave him a key and because The Landlady goes out back through the basement to garden there was a scary and surprising thing that happened where she found him down there. Something I am not cool with either. We don't lock our doors. When we go away, we do, but not daily when we are just going about our business. If there is some random guy creeping around, I would like to know that. I will give him all the help he needs, but not access to our apartment, that’s nuts. Her story went on.

"I came in from the back and he attacked me. From out of the shadows. When we went outside I told him he could not come back in. You know, he is a Black man who takes drugs." She did a very derogatory maneuver to show that he was a Black man on drugs.

At this point I am skeptical. I can believe the high pitched, handsome, Polish guy letting his buddy sleep in the basement. I really can. He seems like kind of wild card. Just this side of fucking everything up. Taking generosity a little too far. That his buddy would need a place to sleep and that he should leave before late morning so The Landlady doesn’t catch him, I can see it, I really can. And even that, in my own, I do not desire to have a random guy living in the basement, I can allow such a discretion. One night, shit, he has no place to stay, cut the guy some slack, they are working tomorrow anyway, what’s the worse that can happen?

I try to understand what she is saying. I only half believe her because of past comments. But I also don't want random people in the building, I don't. Its a selfish thing. I don't want to lock my doors. The city is already isolating. I don't want to be isolated further. I mean, honestly, I was glad that she harangued the new tenants about their bikes and bringing them inside. I don't want fucking bikes inside. Fuck you. Take them into your apartment and deal with them yourself. Bikes are like dog shit. Not my problem. Don't make them my problem. And I love bikes.

So there I am, walking outside, The Landlady following me, not holding a frying pan or a can of bear spray, but close to it. Creeping down the steps like I was about to unleash a tiger into the apartment building. I walked out onto the landing and what I saw, I mean, I didn't laugh, I didn't do anything. I looked at the poor kid who was maybe 26 or 27, kind of the cutest guy I have seen in a while and walked down the stairs and past him while he said, "Can I come back inside now?"

And hence, the actual moral dilemma. I kept walking. I really did have some thinking to do. Queso aside, I wanted to think about things. What was happening at the apartment was not okay, but the only information I had was from The Landlady's perspective. He, the cute boy who happened to be Black was obviously not a drug addict. The Landlady had called the new neighbor while on the stairs and he didnt answer. It was none of my business. All of it. Not really. I knew she was being paranoid and racist, but it is her building, she owns it. If she felt unsafe, she has a right to protect herself. Why the new neighbor wasn't answering his phone, I did not know. What was happening, I did not know. I wasn't on her side about her racism, but I was on her side about letting random people in the building she didn't know. And maybe I should have understood that I as a person who was capable of seeing two different aspects of a situation, I should have decided to ignore my desires to clear my head and instead have engaged in a conversation that could have navigated whatever situation it was that was unfolding. I did not though. My mind couldn't process what was happening.

I walked and I walked. Thinking for certain that I would accept the terms as they were and it would become apparent that I had done the right thing by staying out of it. It did not work out that way. As I walked I played the events over and over in my mind. What she said, what I saw, what was what. If what she said was true, then this poor kid was a vagabond getting ready to squat the house that she owned and had attacked her while she just being safe. He had no right to be there and she should call the cops to get him removed. If what I saw was true, he was probably just staying with the new neighbor and had most likely stepped out for a smoke or something and startled her because he was Black. I got about 10 blocks away before I realized I should turn back and confront the situation head on. To help the poor kid out and assuage the fears of The Landlady. But by that time I had also worked through something else in my head and thought a few more blocks would be okay if it meant I could get a better perspective of things.

I walked down to the gas station. Walked past the Onderdonk House. Took a left on Irving and came back up the street that led past the grocery store. Like an heartless fool, I stopped to buy the queso I desired. Burrito tortillas and jalapeños and hot sauce. The checkout girl asked me if I needed a bag and I said, "I don't. I got these sweet arms to hold everything." She frowned at me and I put the hot sauce and the jalapeños in my pockets and carried the jar of queso wrapped around by the burrito tortillas.

By the time I reached the apartment again I knew what to do. I would talk the kid and ask him what was up. If he was still outside. If the new neighbor hadn't shown up to deal with the mess he had made.

I say that like it is his fault. That he made the mess. By having a Black friend, he made the mess. He didn't make a mess by having a Black friend, he made a mess by not dealing with it. His redheaded partner too. When things seem too good to be true, they probably are. And who knows? Maybe The Landlady is charging them market price? I don't know. If that is true, fuck The Landlady and all that she stands for, but if the they have the same deal we have, I hate to tell you, you make a devil's bargain, you get a devil's thing. And really, as I write this, as I think about it, if that is the case, because really, The Landlady did remodel their apartment, like the bridesmaids said before, When the landlords trickin' the clock starts tickin'.

The kid was still waiting outside the apartment when I got back. The hot sauce and jalapeños in my pockets, the queso nicely wrapped in burrito tortillas. He was sitting on the porch. Our conversation went like this:

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So tell me, what the hell happened? What's going on?"

"I don't know. I was just coming out and she didn't let me back in. I'm staying with my friend here."

"Huh, I can't let you back in. There's no, are you? Are you, is your friend coming back?"

"I even tried to help her with the trash."

"You want to borrow my phone? I hate to say it, but she it," I lowered my voice, "really racist."

"Oh!" He smiled. "I mean, if you don't mind." I handed him my phone and he called the new neighbor. "Hey, are you coming back? Okay. Thank you. He said he'll be back soon." He handed my phone back.

"Yeah, sure." I crammed my phone back into the jalapeño pocket and then I thought about my phone. It has been such a long time since somebody else has used it and the kid had put it next to his head. I wondered if it was like years and years ago when I borrowed a friend's flip phone and it smelled like his spit. The amount of bacteria he just put to his ear just then. A vulnerable boy in a vulnerable position. "I mean, she told me there was a Black man addled with drugs sleeping in the basement."

"Oh my!" The poor kid said, "Oh my!" What the hell? Tragic. He went on to tell me that he was hoping that things didn't go on like this much longer because he needed to catch a flight home.

"Oh, shit! When is your flight?" In my mind I made a calculation, if he needed to get inside and get his luggage I could navigate The Landlady. It would be ugly, but he could come in a get out while I stood at the bottom of the stairs and made sure she didn't drop frying pans on his head or something.

"A couple hours or so."

"I don't know, okay. I'll, I don't know. Yeah."

"Thanks!"

"Yeah."

I keyed my way into the apartment building. I looked up the stairs. Her door was open, meaning she was listening to who and whom came and went. I didn't see an eye poking out, but my guess is that she recognized me and went back to doing whatever it was she was doing. Painting white swastikas on red canvas probably.

I hung around listening myself expecting there to be a new commotion when the new neighbor showed up and brought the poor kid inside again. It never happened, or it did happen and it was silent. There was no sound of a roller case being wheeled out. No screaming from The Landlady.

Hours later I left again, coming over to write and as I was leaving the apartment building she acted like what happened was totally valid. She had buddy with her that she was explaining the new door to. Somebody that was going to "Take care of things when she wasn't around," whatever that means. She looked mischievous and kind of thrilled about what transpired earlier. She asked me about it. I said:

"I met the guy, I talked to him, it was all just a misunderstanding, he is friends with the neighbors, staying the night before flying..."

"Yeah, he is up to no good, right?"

"No, I am telling you, he was just..."

"Yeah, it was bad news."

Now, I don't know what is in the hearts of anyone, as the racist say, but she seemed to love what transpired. There was a sparkle in her eye that I had never seen before. The implied notion being, "You know what I mean? Those..."