Part Two- The Wacky Characters from the Leasing Company and More

Have I mentioned that I hate moving? I do.

A lot.

Let me give you some background for the sake of better understanding. I found this cool little kickass abode in the trendy part of Atlanta. You can tell the trendy part because it’s where all of the gay people live. Not me. Them. Shut up. You don’t know me. So the apartment is in an 80 year-old building and was formerly inhabited by some guy for 5 years. Five years of living in his own excrement, judging by the condition of the place when I looked at it for the first time. They were hesitant to show it tome because it looked so crappy. I wanted to see it anyway, because 7 gazillion dollars a month (plus utilities) is a real bargain in that part of town, according to a bunch of people who wanted my money. The place was rotting from the inside out, and I told them I’d move in if they would fix the water damage (which would include re-framing at least one wall and completely replacing the floor in the bathroom), replace the carpets throughout, prime and repaint the walls, especially in the bedroom, where it looked like one corner was used exclusively for slaughtering cattle and weekly diarrhea target practice.

The owner of the building told me she’d put her best guy on the job. This dude’s name is Matt, but it’s pronounced MATT!! He seems to have some kind of voice modulation syndrome where he always screams, no matter where he is or whom he’s talking to. He’s not hard of hearing, and too young to be an old guy who just talks loud. He is frigging hilarious without even trying. He is doing a hell of a job, though. In under three weeks the guy has pretty much rebuilt the apartment, and I have stopped by every couple of days to offer a few words of encouragement and have him tell me very loudly what he’s going to do next. I went in the other day and he was standing on a scaffold he had built in the basement, his head even with where my bathroom floor used to be.

Hey Matt, how goes the battle? (Trying to sound all workman-ish and stuff)

GREAT, MAN!! I’M JUST RIPPING OUT THIS SHIT HERE, GONNA’ USE THESE BEAMS TO HOLD THE JOISTS AND PUT THE ROCK ON TOP OF THAT!!! YOU WANNA BEER!?! I GOT SOME BEER!!! GRAB ONE IF YOU WANT IT!!!

Funny thing happens here. He’s wearing a dust mask and glasses that vibrate and create a cloud whenever he speaks, and for some reason I think I should yell too. I’m contemplating a lukewarm Schlitz, thinking what a great idea it would be to get trashed in a collapsing apartment with no floor in the bathroom while playing with power tools, and I answer- NAW, I’LL DRINK MY OWN WHEN I GET HOME! And immediately wonder why I just yelled.

COOL, BRO’!!! I’M WAITING FOR MY COWORKER TO GET BACK HERE!! I THINK I PISSED HIM OFF CAUSE I ASKED HIM WHEN HE WAS COMIN’ BACK AND HE HAD BEEN HERE ALL MORNIN’ BUT I DIDN’T KNOW THAT SO HE THINKS I’M BUSTIN HIS NUTS OVER IT, BUT I AIN’T!! I JUST WANT HIM TO GET HIS ASS BACK HERE SO I DON’T HAVE TO CLIMB UP AND DOWN THIS FUCKIN’ SCAFFOLD EVERY TIME I NEED A HAMMER!!

Seriously, every person I have dealt with during this whole renting process could have their own cartoon. The landlord is this lady in her late fifties with loud jewelry and comically huge tits. Fishermen could use her hair as a gill net, and she smells like one of those scented candle stores in the mall. She’s your typical type “A” personality or whatever who won’t let you finish a sentence because they already know exactly what you are trying to say and thought of the solution the night before. Here’s a transcript of a conversation I had with her a few days ago-

Hi, Connie, this is Dusty, I’m going to be renting th-

Oh yeah, hi Dusty how can I help you?

Just wondering what the timeline looked like for my pad so I can get out of my-

OH, they’ll be done tomorrow or Friday.

The carpet hasn’t even been ordered yet and there is no floor in the bathroo-

He’ll have that done real quick. I’m all over him to hurry up. Is there anything else?

Okay, I can’t really move anything in until the carp-

Wait a minute honey, you aren’t putting a thing in there until you sign a lease and I have some money.

Yes, Connie. I have done this before. You need to let me finish a sentence before you start talking. That would help. I was trying to tell you that once the carpet is in I would like to sign the lease if everything else is fixed to where I am happy with-

What do you mean? You’re not buying the place. You don’t have to worry about it.

See? You did it again. Just so you know, I’m not signing anything until I am happy with the condition of the pl-

Oh, it’ll be fi-

-CONDITION OF THE PLACE, BECAUSE I WILL BE LIVING THERE FOR AT LEAST A YEAR AND I DON”T WANT TO HAVE YOUR MAINTENANCE GUYS COMING OVER EVERY WEEK BECAUSE SOMETHING IS FALLING APART. PLEASE STOP INTERRUPTING ME. WHAT I HAVE TO SAY IS IMPORTANT.

Now I know why Matt yells.

All of that got ironed out, and I now reside on North Highland Drive in a spacious one-bedroom apartment with lots of windows and two balconies. The back balcony will be used as a sniper post for the next asspot who tries breaking into my car.

I am in dire need of furniture, and have made a vow that my place will look more like an adult lives there and less like the waiting room at a methadone clinic. I went to home depot and a couple of other places last Sunday to buy stuff for my place, and I took the ladyfriend with me so I wouldn’t just come home with a bunch of tools and a couch I found on the road. Now I have decent blinds to keep out the prying eyes of those who would watch our hero undress and breakdance naked without paying the requisite twenty five cents a gander. No one peeps for free. I also have a shelf thing in the bathroom that looks all modern and cool and proudly displays my towel with the words “Big Daddy” embroidered on it, and a clothes hamper, as well as some other stuff I needed (tools). I have one chair, my bed, and my workbench in my room. If any of you want to help me move a huge TV, entertainment center, and hide-a-couch from my storage unit to my apartment, drop me a line and I’ll give you the keys.

In other news, I finished doing my taxes today. I owe the state of Georgia one dollar.

They would arrest me if I didn’t pay that dollar, too. I find that amusing to the point of absurdity.

Happily, the federal government owes me $34. After I pay my debt to the state, I’ll have 33 fat clams sitting in my bank account that I can do whatever I want to with. Oh, I’ll probably just keep working every day like nothing ever happened, and I won’t tell anyone about my “nest egg”, but it will certainly come in handy if I ever lose my job, need a new moon roof for the rolls, or decide to quit selling heroine.

There’s your update. I’ll write another one when something interesting happens.

Mad Love and Phatty Daps,

-=PT=-

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