A Big Pickle

Here’s a blog I think is very witty: I Blame the Patriarchy. A quote from her FAQ:

“I don’t mess with a blogroll because I read all the same liberal-ass blogs as everybody else. Also, blogrolls appear to raise awkward social issues which, as a spinster aunt attempting to lead a stress-free life of leisure, I prefer to avoid.”

Last week was very busy and stressful at work. By the end of Friday, I was quite looking forward to going to see my acupuncturist. It was extremely pleasant, as always.

On Saturday I walked to a pet store in Noe Valley to get 150 pounds of cat litter, which I brought home in a cab. Then I went to Rainbow and then I did my weekly cooking.

I had decided I had to see The Censor again, so Tom and I went on Saturday evening, and to Ananda Fuara beforehand for dinner. I’d warned him not to say “Ewww” out loud during the play, as I feared that’s what he would do when he saw the glistening turd, but it turned out I needn’t have worried; he didn’t turn a hair. As we were leaving, I realized why when he said he enjoyed the play but he didn’t get the part about the pickle.

You probably remember the brouhaha about the smoking neighbor and me getting in trouble with my building manager and all that. As it happens, since then that neighbor has become an absolutely model citizen (so it was all worth it, as far as I’m concerned). If she is smoking anywhere in the vicinity, it’s not detectable. I think she’s actually moved out and let a relative take her place, but Tom, who lives on the floor above mine, says he sees her.

Since then, I’ve had a couple of interactions with the building manager for other reasons, and they have been fine. Last week or so, she actually sent me an extremely kind note. I appreciate that we seem to be able to take each interaction as a fresh start.

A young couple moved onto my floor several months ago, really nice people. A couple of months ago, they let a friend step out their kitchen door into the trash area to smoke. Ten apartments have windows onto that area, so when someone smokes there, anyone whose windows are open will share in the experience, and probably even those whose windows aren’t open, as the two buildings in question are not exactly airtight.

I subsequently left them a note asking them to ask their guests to step out front to smoke. They didn’t respond and have never mentioned it, but have continued to be friendly, as always.

My last acrimonious discussion with the building manager, a couple of months ago, featured her saying she thought it was fine for people to smoke in the trash area. I said I thought not. She said, “We’ll just see about that,” or words to that effect, and then I never heard another word on the subject, so I concluded she had found out I was right.

Last weekend, I was in my kitchen and found it filling with smoke. I opened my kitchen door and there was a guest of the neighbors, smoking. I said, “Just checking to see where the smoke was coming from,” and she said she’d put it out. That suggested that the couple had decided to ignore my request.

When Tom and I got home from the play Saturday night, the young couple were having a party and people were smoking in that area. I opened my door and saw a fellow sitting on the stairs right outside my door, cigarette in hand. I told him it’s a no-smoking building and that he was filling my apartment with smoke. He was blatantly rude, swore at me and threw his cigarette at the building manager’s window.

I made ready to write a more strongly worded note to the neighbors, but then I remembered the ill effects of doing that last time, so I sent the building manager an email instead, which I dispatched with a certain amount of trepidation, given that our worst fights have started more or less that way.

It was 3 a.m. before I went to bed, as I spent much time composing a note to the neighbors and then the one to the building manager. I felt lousy when I got up the next day, and had the impending-doom feeling, too, as I was pretty sure I was going to get an unpleasant response. She might even say that she’d found out it was perfectly fine to smoke in that area.

It was helpful to notice I was feeling apprehensive and just let that be: a thought, a clutching in the stomach, so be it. Also, if 10 previous horrible emails haven’t killed me, probably the 11^th wouldn’t, either.