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Sometimes we all overhear things that really disturb us. Recently, I overheard an upsetting conversation at a building owner's office.
Employee to Landlord: "Mrs. Smith called. She wants to see if you can freeze
her rent--not decrease it, but she just wants it frozen for the next year. Her
husband died recently and she's having trouble making it on the money the
government gives her from his benefits."
Without a moment's
hesitation, the landlord says, "No way. Forget it. If she wants a cheaper
rent she can move to another apartment in one of our buildings."
In my head, I was picturing Mrs. Smith as a feeble old lady, one who had lived in her rent controlled apartment for decades and still has a kitchen that was considered cutting edge--in the 1950s. Later on, I found out that Mrs. Smith's rent was not cheap, at least not in non-investment banker terms. The rent's just under $2000 a month for a market rate apartment.
Hell, I couldn't swing that, and neither could most of my friends, even those with decent jobs. That's why most of us either shack up or have roommates. The reality is that almost none of the other apartments Mrs. Smith might consider are any cheaper than where she lives now. So she either stays where she is and endures a rent increase she can't really afford, or endures the stressful undertaking (and cost) of a move.
Rather than allow this woman to coast along at the same rent as she paid up until now, this greedy landlord expect a recently widowed, possibly broken hearted and perhaps financially broke woman to pick up her life and move. To leave the apartment she shared with her husband and that she has called home for years, all so the landlord could re-rent the place for a couple hundred bucks more a month.
What complete and utter nonsense. What cruelty. And instead of taking what I felt was a reasonable request in stride, the landlord went on to complain about how rent control should be abolished--to twist things around and play the victim. As if somehow the landlord were the innocent victim of the system. As if somehow that would make a penny's worth of difference. Rent control or no, some landlords would take every opportunity to raise the rent of anyone, even a mouse in the basement if doing so were a viable option.
In other (hypothetical) words, rent control should be abolished so greedy landlords can charge top dollar for shithole apartments in shoddily-maintained buildings laden with violations? A few rent controlled and stabilized units might indeed drag down the bottom line a bit, but the outrageous prices so many owners charge--and get--for the market rate apartments should balance things out. If not, clearly the landlord is not managing the properties properly.
If a landlord is so obsessed with lining pockets with cash, then perhaps they should hire one of the i-bankers they love to rent to to manage their stock portfolios. Stop getting rich off the backs of others. (I know, I'm delusional and dreaming.)
This my friends, is a ground level story about why New York is losing one of its most vital resources--interesting people. In the name of greed, eventually no one but the i-bankers will be able to afford to live here. The artists, the avant-garde, and the just plain weirdos who keep our city alive and real will move on. Some say they already have.
Full disclosure: I've done deals, and gotten paid commissions from my fair share of lawyers, doctors, and finance types. But I've also busted ass to land rent-stabilized places for artists, helped many students find the last affordable and viable apartments in Manhattan, and generally gone to bat for dozens of clients to get them into decent and affordable apartments.
So yes, new people with fresh hopes and creative leanings continue moving to NYC all the time. Lots of people still believe in the idea of bohemian, artist-friendly New York. I like to think we still have a few good years left, but when I see cold, heartless maneuvers like the above, my doubts kick in, and the good days seem numbered. I see red. I see a game of chess where winning moves are incredibly unkind, short-sighted, and cruel.
Long story short, my cell phone is broken beyond repair. It's a weird feeling, being this disconnected. It kinda spooked me initially, knowing that I can't call for help if anything bad happens. Nor can anyone reach me. Good thing I had nothing but a whole lot of nothing planned for this weekend. Otherwise I'd be SOL.
I'm in the process of using my wireless world connections to get a deal on a new (or new to me) phone. Adding to the disconnectedness, my land line, or at least the phone unit at home, croaked earlier this week. (Yes, I keep a landline. Perhaps that makes me seem impossibly old school and dated. Bear in mind: I was here in NY during 9-11, and phone service was erratic on both land lines and cells. I feel a smidge safer having a house phone.)
Seriously, only a select few people have my house phone number; I don't give it out; and I only use it when the cell is down or off because I can't stand the incessant ringing (really, vibing), anymore. In light of that, I'm quite fed up with paying around $50 a month for a house phone that's used more as a psychological safety net than anything else. So around 4 a.m. this morning, I ran across an infomercial for this: the Magic Jack.
It sounds almost too good to be true. The consumer reviews are somewhat mixed, but it seems that for light use, such as what I'd intend it for, it would be adequate. It hooks right into the DSL/high speed internet connection. If anyone has any thoughts on or experiences with this Jack thing, drop me a line or leave a comment.
In other news, I've added Google Analytics to this blog to help me track traffic, who is reading it, etc. A friend of mine tipped me off to it. We'll see if tech-challenged me can figure it out once it's gathered it's first round of data.
Like an unrepentent romantic who keeps hoping a wayward lover will be true one day, every broker lives with the never-ending hope that despite the usual pains and pangs of deal-making, there is easy money to be made in this business.
That hope gets dashed on a weekly basis, if not more often. Case in point: I have a space that came onto the market recently. I got the keys and the very next day got a great offer from the first person who saw it. What's more, the normally cautious landlord adored the clients, even saying, "I liked them so much I would've spent the rest of the afternoon talking with them. But I had another appointment."
That sort of gushing rarely happens with this landlord. It was all brilliantly painless and easy. The kind of easy when you almost feel guilty for cashing the commission check.
Just a few bits of paperwork, a quick credit check, and we would be all set to sign leases. Except the clients began dragging their feet regarding the paperwork and running the credit. I warned them that the landlord would think that they were losing interest. Since we both knew they were still very much interested (right?)--they should work to seal the deal pronto.
I remember feeling a twinge of worry at that point, but I brushed it aside.
I shouldn't have. They backed out the next day, saying that the space would cost them too much.
The landlord was so disappointed in the idea of losing them, and our deal, that he immediately knocked the rent down by several hundred dollars. I'm still waiting to hear back from the clients. Far from feeling elated, I'm feeling more resigned at this point. Frankly, I'll be surprised if this all works out.
There are no easy deals. That idealistic, optimistic part of me still wants to believe in easy money, even though obviously we should all know better by now.
I've been feeling so overwhelmed lately. Work is exhausting yet often tedious, and I am not hitting the gym as much as I should be. To help make up for my backsliding, I end up walking home from work most days and running errands on foot. Or, like one of my friends says, "putting the ol' 'get off the subway a few stops early' weight-control plan into place."
If I were living this way (long stretches of being seated, not going to the gym enough, and eating junk food for dinner), in any other city in the United States, with the possibly hilly exception of San Francisco, I'd be a cow. Luckily, one can stay in reasonably good shape in New York just by walking a lot, carrying groceries home, taking the stairs, etc.
So the occassional slice of chocolate cake for dinner won't ruin things, at least not just yet. Good thing, because I just had a very fugdey brownie from Blockhead's for dinner.
POLITICALLY CORRECT DISCLAIMER:
The following is in no way intended to make light of the very real plight of those who have ancestors who toiled on plantations, or heaven forbid, those who still toil in extreme conditions to this day. My intent here is to show how the Plantation Mentality finds more seemingly benign ways to manifest itself in our modern society, and to show that the mentality is alive and well today, even if not carried out as often in its most extreme and dehumanizing forms.
/END POLITICALLY CORRECT DISCLAIMER.
It's come to my thoughts lately that my actual job isn't so horrid. Sure, like any job, there are duties I find tedious, clients who annoy, and days from hell. But the actual work itself has taught me plenty, and most of my co-workers, with a few exceptions (all in upper, upper management), are hard working and personable.
However, I think the real kicker for me is the "service with a smile" nonsense. Don't get me wrong--I think one should strive to be pleasant enough on the job and not throw a lot of attitude around. Attitude on the job remimds me of anchovies on the plate--both should be used sparingly and infrequently lest others get offended and/or stop taking you seriously. And yes, I do admit that I have tried very hard to keep my attitude in check and to only use it when absolutely necessary. Even so, it does slip out every now and then, in much the same way a wayward anchovy might make its way onto some poor sap's unsuspecting Caesar salad. A girl like me can't help it (the attitude, not the anchovies. I assure you I am adept at anchovy avoidance and sick of the metaphor already), especially in a disorganized and chaotic business like the one we work in.
All of that aside, Management seems to feel that we employees should be throwing ourselves at their feet and writhing in ecstasy every time they make a stupid request. Yes, I said stupid. Asking the same thing twenty times, all the while knowing not a damn thing has changed, certainly does qualify as stupid in my book. Failure to answer with anything other that saccharine cheer-itude is met with passive aggressive behind the scenes maneuvering and whines that "So and So doesn't liiiikkkkeeee meeeee. Whyyyyyy??? I must punish her, then!"
Management is sneaky, too. They know just what lines not to cross with their employees, but they come dangerously close. One example: one manager is always hitching a ride with one or another of the contractors. So the poor contractors will have their vans parked outside like limos, sometimes for half an hour or more while the Plantation Owner talks on the phone, yells at the workers, and then finally gathers their shit and leaves. All the while, the Plantation Owners act as if the contractor doesn't have anything better to do other than to serve as a cab because the Plantation Owner is too damn cheap to just hail an actual cab in the first place. (One can take for granted that the Plantation Owners could well afford the cabs. Hell, they could buy a fleet of cabs and still come out ahead).
I'm sure the Plantation Owners think themselves quite the forces of nature. "Wow, just one second in my presence and the entire room goes silent," they think. "It must mean I'm powerful and charismatic. Geez, I'm really good at this stuff! People are awed into silence."
Not really, Bub. You're just despised and not trusted as far as any of us could toss you-- if any of us were so lucky to get the chance to do so. As for awed, believe me, we areconsistently awed at how you handle things. Your erratic, greedy, and inefficient decision making process is truly one of the only things that can silence a room full of people who know better. In that sense, you and your ilk are truly breathtaking.
I'm so not a technical person. People like me keep entire companies like Geek Squad in business. So when a friend mentioned that I should hook up this blog to an RSS feed I was like , "KRS One hasn't made a record since last year, right?"
Here's an RSS explanation--it's not too geeky. Even I (mostly) understood it.
href="http://www.mezzoblue.com/archives/2004/05/19/what_is_rssx/">
Trying to fight that Sunday afternoon dread--the "Awww crap! It's Sunday afternoon and I have to get up early and go to work tomorrow. I'd rather drink blood" feeling. I'm normally quite good at avoiding it (that feeling, and uh, also, drinking blood), but things have been so weird lately that work has sort of permeated my thoughts in off hours as well as on.
Part of me still does not know what I want to be when I grow up. Ridiculous, I know...I thought I'd have it all figured out by now. Ironically, I seemed to have had a much better grasp on my career path when I was younger. College, internships, full-time work in my field of choice. I did it all, and was on a solid path with minimal detours and distractions. Sure, I made a few mistakes, a couple of enemies, and ruffled a few feathers along the way, but somehow always managed to land on my feet.
Then somehow or another grad school, of all things, derailed my burgeoning journalism career. By the time I got out of grad school, 9-11 had happened, the economy had tanked, and my friends and I were reduced to taking whatever slim pickings were thrown our way. We were overqualified for truly entry level positions, and unable to land more mid-level jobs either. No longer students, we couldn't accept internships at most media outlets because they could not get by with "paying" us with college credit. I could no longer depend on the unpredictability of the journalism world to provide novelty and challenges during my working hours. My entire life had become a vortex of instability, unpredictability, and mere survival, with the occasional bit of novelty thrown in.
It's quite significant, then, that only in 2007 did myself and a few other close friends finally land decent enough jobs with salaries and in some cases, the increasingly novel menu of benefits. We agreed that 2007 was our Year of Transition. (FWIW, 2006 was roundly dismissed as the worst year of many of our lives. Funny how themes like this often cluster together. For awhile, I thought I was the only one who wanted to take a long walk off a short cliff in 2006. Turns out several people I'd lost close touch with while working insane hours for two-plus years had gone through similar trials during the exact same time).
All of that's behind us now. Or is it? Now that I'm at a "good enough" job, albeit one with a nutty, capricious boss, I find myself restless. The stability that I once craved is mine now, at least as long as I manage to hold onto it. But yet again, I'm not entirely sure which way to turn or where I want to go from here.
