You See … What Had Happened Was

Around 3:00 p.m. today, the continuing sound of a helicopter directly overhead finally drew me out onto the patio to see what was up.

On the tape, I was joking that it couldn’t be escapee Danelo Cavalcante, because he’d already been caught … in Philadelphia.

Whoever they were looking for, it had to be serious to call up the chopper, plus I'd also heard sirens, but went back to what I was doing, didn’t think too much of it.

That is … I didn’t think too much of it until I began hearing loud voices, what sounded like feet running on the ground, more sirens. Sirens that seemed to stop right outside the gate.

I slipped on my sandals, headed outside to gather intel.

To be clear, no one was shot. The old guy was saying he wished the guy being chased had been shot.

Also, to be clear, the ten he was referring to are the ten Deputy Sheriffs, running through the complex, trying to catch the guy with the help of the helicopter.

So, that’s the intel this resident was able to provide.

But wait …. There’s more.

Walking towards the side of the complex, where the Deputies had caught up with the guy, I got an even more complete story from the resident who lives next door to where my old buddy Apache lived.

She said she’d heard a commotion, looked out, saw a white car had squealed up to the curb, some guy with a bat in his hand jump out, appearing to have chased down a guy who was running away from him.

The running man being chased, tried to escape the bat carrying man by jumping the fence right in front of her unit; whereupon she locked her patio window and watched as bat carrying man also jumped the wrought iron fence.

Why do we even have fencing when young men just parkour over like it's nothing. Come onto the property to break into cars, steal converters, etc.

At any rate, with both guys having made it over the fence, the chase through the complex was on, but ended while still in her area, when bat carrying man saw the Deputies arrive.

He jumped back over the fence to his car and drove away as the Deputies took up the chase.

Where they caught up with running man was the side of the complex where Apache used to live. Not too far from where he originally parkoured over the fence, but I’ve since heard he got chased back that way because deputies were all over the place.

Must have been a rough takedown, because the fire rescue, ambulance and gurney were for running man.

Couldn’t have been too hurt because, by the time I’d walked over, running man was in the deputy’s car.

I stuck around for a while, trying to get a look at running man, but got tired of waiting for them to wrap it up, went back to what I was doing.

Too bad this didn’t happen while the Inspectors were on the property. Might have given them pause to look more closely into what goes on around here, suggest better wrought iron fencing for our protection ... one with a spike tip.

TGIS!!

Thank God it’s Saturday. First day, since the Great Inspection began that, instead of rushing to complete my morning rituals earlier than I normally do, so as not to be caught unprepared should the Inspectors knock at the door, today and tomorrow I can relax, get bathed, dressed, feed myself at leisure because it's the weekend. The office is closed, so it’s a safe bet the Inspectors won’t be on the complex today and tomorrow.

In fact, there were no sightings of the Inspectors at all yesterday. Are they done and have moved on sooner than expected?

I guess we’ll find out if they show up on Monday.

Big Friendly Guy tells me it’s no big deal. That the Inspectors are only looking at 25 of the 178 units, and no one is expecting any great shakes coming from it — like Upstairs Lady getting a stove with handles out of this inspection, or something being done about the mold in her dishwasher and/or Di getting a new refrigerator to replace her moldy one, which management told her to push her food to the middle, don’t let food touch the refrigerator walls and/or our 86 year old Buttons, whose lived in the same unit for 24 years, will get new carpet or the walls painted, so on and so forth.

All in all, thus far, the Great Inspection has been about as dull and uninteresting as the Hurricane that came to the area and left leaving only a few rain puddles.

After asking around, only two people I know have actually been inspected. One wasn’t home when they came, but knows they were there because they left a business card on her door.

Seeing the Inspectors walking up the stairs towards Shadow’s unit, I’d assumed he'd been inspected. He was not. It was his next-door neighbor, a member of Red Light’s posse, whom I’ll be calling Her Haughtiness in the blog, because that’s how I read her.

Other than exchanging pleasantries when we pass on the walkway, she and I don’t talk, so I can’t ask her about the inspection. Especially now I can’t ask her because I pissed her off at bingo by squeezing the HEN OF SILENCE, also known as the SHUT UP CHICKEN, at her and Red Light because they’d been talking talking talking talking gossiping gossiping gossiping during bingo about someone who was "stubborn", someone who "smelled like pee" yada yada yada.

There’s plenty of time to talk, chit chat, gossip before the games begin, in between games, during break, after bingo, but those two were at it constantly, consistently, through the games, annoying the hell outa me because, though unsuccessfully trying to keep their voices low, I couldn’t block out the chatter as they were sitting behind me.

I could tell the Caller was also annoyed, as she kept looking over at them but, whereas the Caller has previously shown no reluctance to squeeze the Hen of Silence, as you can see from the look on her face when she’s used it in the past.

She was reluctant to squeeze the chicken, or remind the two that if they continued talking during the game, they would be asked to leave, because that’s the rule and how she handles yakety yakers. Probably reluctant because Red Light is the bingo organizer, and she (the Caller) is part of the posse Red Light controls.

I’m a fringe member of the posse, don’t care whether I’m in or out of their circle, so I walked over, picked up the Hen, walked back to where Red Light and her Haughtiness were deep in conversation, and squeezed it at them.

Startled them it did, LOL.

Red Light later apologized for annoying me ……… if she only knew how often she does.

Her Haughtiness, embarrassed at my calling the room’s attention to her misbehaving, was all tight mouthed and, at the end of bingo, quickly exited.

Will be interesting to see if she ever exchanges pleasantries with me again, or comes back to bingo. If not, well then sorry, not sorry.

P.S.  Though the locks were still in place, I noticed management removed all the signs in the Community Room and on the refrigerator telling us we cannot use THEIR refrigerator. Guess they didn't want the Inspectors to see how they treat us.

The Great Inspection

My wish for a break from Red Light came true, as I’ve not heard her voice, have not seen hide nor hair of her all week.

Tomorrow is bingo Friday, so whatever spell has been cast, that kept her quiet, will then come to an end.

Heading out for yesterday’s workout, I spied the inspectors, walking around with their little clipboards, being accompanied by an uncomfortable looking Head Maintenance Guy.

Smiling to myself, at seeing HMG looking uncomfortable, transmitted itself, because HMG turned, looked at me, smiled, kind of shrugged his shoulders — like, oh well.

One of the inspectors also turned, saw me, smiled, said "hello".

They looked to be heading for Shadow’s unit and probably chose him because of his American flag.

The two inspectors — who looked like tough guy Union Representatives, seemed like the kind of guys who would appreciate seeing an American Flag, have probably served in one branch of the military or another, would be curious to see and talk to the resident of that unit.

Shadow’s story — if you believe it, is that he was a sniper in the Army, bragged about being a Purple Heart recipient, only I couldn’t find him listed in the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor site.

The flag on his patio leads me to believe he did serve, very possibly could have been a sniper, but he certainly was no Officer or a Gentleman because, after he pulled my use-to-be friend The Seer into his web, he went around bragging to the guys about "how fast she dropped her panties" for him.

Inasmuch as the inspectors were only one building over when I left for yesterday’s workout, upon returning, I checked with Next Door Neighbor to see if they’d entered my place while I was gone and/or inspected hers.

Not yet. Instead, I saw them hopscotching, later in the day, to other buildings.

Next Door Neighbor took the opportunity of my knocking on her door, asking about the inspectors, to invite me in, reassure her …… as if she really needed any reassurances.

As I’ve previously blogged, that tacky doormat of hers belies the fact that the inside of her unit is breathtaking, like a museum.

What she asked me, as she walked around naming objects as being a fancy brand name this, a fancy brand name that, brand names that are so far above me that I’ve never heard of them, was "Is my unit okay for Section 8?".

"Are you kidding? Your unit looks like a museum. You have exquisite taste and probably the most beautifully decorated unit in the complex".

I meant it, even though I wasn’t impressed with the brand name bed, mattress, dressers, armoire, wall art, etc. she so proudly pointed out — some collected when married to her high ranking military officer husband, who provided her with a fancy lifestyle, servants, but whom she divorced because he was a wife beater.

Thinking about that conversation this morning, the way my non-impressive This End Up, Pier 1, Walmart, Target furnishings/decor doesn’t compare, it occurred to me THAT may be how she ended up on Section 8 — the materialistic need to continue the lifestyle she once had … bring in, own, showcase top of the line, most expensive this that the other.

So, anyway, with seven more days of inspections to go, the guys may get to this building yet.

Along with their looking like tough guy Union Representatives, the two inspectors had GQP Republican vibes, which means they’re not gonna like my can’t miss seeing anti Inmate# P01135809 cups and voodoo doll.

In other news, granddaughter sent me a t-shirt commemorating the August 5th Alabama Boat Brawl.

Front

I pimped it up a bit by adding my chair training photo.

Back

Hot, Muggy, Drama Free

This past weekend went well. I had no contact with, nor did I observe any of the Usual Suspects so, if there was any drama afoot, I did not hear about it.

Notwithstanding today being a sad reminder of 9/11, the week started off well with my getting a promising referral to a nail salon from Trainer’s primo female fighter.

She didn’t know the name of the nail technician. Just said she’s the "older, short, fat one" and really good on pedicures.

Older ladies do tend to give the best pedicures as they deep clean and scrub to the point of almost taking the skin off your bones. However, the younger girls give better manicures. So sounds like it will be a tradeoff — great pedicure, iffy manicure, but we shall see.

I did my own mani/pedi over the weekend, so it will be some time before I check out the salon, but I’ve got a good feeling about this referral.

Of course, I can’t walk in, ask for the "older short fat one" so, when the time comes, hopefully I’ll get eyes on her and can just point, say "that one", LOL.

Tomorrow is the beginning of a massive inspection.

Not the usual local housing department inspection, where management kept the inspectors away from units they didn’t want the inspectors to see, and led them to vacant units in tip top condition.

This time it's the independent body that monitors compliance in order for Corporate, and the complex, to continue to receive whatever State tax deductions they receive.

Supposedly, management has no control over which units are inspected, the inspectors decide, and the inspectors are mostly only here to see that "fixtures" operate properly.

It’s a good thing Assistant Maintenance Guy corrected all the shoddy work Head Maintenance Guy did with my kitchen and bathroom faucets and, with no other problems in this unit, it’s a no problem pass for management if this unit is chosen.

Considering all the problems I’ve heard others have in their units, I’m not so sure. But management is skirring around, covering their arses with notices posted to our doors to "Please confirm that all fixtures are in proper working condition, notify management immediately of any concerns".

So NOW they care.

This sudden caring that fixtures are working properly will last only as long as the inspection and it’s a long inspection — from the 12th through the 20th, 9 Days

No telling what the inspectors will find from hanging around here that long.

The bad thing is that if management loses any tax benefits, they’ll pass their financial loss off onto us with higher rents.

Going to be an interesting nine days.

You See … What Had Happened Was

You can’t believe how happy I am for this week to come to an end. Way too much has been going on.

Actually, thinking back, too much has been going on for some time … period. I’ve consistently had something to blog about, haven’t had an "I’ve got nothing" post since November of 2022.

I really need things to slow down, be less interesting for a while.

Icing on the cake for the end of this week is that today is a no-bingo Friday. I can take a little break, lock myself away from the world until Monday, and if Red Light doesn’t hold a seance underneath my window, have nothing interesting to post for a while.

Looking at the jeep’s instrument panel, on my way to this morning’s workout, checking the psi show, I’m fairly convinced I’m being paranoid about losing pressure in the passenger side rear tire.

I’m a little traumatized by Tuesday's blowout, not expecting the paranoia to go away anytime soon, so I’ll continue to check in on that psi show.

Arriving for my 12:15 appointment at the tire place yesterday, being told the process would take about 45 minutes, I thought to spend the time getting a mani/pedi at the salon I spied two buildings down.

Sticking my head inside the salon door, I saw a young lady working on a customer. "May I help you?", said she.

"Do you take walk-ins?"

"Yes. Have a seat at the chair on the end".

I settle down in the chair, take my toe rings off, so they won’t get washed away in the warm soapy foot spa water — as they have in the past, and put them away for safe keeping.

After a minute or two or three went by, I could hear a noise coming from the back room. It sounded like I’d arrived while the manicurist was eating her lunch, so I patiently waited another few minutes.

You see, what happened was … When the curtain to the back room finally opened, out came this old grandfatherly looking guy — and yes, I said old, because in his case it fit, while the shoe did not fit when tossed towards me.

When I saw him go to fill the manicure bowl, realized he was the manicurist, my eyes got wide, my spirit whispered "No", so I got up, began walking towards the exit door.

Behind me, I could hear grandpa manicurist say something. I didn’t make out what he said, but replied "No" just the same and fled the salon, no explanation.

I’m not proud of how I reacted — panicking, running out, and I’m sorry if I hurt grandpa’s feelings, but my reaction seemed the necessary thing to do at the time as I could not fanthom the idea of grandpa rubbing my feet, my arms, legs, touching me …… period.

In retrospect, grandpa was probably the owner, down a few manicurists, a skilled manicurist himself, and probably not as old as he looked, younger than I even, but still …………

At any rate, even if I see tons of manicurists working in the salon, next time in the area, I can’t show my face there again.

Trainer tells me he had the same thing happen to him, back when he was working as a physical therapist — only HE was the one to walk out.

When he entered the treatment room, the client took one look at him, said "NO!", so he immediately turned around, walked out, went to the front desk, explained what had just happened, and a physical therapists to the client’s liking was arranged for.

Trainer said he didn’t take it personal so, hopefully, grandpa isn’t too hurt by my running from him.

Delayed Reaction

My insurer’s roadside assistance app would not accept my password on Tuesday when I needed it. It didn’t open later that day when, arriving back at the complex, I double checked my list of passwords, saw I did not make a mistake, tried the app again.

Checking the app yesterday, it opened, no problem.

Go figure.

There is no such thing as a coincidence, so I guess that day worked out the way it was intended to.

Perhaps the Universe was testing my patience. If so, I passed with flying colors as I was nonplussed by the whole tire thing, start to finish. Took everything in stride.

Didn’t even realize a blowout on the freeway was dangerous until, at yesterday’s workout, Trainer said one of his trainees had a tire blow on the freeway. Trainee’s car rolled over three/four times, ended up in the dirt off the side of the freeway. Trainee was injured, but alive.

NOW I’m even more afraid, when I get behind the wheel, than I was before. In fact, heading to the tire shop this morning to pick up the new tire, I was so stressed — imaging the car didn’t feel right, one side was higher than the other, an object was in other tires waiting to cause a blowout that, by the time I reached the tire place, I’d worried myself into a migraine.

The imaginings continued on the way home, as I am now convinced I’m losing air, have a slow leak, in the passenger rear tire.

Time will tell.

In other news, watching Red Light yet again holding court yesterday afternoon over by the bench along the walkway, I once again became curious as to what line of work she was in before arriving here and had the bright idea to google her name expecting nothing.

Surprise Surprise, data on her popped up straightaway, photo included.

Her background is that of being a member of an affordable housing advisory board. Her specific title "Activities Coordinator".

Adds up, doesn’t it?

You can take the woman out of the job, but you can’t take the job out of the woman. She can’t let go.