I wake up to the sounds of the late-trash truck, birds outside our basement window, dogs barking from their yards at the trash truck, and the boisterous chatter of old black women on their way to church. I mean really, who the hell goes to church this early in the morning?? Oh yeah, and my ol' man is bawling through our apartment for me.
"Well, this is going to be one of those freakin' days," I thought to myself.
I can hear my father, annoyingly, bellow through our two bedroom apartment that he gets at a quarter of the price for being the landlord slash Superintendent.
I'm not a complicated person; just your average eighteen year old. I like rock and have a guitar w/ an amplifier that you might be able to hear just outside my room
if
I turn it all the way up, turn off every light in the house along with every appliance,
and
open my window. There are posters in my room on one wall of my favorite superheroes from when I was kid, or when I was younger, or however you want to view it. But most of my walls are now covered with hot sultry blonde and red-headed women in either leather bikinis with chaps & calf length boots, or baby-oiled from head to toe on their knees in bikinis in all kinds of positions. And yeah, even the ceiling is wall papered with their bishop-flogging delectable visages. Sue me. I'm eighteen with no girlfriend. I gotta get to sleep somehow.
Anyway, my old man is bellowing for me like we live in the Taj Mahal or something, and I roll out of bed and answer him with a petulant, "What!!"
I throw my lanky legs over the side of the mattress and onto the floor. Did I happen to mention that I'm not the athletic type? Who'd thought? At 5'11" and a solid one hundred and thirty-six pounds I'm not tall enough for basketball and "good ol' gumption" is not going to get me on the third string of the football team, much less near some cheerleaders, so why bother?
"Get your butt out here!! I got something I need you to do today!" He rumbles.
My dad, is not all bad; just when he's awake. He's balding, two-hundred and forty-six pounds and stands 6'2". I guess I have my mom's height. I definitely have her black Grecian hair and blue eye color. Don't ask where she is because I don't know. Remember when I said my dad wasn't all bad? Well, that went for when he was 'young and stupid' too, as he likes to put it when he talks about my mom.
You see she was a prostitute, new to the country but not so new to life. She knew how to make money and what it took to do so. So while my ol' man was showering after a particularly gratuitous romp in the hay, he told my mom to get her payment out of his wallet. She did and she also got a good look at his Newark driver's license. Lucky me.
Nine months later my old man is doing a lady from his tenement when he gets a knock at the door. He answers to find his newborn son in a fruit box lined with blankets. I'm just glad he didn't name me DuPont.
Anywho, I get dressed and come out of my room in a black Disturbed t-shirt and my best well worn jeans. I see my old man shuffling from the kitchen to the den's front door. His travel bag is packed and he has his good western shirt, jeans, and lizard steel tipped boots on. I say lizard because they sure as shite ain't alligator. I see all this and roll my eyes swearing quietly, "Ah, Christ..."
His has that goofy smile on his face because he knows I know what's coming next. Still all smiles he says, "I'm taking off for the weekend. So you know you'll have to make the rounds for rent."
He's grinning from ear to ear and I edge ever closer to that line when sons and fathers are going to bump heads and lock horns out of sheer stubbornness. I nod in a yeah-yeah kind of way, while he goes over what's to be expected. Then he hands me the List. I stop in my mental tracks of pushing him off the roof of this building. It's hanging there from his index finger and thumb. He's still smiling.
I do the only thing there is to do, I take it hesitantly like I'm expecting him to snatch it back and yell, "Naw, just fukkin' with ya!" But he doesn't.
He turns away and gathers his bag, putting it over his shoulder and opens the door. He puts on his cowboy hat and says to me over his shoulder.
"I think it's about time. I'm getting along in years and some of the tenets in this place have entirely too much energy," he shakes his head wistfully, and continues. "That's a young man's game. I'm going to play one at a time from now on. 'Till the playin's done."
He says the last like he watching something heading off over the horizon knowing its better that It goes, but he's going to miss It all the same. I see the regret on his face, it's only there a second or two, but I catch it. He then smiles at me telling his plans for the weekend include Ms. Gonzales.
She's pretty hot for a lady approaching her late forties, two grown kids and one teen-aged daughter. I remember her daughters and their brother; they were all pretty good to me. Her first girl was old enough that I was cute when she saw me, and the brother was just old enough to be a pseudo older brother from hell. The youngest girl now is maybe a freshman, I think, but she's smart and goes to a school uptown.
Ms. G comes to collect dad and she is something to look at if you're into cougars. She has a bit of waist all around but not so much it makes her butt and hips look any less grope-able in her One-Size Too Small jeans. They leave the building, going up the stair to the street and stroll out of sight. I stand in the doorway for a minute, quietly close the door, and then move to sit at the bar separating the kitchen from the den and read the List.
In case it hasn't come to you, the List is a list of all the tenets that can't pay their rent on time. Most of them need a three day extension or a ten day extension. It is a list of four or five tenets, all female, all willing, and all
know
what they might have to do to get the extension they want. And I'm sure you have figured out by now that I've
never
collected from anyone on the List.
I wasn't old enough and dad told me in no uncertain terms he was not, "'...going to let any of them worthless mooching whores have an opportunity to call CPS on him for pimping out his boy, just so they can stay in their apartment another month for free in the time it took the owner of the building to find a new landlord.'" End quote.
But I turned eighteen a few weeks ago and I guess dad thought this would be as good a gift as any. I have to say, I'm not complaining.
I check the clock. Crap!! I have thirty minutes before I have to start making rounds. I go shower, brush my teeth and put on deodorant. Collecting rent is never sunshine and roses. The ones on the List are the very last stops on my patrol of the building. I tuck it into my wallet and go by the regular Rent list sent by the city.
People know when the rent is due and they still insist on bullsh*ttin' the Super. They'll pull all kinds of crap too. Some will try not to speak English; Hmmph, nice try. Ever hear of Rosettastone? Dad gave me his copy the second I hit middle school.
Then they'll try to rush out of the apartment past you like they have somewhere to be. Dad taught me how to get past that one too. Wait for an opening, don't listen to all their quick talking B.S. and then when they've locked the door, just reach up and lock the Super's Lock. It's 4inch deadbolt. The city came up with it to protect the tenet from thieving Supers and to protect the Supers from swindling tenets.
What we have to do as Supers is let them know, while they are within the sound of our voice, that the door will be locked until they have paid. Many try that, 'I'll have the check when I come back' ploy. You just nod and say, 'Ok. I'll unlock it when you put that in my hand.' Most forget what they have to do and want to be let in to get the check. And if they don't come out, the cops get called and eviction is immediate. No muss, no fuss.
