once upon a time, erica, michele, and jacob got a house together. and when michele and jacob were signing the lease the subject matter of who exactly prunes the hedges came up.
ali, the landlord–not he of the 40 theives, replied quite unconcernedly, “oh some mexicans will come and take care of that every once in a while. the townhouse community hires out to mexican workers.”
“oh yes?” michele replied, “illegal immigrant mexicans?” *
“i couldn’t say,” ali replied, unfazed by the quickly exchanged horrified giggling faces of michele, jason, and jacob.
all this from a man who is obviously middle eastern, phd in pharmocology aside. thin ice to judge a mexican strawberry picker on, lemme tell you.
this morning as i lay peacefully slumbering in my new bed in my new yellow room, ali’s bitch of a wife, nancy, called. now yesterday, as erica and i were cleaning the kitchen and mopping the floor this harridan of a woman stopped by to inform us that after all we would have to remove the fridge, washer, and dryer ourselves as the people she rented the house too (filth notwithstanding) already had thier own. i was too flabbergasted by her gall to speak.
she had already said to us, mind you, “tired girls? well you wouldn’t be so tired if you cleaned once a week instead of once a year.”
affrontery. whore.
i was so sick yesterday, but even so i had trouble falling asleep as i lay pondering all the things i would have to do today: finish cleaning, get rid of the washer, dryer, and fridge SOMEHOW, return the tv box and modem box, clean my room, try to get fatus out from under the bed (does not move well), try to sign up for this class at dvc, go to the grocery store, and lay in bed to watch movies all day. over and over again my list of chores was gnawing at the corners of my mind as the snot was dripping steadily down the back of my throat to congeal in my lungs.
back to the story at hand (i blame it on the drugs) the old, wrinkled ho-bag who called this morning said that she had found some people who would very much like a free washer, dryer, and fridge and could pick them up today at 1pm.
she went on to inform my mother (who was fielding this call as i was still wheezing in bed) that, “these people could really use these things and i want to help them in any way i can since i wouldn’t rent the house to them.”
turns out “these people” had come to see the house but based on their appearence she didn’t trust them to be able to pay rent. she had expected them to want to pick the appliances up in the evening but since they wanted to do it at 1pm and she would be at work, she called me to come and supervise it.
“you can’t miss him” she told my mom, “he’s a short mexican. i really just couldn’t rent to them, they didn’t look like they could afford the rent. you know, it was like they were biting off more than they could chew.”
i shit you not. why did she feel compelled to tell all this to my mother?
it’s come full circle, my friends. we moved in to the house on scottsdale rd, and some mexicans trimmed our shrubbery. we moved out and some mexicans removed our refrigerator. i’m going to miss that place. hell, i miss it already.
*note. i never really said that.
Damn, I missed the ho-bag again! Actually, I really wish I had been there when she showed up. I’d say, “It’s true…maybe we’d be more rested if we cleaned more often. But you could scrub and scrub, and never remove the stains from YOUR HORRID BLACKENED HEART.” That’s when she’d scream and burn into a little pile of ashes. Then we’d dance.
and we would scre-giggle mwee hwee hwee hwee hee!
doods. i called the landlord’s cell cause i didn’t want to call her to see about setting up a final inspection turn over the keys whatever. last night i called. no one has called me back. i don’t know what to do. fuck em. also….when they were moving the fridge out…the floor got scratched…in several places….moan…we are so screwed. and the stairs still smelled like pee. argh!
I think I had to wait to comment on this one, because although I really enjoyed it, it seems wrong to comment on your excellent stylistic approach to the fact that your life smells like pee.
however, it is well written pee. and you can take that to the bank.
Did you take pictures before the people came to move the fridge? If so, then we could argue that since *she* said they could move it, *she’s* responsible for the scratches.
we could argue that without pictures. although i did take pictures. but not admittedly any of the kitchen floors. one of the dining room floor though. and um 23 other ones.
they have still not called me back about returning the keys. and someone was painting erica’s ex-bedroom when i went over there today to put the garbage can out.
Well, if they don’t want keys back, then I guess we’ve got access to a whole bunch of free stuff. Wait….was Al the one painting the bedroom? Or the new renters?
neither. 🙂 some painting dood. as far as i can tell al is still in new orleans not answering his cell phone.
stupid bitch woman called. wants to meet tonight. fuck her i say. i’ve got baseball to go to. not that i’ve called her back yet. but i’m sure i can return keys tomorrow.
You know i really don’t like the thought of pople like you talking about mexicans, it is rude. So what if mexicans pick strawberries, shit your fucking white trash ass is too fucking lazy, instead you just fucking sit on your ass waiting for your government check. Go out and fucking educate yourself. Oh and i am not illegale !
i think maybe if you read my post a little better you would notice that i was MOCKING my landlords who were the ones being RACIST. i was saying that they were assholes for saying such things. and i am in fact “educated” and know how to spell “illegal.”
you know what’s actually amusing though is that before i read your comment i noticed your name and you have the same name as my ex-landlord’s wife, the one who was not only racist but also a snob.
Ummm…I’m horribly confused. I was looking for some sugar shoes online when I stumbled onto this little spot of the internet. What is this exactly? Some friends that chat here, one of which has an obsession with sugar shoes (did you see the new lace-up-y coolness ones?), or something more public? Or I dunno, maybe I’m just dumb. But if someone would be so kind as to enlighten me I’d be forever (well, for a while anyway) grateful. You can e-mail me or I’ll just come back to this place in a few days…just whatever…i’m curious ~much thanks
I’m glad that you love sugar shoes.
I stumbled on this page and was in awe when I saw your brief headlines on your topics…”some mexicans came over to move my fridge”. I just had to read it. After reading it a couple of times I came to the conclusion that “you were” indeed justifying yourself of your shitty landlords. Obviously, Ali probably a 7-11 clerk himself at some point in his life has it out for Mexican people. Well, that is the world we live in. Ignorance is Bliss.
The only reason I had to respond to this is because I have been the designer of REDTRED (the mens line of shoes from RandS Trading “AKA” Sugar)for the last two seasons and that the designer for Sugar is a dear friend of mine (who happens to be Jewish)and…may I add…I am Mexican and grew up making an honest living with my family picking strawberries.
What a beautiful world we live in, huh KIds? The things you love in life always secretly come from people you hate…
what is WITH these people who don’t understand sarcasm? one of the people i lived with in that house is jewish. another one of my best friends is jewish. i have NOTHING against mexicans.
argh!
Come on, people, control your knee-jerk reactions. It’s nice that you’re keeping the world racism-free and I applaud your efforts but let’s try and expend our energy against the REAL racists, rather than the people who are MOCKING the racists. Read things more carefully before you rush to judgement.