Maintenance Man

The Roach Motel

Let me tell you a story about two very nasty people.

Nope! Sorry to get your hopes up! Sadly, like the other six days in my week this does not involve X rated adventures and, if you ever saw the people I’m referring to (or walked into their ‘love-shack’) the sheer shock would be enough to induce retroactive birth-control throughout an entire solar system.

So, what happened? I cleaned out a rental unit yesterday & today…

N. A. S. T. Y.

I’m not talking about mere trashiness, sloppiness or *derp!* even chronic laziness… I’m talking about people so genetically defective that they were happy to live with THOUSANDS of cockroaches crawling in, under, around, over, and across every square inch of the place!

These inbred nasty sh*t-for-brains idiots didn’t even take their garbage to the dumpsters! They just filled a garbage bag, set it down and left it there until the plastic bag literally started dry-rotting.

Think about that a moment.
How long does it take a plastic bag to dry rot?
Inside and out of the weather.
Yeah… that long.

And the smell… not from the garbage. From the roaches.

Have you ever smelled roach poop? I’m talking ‘stinks bad enough that you’d be grateful to be in a barn face down in a pile of cow-sh*t’ stinkin’…

All of that and yet these people were LIVING in this place! (They weren’t paying any effing rent, thus their sheriff-induced eviction… but: THEY WERE LIVING THIS WAY!

Tonight; I tossed out an easy 100# of canned foods… where the cans had been hoarded so long that there were rusty rings from the roach poop/urine! Even better: the cans were the ‘scratch & dent’ veggies etc you get for 1/2 price before they start to swell up and the botulism grows legs.

EVERY.
SQUARE.
INCH.
… of this place is coated with either dead roaches, dying roaches or the surviving roaches fleeing the funeral!

Do you remember ‘Count Count’, from Sesame Street? Wellllll….. ‘COUNT ALONG AS WE USE TWELVE!!!!. *buahahahaaaahahhhaaaa* Twelve bug bombs! Not one! Not two! Not Three! Not six!!! TWELVE bug-bombs! *Buahahahahahahahaaaaa!*

Yeah. First I used 6 of the regular bombs – ALL 6 AT ONE TIME! I returned the next day only to see ( besides the dead and dying… ) THOUSANDS MORE ROACHES CRAWLING ON THE EFFING CEILING!

Ok – off to Lowes again for the heavy-duty ‘fumigators’!

I then set off 6 of those. Again – I SET OFF ALL SIX AT ONE TIME!

THAT, was barely enough JUST TO KNOCK THE POPULATION DOWN LONG ENOUGH TO CLEAR OUT THE EVICTED INBRED’S JUNK!

People say we need to help the mentally ill.
Yes. We do.

But we shouldn’t have to rent to them… and if you’re smart enough to see (and SMELL) these two winners coming your way you’ll run like hell and won’t rent to them either!

Want to know what pisses me off even more than having to wear a Tyvek suit to clean this place up (complete with booties, gloves and a filter mask)? What pisses me off is that these two high-divers into the shallow end of a very leaky gene pool ARE BOTH COLLECTING DISABILITY WHILE MY OLDEST SON (with CHROHN’S) HAS BEEN DENIED DISABILITY AFTER HAVING 4+ FEET OF INTESTINES REMOVED! (Social security says he isn’t sick… but these two asshat tenants are both collecting for being plain effing nasty.)

Nasty. F*cking. People.

No pictures. I should have taken them but didn’t want to waste a second (or breath) in the place… all I can say is this: When I went to the landfill dumping station, with all of it’s continuous slime, muck and trash? I know that roaches are there – have to be! But I’ve honestly never seen a single roach there!

I actually feel bad for dumping the crap from this sh*thole into the landfill!

*sigh*

Tune in tomorrow – I’ll post a picture of just one pile of dead roaches swept up JUST FROM THE KITCHEN. (* Spoiler alert: So far it’s more than will fit inside the dust pan.)

(Originally posted to FaceBook 01-05-2017)

Maintenance Man

Help Unwanted

Pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee ( or a bag of crack) and kick your shoes off… I’ve got another adventure in ‘The Life of Dwayne’… aka ‘Maintenance Man’.

What? Yeah – let me introduce myself. I’m a ‘maintenance man’ (aka: a Handy Man , Jack Leg , or Part-Time Native-English-Speaking Un-incarcerated Construction Type Worker). I do service work for small businesses, commercial property and (here’s where most of my agony comes from…) rental property.

Background: I’ve been trying to find a part time helper… someone who can help me out on weekends. Nothing major;  just someone who wants / needs some part-time cash… not a full-time job. Not an ‘official’ part-time job… just some extra money. You know – like 10,000 people claim they want right up to the point when they actually have to get out of bed & show up.

Scenario: I have a job that needs some general, un-skilled labor. Just the kind of thing where IF you can put your socks on without suffocating you can probably make it through the day and get paid. (Providing you don’t get athlete’s foot on your eyes or something…)

Anyhow – fast forward: I saw an ad on CraigsList for *drumroll please…*: Student laborers who wanted work! (Remember that word… ‘work’.)

I thought: “Cool – some students who need some extra cash, don’t want a full time job etc… just some quick beer money.”

Responded to one of these ads that specifically mentioned them being local college students who were LOOKING FOR WORK… so I offered them some work. Got no response at all. Zero. Zip. Nada. Nothing.

CraigsList students looking for work.Ok – why the hell did you post an ad saying you were looking for work? What? Yes… That’s right. I did say ‘WORK’.

I guess their response (had I gotten one) would have been “Oops. Sorry! We meant that we are LOOKING FOR work… but we don’t actually want to do any. Can we get paid now?”

Ok. I get it. They were just LOOKING for work. I’ll just move on to someone else or do it myself (as usual) but first let me post a gripe about this stupid crap on CraigsList.

(Big. Mistake. #1.)

Now I’m getting emails from *cough* ‘workers’ who have ten thousand reasons why I should throw money in the air just to ‘give them a chance’ since their probation officer thinks they really should probably think about getting a job soon so they’re not put back in jail for failure to pay restitution if they manage to get out on bail in time to work by payday.

One guy who sent a random ‘Hire me I’m sober! And out of jail this week!’ email was at least honest enough to tell me that while he doesn’t have a license to drive he has paid a lawyer to work on it!

Well. That’s all I needed to hear! Welcome aboard! (Not.)

Effing-idiots.

Keep in mind: I did NOT even post a ‘Help Wanted’ ad! I had posted in the CraigsList gripe section just to vent about people advertising there who claimed to want work – but who won’t actually respond when they are offered work.

Fast forward to an email I got from another guy who, at first glance, seemed reasonably balanced or at least was taking his medication. Deluded fool that I was I thought his initial email sounded halfway coherent.

(Here comes Big. Mistake. #2.)

I thought to myself: ‘What the heck.” & sent him a reply noting that his email sounded good, that it seemed like we were on the same page and that I was tired of looking for helpers & getting responses from people who didn’t have transportation or who would need to be bailed out every Monday morning.

Pro Email Tip!Like most businesses; my business emails all have contact phone numbers listed at the bottom of each one but “Bob” (Let’s call him “Bob”, ok?) somehow missed those numbers (THANK GOD!)… along with several other clues that he wasn’t gonna make the cut.

Here now follows “Bob’s” unedited email response exactly as he sent it including onegiantsentencewithlittlepunctuationorcapitalizationandhedoesn’thaveacar.

Without further adieu… I give you ‘Bob’:


Number one you did not send me your cell phone number number 2 I don’t drive I have no license but my work speaks for itself that’s why people come and pick me up I never miss work ask for references you can call -deleted business name- on -deleted street address- ask for -deleted fool’s name who hired me before- he is the owner of it and I’m working for him at this point in time and have worked for him for years no need for me to give you my references other references because they all I’ll tell you the same thing I’m worth my money don’t mean to be tooting my own horn but your message was just kind of blunt and straight off the cuff so with all that being said I saw what you put on Facebook I mean Craigslist and you were griping because you can’t get somebody to work well you got a man here it’ll be there every day for you A lot of the stuff you said in your email I don’t know about but I’m not stupid I can learn with all that I thank you for getting back with me and I hope to hear from you further have a great evening and a good week


Weep for me. This is why I work by myself even when I need a helper.  Need Cash for Alcohol Research

( Originally posted to FaceBook – September 30, 2016 )

Save

Save

Save

Save

Maintenance Man

Stone Cold Steve Autism

A while back I was wRicky from Trailer Park Boys standing in for the asshole from Lot 88orking on a job in a mobile home park and met the root cause of all tornadoes afflicting trailer parks world-wide… Seriously. God does want to wipe them out… here’s why.

( To set the scene: I drive a generic white work van with a trailer load of materials meaning it’s not the smallest vehicle in the world and can’t be left in the middle of the road. It is parked in a parking area that fronts several rental trailers in a group. Our guest of honor is a tenant in one of those units. Let’s call him Stone Cold Steve Autism after his wishful resemblance to a former wrestling star.)

Fast forward to about 5:15 when Stone Cold Steve Autism (complete with bullet head, beer muscles and overall cranky attitude) gets off work and is greatly offended that I do not magically know he wants to park in HIS (unreserved) spot in front of HIS unit.

So as we’re packing up I look outside and see this skin-headed asshat struttin’ around and striking a cocky pose behind his truck all while foaming at the mouth and yelling at anyone he sees about “his” space being blocked. Fantastic… just wonderful. Ok, we’re packing up anyhow so I’ll drag some tools out and move the van… right?

Wrong.

By the time I got out of the unit and down to the parking area this bonehead had backed his shiny pick-up truck behind my trailer, hooked a tow chain to his hitch and as I stepped outside yelled that if “I didn’t move it then he would!”

WTF?

How hard is it to say “Hey bubba! You’re in my favorite spot – can ya move please?” – “Sure! No problem! Sorry!” Instead ol’ Stone Cold Steve Autism is having apoplectic seizures while yelling he’d already told me not to park there yesterday

Um, no… No you didn’t. We’ve never met.

He went on hollering that if I didn’t move my van and trailer NOW then HE WOULD! He then told me he was going to:

  1. Hook his chain up and pull my van & trailer out himself.
  2. Call the police.
  3. Call the trailer park owner.


The first thing that goes through my mind is “Great. A pissed off drunk who’s mad at the world. The kind of idiot that gets mad when he opens that first bottle at 5AM and shit goes downhill from there.” Even better… ol’ Stone Cold Steve Autism here believes I’m the only thing standing between him and his favorite three letters of the alphabet: BEER. (Yes, I know beer has four letters but I didn’t want him to hurt himself thinking about that second ‘e’.)

Ok, fine. I get it. He’s pissed off and wants me to move… but with all the “I’m a baddass and you’re in MY spot!” bullshit he’s not in any mood to GET OUT OF THE F*CKING WAY so I can move… BUT! since he did try to threaten us with a few ideas of his own I told him I’d save him the trouble then immediately called both the park owner and the police myself.

“Huh?”

You could hear the gears grinding as he processed that and realized that the idiot routine just earned him one – maybe two, things. (In addition to that prized parking spot!)

First prize was a chat with the police. Check that off his wish list! Just like Dominos – they do deliver! The officer let me know that this wasn’t their first visit there and I got the impression that they figured on more festivities in the near future…
Second prize came when the landlord returned my call & let me know that it would be the LAST time he did that crap.

What the hell is wrong with people? I’d never set eyes on this numbskull before that Tuesday so I can only surmise that on the previous Monday he had given the carpet installers (for the neighboring unit where I was working) a ration of sh*t & assumed that if he yelled at one person with a white van and tells THOSE GUYS something then automagically EVERYONE with a white van will also know what he said.

Asshole.

(Originally posted June 23, 2015 on FaceBook.)

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Deteriorata

Catharsis

Catharsis (from Greek κάθαρσις katharsis meaning “purification” or “cleansing”) is the purification and purgation of emotions—especially pity and fear—through art[1] or any extreme change in emotion that results in renewal and restoration.[2][3] It is a metaphor originally used by Aristotle in the Poetics, comparing the effects of tragedy on the mind of a spectator to the effect of a cathartic on the body.
– WikiPedia

To those who know me… “Welcome back!” to those whom I have never met… a warm “Hello!” and to those with a restraining order… “Go to hell!”

I’m slowly figuring out this WordPress thing and (after managing to erase the whole damned thing once already…) am now in the process of copying over older tales of woe from BookFace, CraigsList & a few other places that didn’t have me locked up for posting there. There’s a lot of goofy shit left from the ‘theme’ I used for this site… I’ll get around to fixing it… after I figure out how to get the damned comments working again! For now… it’s a ‘read only’ site.

It’s going to take a while and suggestions on the site are welcome.

Why this site? Crazy shit, that’s why. Writing about it helps me realize “That shit ain’t normal.”

Friends used to tell me that I was crazy, or accuse me of making it up when I told them about some of these things that happen to me. After a while you start doubting it yourself… and it DOES become ‘normal’ but hell’s bells; you just don’t watch a woman drive up the wrong side of the interstate and go “Golly! That’s a nice car she’s got!”… no, instead you scream “AAAAAAAAAAAAgh!” and swerve out of the way!

Ok… if it’s just one crazy driver that you tell everyone about it becomes an interesting story… but thirty or sixty-thousand times later and everyone just goes ‘Meh – just another stupid bitch.’. They don’t even want to know about the homeless camp I wiped out while bouncing through the underbrush as I tried to get back onto the pavement.

So… sorry about the beenie-weenies and your campfire, boys. Blame those broken bones on that stupid bitch back on the interstate, but since you’re already laying there in pain… Let me tell ya a story…