It’s no secret I live in a ghetto ass building. I’ve written about it several times here. It’s had a very spotty past, and I was aware of that when I moved there. However, it was under new management when I moved in and I was sort of under the impression that they had basically kicked out a lot of the not so good tenants a few months before I moved in.
That’s the bubble I was living in for a good year and half now. People came and went faster than the seasons. I saw women get hit by their men, men get yelled at by their women. I heard drunken fights take place at 3 am between a person on a balcony and someone on the street below. I’ve had a smelly ass elevator, a stinky fucking hallway and I’ve taking it all in stride. Yeah, I called character, so what?
Well, this Friday, I arrived home after a night of revelry to find one ambulance and five cop cars outside of my building. Now, I may have been somewhat inebriated, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that someone done gone and died in my building that night and it sure as shit wasn’t from natural causes.
I left my taxi and approached the front entrance somewhat tentatively. I didn’t want the police officers to know I was drunk. Yeah. Like they cared. Oh drunken narcissism, you really do pick some fine times to rear your ugly head.
I let the police officer in (yeah, no manager on site to actually let the police in, so they get to hang around until someone either buzzes them in or has a key to let them in.) and he rode up in the elevator. During which time, he did nothing but elevate my fear. I got in and, in a sing song manner, he just said, “Oh, Blah Blah Place of Residence, I come here way too often.”
This comment was met by me saying, “Really? I don’t like hearing that.”
Then, upon seeing me press the 4th floor button in the elevator, he proceeded to ask, “You don’t live in the apartment right next to the elevator do you?”
“No….” I replied hesitantly.
“Oh good,” he said. “Cuz I investigated a murder there about a year ago.”
As I’m doing the math in my booze addled head, the door opens on the 4th floor and I realize, I FUCKING LIVED HERE A YEAR AGO!
The cop smiled and waved as the doors closed and I’m sure my face had the look of blooming horror.
**Aside: I think the cop realized I was drunk and decided to fuck with me a little, which is one sadistic effing cop.**
So, as I walked to my apartment, I realized, oh snap! I know exactly who he’s talking about! Ugh. THAT’S why he kept getting those rent due notices on his door. *shudder*
Needless to say, the door was immediately bolted and the door chain was put on and did not sleep well that night.
I woke up the next morning with, yes, a hangover, but also a new understanding of what my apartment complex really is: a murder building.
It was that morning that my beau and I decided the time has come to move and to move ASAP. Luck for me, I am on a month to month lease right now because the leasing office was just too lazy to renew my lease after the first six months. So all I have to do is give 30 days notice.
The goal is to be out of that place in two months time.
And it’s doing its best to remind me why I should leave, every. Single. Day.
Monday, it was the two cop cars parked out front.
Tuesday, it was my flooded closet (and ruined shoes and wet-dog smelling carpet).
Today? Who knows what magical horrors murder building holds in store for me?
And yes. I’m calling it murder building from here on out.