The start of a new year
and a new “Do Not” sign in the building. This one tells us not to
force the automatic door that leads to the outside world. I've been
wondering for some time who I share a building with and often feel
like I'm back in student halls, albeit less sociable ones. Last year
a series of unbelievable incidents have led me to question the
maturity of my co-inhabitants:
Exhibit One:
Someone has grafittied on
the wall beside the lift and it looks like something that would be
more commonplace among the rougher inner city schools and certainly
nothing Banksy would be proud of.
Exhibit Two:
The metal panels in the
lift have been kicked in by someone who clearly has anger management
issues.
Exhibit Three:
I get into the lift to
find the plastic flooring has been magicked away by some hilarious
prankster.
Exhibit Four:
The bin beside the lift
designed for the deposit of resident's junk mail has repeatedly gone
missing. As a result, it now seems to no longer be a permanent
feature of the building.
Exhibit Five:
The number for our post
box has been stolen, alongside several others.
Exhibit Six:
For weeks on end, a highly
considerate occupant of a flat below managed to block out our TV and
own stereo with grating dance tunes until someone else must have complained.
Exhibit Seven:
Unlike the flooring, the
mirror in the lift is still there but now completely smashed up.
Exhibit Eight:
After my dad's arrival for
the weekend and a few drinks in our local, we returned to the flat.
On entering the lift, we were met by an unbearably unpleasant smell
and a foul sight. The smell was indeed so vile, one of our number
decided to walk the twelve plus flights to the top while those
remaining edged around the walls of the lift and held our breath.
Later the next day the offending item was gone and the girl sharing
the lift with me asked if I knew what had been in the lift the day
before, claiming someone had managed to rather messily relieve
themselves - a security camera, our break-in couldn't prompt, swiftly
followed. I'm still puzzled as to which orifice the offending puddle
came from.
Exhibit Nine:
Our parking space has been
utilised by some ill-mannered chancer on numerous occasions.
Exhibit Ten:
There are now cigarette
burns on the stairwell carpet on the seventh floor.
And that isn't everything
- I could moan about the sacks of rubbish lazy and highly
inconsiderate residents occasionally litter the hallways with but I
won't go on. Who are these people and what's their problem with the
lift? And well done for prompting a rise in our maintenance fee –
thanks.
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