Rich People Are Weird, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Act Like A House-Elf

Well, this was certainly a change of scenery.  The last maintenance job I did, I was ran off the property by gun wielding thugs in Section 8 apartments downtown.  I ended up writing three blogs about it.  So last week they sent me to the Pierhouse Channelside Luxury Apartments.  Here's the view:

Let me come straight out with it.  Rich people are weird.  There were a few rules that are considered standard there, and not found anywhere else.

1.  Don’t look at the residents. 

It seems the residents do not like to be looked at.  I guess my psychic abilities have the power to creep into their minds..... but only if I look directly into their souls.

2.  Don’t talk to the residents unless spoken to first.

...... Yes.... Mammie?

 

3.  Do not use the restroom in the office.  Use the ones by the pool area. 

 

I guess the whole, “separate but equal” thing still flies down here.

4.  Do not walk through the pool area, even if you have to go to the restroom.  Residents don’t like the hired help being around them when they are trying to concentrate while “pooling.” 

 

I should be a good house-elf.  The sign of a good house-elf is that he/she does all the housework without being seen.

 

So if I really have to pee, I can’t go in the office, but I can’t go through the pool area to get to the restroom I am supposed to go to?  I think I am a touch confused.  I mean, I could make like a dog, and go on a tree, but there are cameras everywhere, and I don’t want to end up on the internet as, “Sick weirdo thinks he’s a dog.”

 

 

Now, for a few musings to my porter co-workers that are sent to the Pierhouse.  There are a few things they should know if they are sent there in the future.

1.  You need a key to get anywhere. 

 

The whole place is in lockdown.  You cannot get into any part of the building without a key.  Which is fine.  But sometimes they need a few hours to track down a key for you.  They just don’t grow on trees you know.

2.  The dogs are a lot like the owners.

 

This is kind of weird.  Not bad, but just weird.  Usually any apartment complex I go to the dogs will come up and want to slobber all over me.  That’s fine.  Since I am dealing with garbage most of the time, I smell like garbage, and the dogs just love that!  So I play with the dogs, we rub each other bellies, and we all have a good time. 

 

But at the Pierhouse, the dogs ignore me.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  They just walk on by.  True story, I was on my hands and knees unwrapping a garden hose, and a resident with a boxer (the dog, not the fighter) came by.  The boxer gave me one sniff and just walked on by.  I was hoping for at least a face lick or something.  But nothing.  Again, it’s not a bad thing, just a weird thing.

3.  In three days I spent a total of 18 hours moving dirt downhill with a garden hose.  Seriously.  The parking garage needed “cleaned.”  So I figured I was going to take a pressure washer, and get rid of the oily spots.  No.  I was moving the dirt on the ground downhill with a garden hose.  I asked, “Why can’t I just use a blower?  I could knock it out in 20 minutes.”  I was told, “The residents don’t like dirt on their vehicles.  The blower would stir up too much dust and dirt.” 

 

If the residents don’t like dirt they are living on the wrong planet.  But what do I know?  I only have a History degree and not a science degree.  (Sidenote:  I couldn’t pass the chemistry.)

 

But let’s break down the water usage. 

3 gallons a minute X 60 minutes = 180 gallons an hour.

180 gallons X 18 hours = 3240 gallons of water.

Personally, I think that’s an awful waste of water just to move some dirt around.  And that was just one parking garage.  There is another one that needs to be “cleaned.”

4.  And speaking of the garage, the next time I am told to clean it, I want to update my life insurance.  It’s not so bad when I am on the 3rd story.  However, on Friday I was standing right in front of the garage entrance with a water hose praying that I would not be ran over by a yuppie assault vehicle. 

 

Those people were flying in and out of the garage around a blind curve.  I was sure they would find my corpse with a backwards Mercedes Benz  or Lexus logo smashed into my face.  I mean, can you imagine me lying in a coffin with that damned logo on my face?  They can’t spackle a corpse.  That logo is going to be there no matter what.

 

I was hoping that they would have a “Men Working” sign, but I guess they figured I wasn’t working that hard.

 

 

 

So that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.  I only ended up working there three days.  They had already hired someone permanently, and were waiting on the paperwork and drug test to come back.  I was just temping until then.  So I will be off to my next assignment.  Maybe it will be crazy enough to write about?