“We Create Our Own Reality”

I had to remember those words, given to me by the spiritual teacher I worked with for years until she passed away, when it was reported to me this morning that Assistant Maintenance Guy (AMG) did indeed get written up -- generally a precursor to eventually being fired if one doesn’t straighten up and fly right.

Upon receiving that information, my heart felt heavy and I was beginning to feeling sorry for the guy until I remembered we are the authors of our own fate, that life is about choices and it was AMG’s choice to not only not respond to a request for assistance while on-call, but to tell the resident (Me) to climb up and perform the maintenance duty AND when I wasn’t strong enough to accomplish it, he called another resident (Handsome Guy) asking him to trot on over and perform the task.

I actually withheld that last bit from the office, because it wasn’t my intent to get AMG into the kind of trouble that revelation would have rained down on him, when I’d gone down to say I’d spent the night in a hotel, my detector was still beeping. I just wanted the smoke detector attended to. AMG got himself in a boat load of trouble all by himself.

Life is about choices.

We create our own reality.

The morning I got back from the hotel, Apache reported observing AMG arriving early at 6:00, get out of his truck, get back in his truck and drive away.

Apache determined it to be, “He just didn’t want to come to work or had other plans”.

That would be not the first time AMG’s anger and frustration at being the Assistant to some lazy kid (Head Maintenance Guy) got the better of him and he’d walked off the job. It wouldn’t be the second either, but the third (maybe even the fourth) and this time he didn’t come back until a week later -- the day he was observed being talked to/written up by Community Manager.

He’s damn lucky he wasn’t dismissed then and there for job abandonment.

I’m sensing AMG is in crisis mode – male menopause perhaps, and his issues with not wanting to be here, not wanting to work harder than his young boss, is just the tip of the iceberg.

I don’t know about his home life. He’s mentioned kids, but I’ve never heard him speak of his wife. He has, however, expressed how he “hates” his new home. 

One of the first to buy in a brand-new development, it bothered him that he had to get permission from the Homeowner’s Association to do some additions to either the house or the grounds (I forget which). It also upset him when additional homes began to pop up around him because the builders, in an effort to maximize on their build, have squeezed in homes, leaving little space between. AMG said he can open his back door, see into the home behind him, almost touch it.

When we had a huge fire in his area, I’d asked if his home was safe. He said “unfortunately yes”, that he’d wished it had “burned to the ground”.

He seemed happy enough to be working here, rushing here, rushing there, having no problems with a lazy young supervisor until he bought that house and a new truck. So perhaps he’s over extended himself and financial worries have added to whatever choices have brought him to this point.

In all fairness, it doesn’t seem right that HMG lives on the property, but is not the one always on-call. That on-call duties rotate between the two and AMG has to drive down from Devore to respond to emergencies.

But it also occurs to me, especially since Apache is reporting AMG “isn’t worried and doesn’t seem to care about the write-up” that, just like AMG wishes his house had “burned to the ground” so he can get out from under, it may very well be he’s making these choices of not responding and not coming to work in hopes Corporate will get fed up, terminate him, so he can get out from under this job and sue under a claim of “racism”.

Which is what Corporate may be anticipating as well, inasmuch as they opted for Community Manager to write him up rather than terminate for job abandonment.

As I’ve established in posts about what I’ve experienced in job situations, racism does occur. However, in this case, AMG doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Whereas my choice in work situations I found abusive was to continue to do a kick-ass job, put on a brave face, maintain my professionalism, cry in private (that people could be so cruel just because they didn't like the color of my skin) and pray for strength to survive it all, giving them no ammunition to justify their actions against me. AMG's poor choices have given Corporate all the ammunition it needs.

So, anyway, life is about choices and what I'm choosing for myself today is to see if the spa can squeeze me in for a badly needed manicure/pedicure. If not today, then tomorrow.

Size Doesn’t Matter

I was puzzled by comments made by the neighbor who parks to the right of me in the carport and drives a big old gas guzzler.

“What happened to your car?” she asked the day before yesterday when she caught me exiting the Jeep.

“It’s over there (indicating Guest Parking where I’d put the Saturn until I could turn over to grandbaby). I’m giving it to my granddaughter”.

“So, you bought this? Why so small? You want to have something you’re comfortable in”.

What does that mean?

Was she trying to throw shade, dis my horse, trying to infer it’s more like my little pony instead?

My first choice was the four-door Wrangler but, seeing it in person on the lot was terrifying. It’s HUGE and the thought of driving something that big scared me. The two-door was too small but, when daughter and I spotted the Trailhawk, the size looked just right, manageable and, on the test drive, I felt comfortable and anxiety free.

I didn’t realize the Trailhawk was smaller than the Saturn until I turned into my parking spot and saw it positioned in the carport but, it’s not as small as neighbor was inferring.

“There’s plenty room in the front. It’s a little tight in the back, but how often do I have a back-seat passenger (that would be never). Besides, I’m older now and need less” I replied to justify the purchase.

“Well, it’s cute”, she gave me.

One of the bonuses of the Trailhawk is that it looks so much like the Saturn that I thought it being a new car would not be noticed.

How naïve was I.

It’s being noticed.

At any rate, talk about driving scared, waking up this morning to pouring down rain, facing an hour and a half drive to Newport Beach to deliver the Saturn to granddaughter, I began begging the Universe to please stop the rain because the long drive was bad enough without having to worry about how people drive so carelessly in the rain.

The Universe heard my plea and the rain stopped around 8:00.

Very first time in the Newport Beach area and, since the drive was so long, would have liked to rest a bit, check things out. Instead, it was a quick turnaround. I pulled up to granddaughter’s place, she jumped in the driver’s seat, drove us an hour and a half back to my area for an appointment with Redlands DMV, where I signed the pink slip, she registered the Saturn, dropped me off back at the complex, and went on with her life.

Granddaughter driving me around was surreal, not just because she drives fast and a little crazy, weaving in and out of lanes, but because of all those years with me driving her around, here she was, as all grown up, driving a car, with me as her passenger.

 

I made the doll sitting next to her.

Surreal.

And because of how she drives, the one and only time I’ll be passenger in a vehicle with her behind the wheel.

Facts of Life

Ran into a couple neighbors while cleaning the Saturn out this morning, getting it ready to turn over to granddaughter tomorrow.

I mentioned that I’d not seen Assistant Maintenance Guy (AMG) since calling him about the smoke detector last week; he didn’t respond, so I’d had to go to a hotel for the night.

I’d heard through the grapevine that he’d come in 6:00 a.m. the day after, but then turned around, got in his truck, drove off, and did not return.

Another prima donna walk off the job episode, thought I.

“He’s here now”, one of the neighbors said. “He’s in the Manager’s Office and it looks like he’s being talked to”.

Probably a corrective interview or write-up.

That started a discussion about how disappointed I am with his becoming lazy like his supervisor, Head Maintenance Guy (HMG).

“He’s not lazy. He’s trying to outdo the other”, said she.

That made perfect sense.

He’s been upset for some time that HMG makes him do all the work, but I told the neighbor that AMG needed to be smart. He just bought a house, a new truck, and needs to accept the facts of life. Those facts being he’s Black and it’s always been our dharma that we have to be smarter and work harder just to get our foot in the door. And don’t expect any thanks, acknowledgment or reward.

That’s the way it was during my mom’s tenure in this world. My daughters and grandchildren are experiencing it and, of course, it’s certainly was my experience in the working world. I had to keep my head down, work my butt off, swallow, not complain about abuse of authority or how the rules were different when applied to me, because I was the sole support for my children and could not afford to not “know my place” and lose my source of income.

That was then, this is now, but not much has changed. I'm guessing AMG doesn't realize this is the first time a Black man has been employed by Corporate to work on this property. Color us surprised when we saw Corporate had evolved to hiring color, and he represented well by being such a hard worker. But now his ego at having once been a supervisor with a workforce of his own is taking over and he resents having to work twice as hard as HMG.

If and when I do run into AMG, I’m hoping he’ll apologize, which will give me an opening to share my thoughts. That I understand why he’s pulling back on his job duties, but that he will lose in this Corporate culture. Consequently, he needs to swallow his feelings and face the facts of life.

Homework

Yesterday’s plan to be at the University 11:00 sharp, to capture new creatures and possibly level up before the 2:00 cutoff at February’s PokémonGo Community Day, was preempted by daughter’s schedule freeing up, giving her a day to go new car shopping with me.

It was a lengthy process. I was exhausted, she was exhausted, but we got it done.

She’s quite cute and totally me, even down to the leather upholstery, with red stitching that has a country/western saddle look about it.

Next door neighbor calls her car Maxine. Maybe I should name the Jeep “Horse”, even though she’s a girl.

It’s been 14 years since I bought a new car and a lot has changed.

So many bells and whistles for me to learn.

The salesman, of course, went over all the features, but it was too much for me to take in while I was tired and stressed out. Most of what he had to show me went in one ear out the other, and I don’t know why new car buying isn’t listed on the stress scale. Purchasing a home is listed as a 100-point stressor, so I’d place new car buying at 110.

I absorbed so little of what the salesman demonstrated that I even had to refer to the manual to lift the trunk, after I’d driven her home yesterday, so I could open the back and attach my parking sticker to the rear window -- only it wasn’t referred to as “trunk” in the manual, but “tailgate”.

Shows how far behind the times I am because to me “trunk” is the back of an automobile while “tailgate” is a party.

While sitting on the couch last night, looking through the homework, trying to absorb some of what I need to know to operate all the bells and whistles, the words “parking brake” jumped out.

Oh oh, thought I. Accustomed as I am to pulling a lever back to engage the brake, I totally forgot the salesman showed me that I am now to push a lever down.

It was 10:30 by then, no way was I going out in the cold and dark night. I wasn’t parked on a slope, so I figured the Jeep would make it through the night without rolling away.

On tap for today was heading back down to set the parking brake and figuring out how to turn off the heated steering wheel feature because, driving her from the lot to the complex, my hands were way too warm and I didn’t know how to turn it off.

As I’m a simple no-frills person, I have a feeling a lot of the bells and whistles will never be used. But I guess it’s better to have and no need to use, than it is to not have. Plus I got a great deal and a lifetime warranty.

No Substitute

There just is no substitute for peace and quiet.

And that’s how its been since the smoke detector beeping was resolved – peaceful and quiet.

However, by the time the dust had settled yesterday, it was too late to head down to the Community Room to people watch and learn what else is going on in the complex during Pizza Tuesday delivery.

I also opted not to head down at 2:00 to take photos for the residents Facebook page at cake celebration for February birthdays. Instead, once it was quiet in my unit, I curled up on the couch, heater on (because I felt chilled to the bone), bundled up in the afghan my daughter made for me, watched television and occasionally glanced out the patio window at people going in and out of Cranky neighbor’s unit, helping her pack up to move.

You remember Cranky – the older lady who took the upstairs unit across the quad in December of 2016.

After 20 years of living in Nevada, she relocated to Sacramento, came to us from there and, a week after moving in, was threatening to move back to Henderson, Nevada, because “I like my unit but I don’t know where anything is in the area … I’m too old to make new friends … I don’t like how things are done here in California as opposed to New York”.

She also didn’t like the fact that she’d driven all the way to the post office on a Monday (Holiday), found it closed, doors open, but no forms in the counter area.

When she didn’t get the parking space she wanted, already angry about all the paperwork she’d had to provide to get a unit in the complex, it was complaints about how the office had no legal right to intrude into her financial privacy to the extent they did and “I’m so fed up with the office, so frustrated. I’m going to get an attorney, send a letter to the Attorney General.” 

Stating she’d previously contacted the Attorney General about a parking situation at the university where she’d taught, I was intrigued and asked “How’d THAT go?”

"I got a call at home. My husband picked up the phone and said, 'A Mr. ____ would like to speak with you.'"

"That's the Dean!" she said she’d uttered in surprise and, with a faraway look in her eyes, like she was remembering something very unpleasant, responded to my inquiry with, "He (the dean) was not happy with me".

I can’t image the Office of the Attorney General was any too happy with her either -- bothering them over such a trivial matter.

Another thing Cranky complained to me about was the son who’d moved her in. He was getting married, Cranky did not care for the woman and brought it up as another reason to move because, as she says she told her son “You’ve got two kids. She’s got two. You won’t need me anymore”.

Stopping into Starbucks at the new location one day, I spotted Cranky wiping a table down and made the mistake of making myself known, instead of sneaking away so as not to hear her complaints, by walking over and jokingly saying, “Are you the cleaning lady?”

That opened the door for her to complain about how “I can’t stand this that and the other” on a table. Which led to complaints about the new location, “I don’t like that the door doesn’t open properly and there’s this long wall of windows with no tables that have plug ins. All the plug-in stations are on that (indicating) wall and those (indicating) tables. Why couldn’t they have blocked off this (indicating) and yada yada yada.”

Since then, I’d been pretty successful at avoiding Cranky until she began attending Community Room events a few months ago. Lo and Behold, she wasn’t complaining (at least not to me), seemed to have settled into Community life and was having a good complaint-free time here.

But now she’s packing up and on the go yet again. This time to the Long Island area of New York, telling me she likes us but still hates California.

Oh well.

I’m once again hoping we’ll get some good-looking testosterone in that unit to balance out all the estrogen in the quad.

But I’m not holding my breath.

Someone is in Deep Bandini

The smoke detector in my unit began beeping around 4:50 yesterday afternoon. Not one loud long beep, but a sharp beep at every few second intervals.

Great, thought I. It would happen after the office closed.

Just on the off chance someone might be working overtime, I walked over, but no. They were all outta here at 4:00.

The Head Maintenance Guy lives just over the office, but he doesn’t give a damn, so I knew better than to ask, incur his anger and hear him repeat his mantra … “I’m off the clock!!!”

When Handsome Guy had glued himself to me at the potluck, one of the things he’d talked about was having a problem with his smoke detector after hours, which he’d resolved by removing the battery.

I really didn’t want to ask him for help, because I didn’t want to seem to be encouraging him and didn’t want him to know which unit I lived in. Not that I was worried about him being a bad guy, but because I didn’t want him misconstruing my calling on him for help as interest and, knowing where I live, give him the opportunity to stop by.

But the constant beeping was annoying, so I bit the bullet and knocked on Handsome Guy's door.

He followed me right over, detached the smoke detector cover from the ceiling, opened the battery compartment and removed the battery.

Didn’t work. Still beeping.

He decided I needed a replacement battery. Not having one, I said I’d go to Rite Aid, pick one up and, now that I saw how he opened up the battery case, felt confident I could handle the rest by myself.

He left his telephone number to call for further assistance just in case.

I was wrong. I couldn't handle it myself because, after I put in a new battery, the smoke detector kept right on beeping.

No way was I going to call on Handsome Guy again, so I called the Emergency Line.

It was the Assistant Maintenance Guy’s (AMG) turn to be on-call and he didn’t want to do his job. He asked me to disconnect the back-up by pulling out the plastic thing that housed the wires and wait until today. I tried, but couldn’t disconnect, at which point AMG said he’d call Handsome Guy to come back.

If I had called Handsome Guy, he would have come. However, Handsome Guy doesn’t like AMG, and for sure would have been aghast at being asked to do AMG's job for him; so knowing this, getting a headache from the constant beeping, I grabbed the Go Bag I’d prepared when we had that last fire on Little Mountain and authorities told us to standby to evacuate, took off and spent the night in a hotel.

Arriving back this morning, around 9:30, I found the smoke detector exactly as I'd left it.

Dangling from wires, still beeping.

Why is it so hard to get people to do the job they’re paid to do?

At any rate, I marched downstairs. Community Manager was busy with the Lady that Wants Braids, but Assistant Manager was available.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Good. Just got back from spending the night at a hotel because my smoke detector kept beeping”.

“Did you call the Emergency Line?”

“Yes, T___ (AMG) told me to disconnect it, unplug the wires.”

She got a puzzled look on her face.

“Why he told you that? … You’re not supposed to touch anything … That’s dangerous”.

AMG is in deep Bandini. Might even get a write-up for not only not responding to an emergency situation while on-call but telling a senior to perform a dangerous maintenance duty.

I know AMG is done with working here, has gotten into arguments with Head Maintenance Guy, walked off the job a couple times, is looking for a new job but, thus far, always comes back in a day or two or three; but he may not be allowed to come back next time or, with stunts like this, is on his way to being asked to leave.

At any rate, Head Maintenance Guy showed up and put in a new battery around 10:45.

I had him show me how to properly disconnect the smoke detector from the wires (there’re two little clips on the side) and which way to insert the plus minus 9 Volts. 

Even though I’m not to touch anything, I won’t be sitting around waiting on Maintenance, or escaping to a hotel, next time -- and there's always a next time.