When all the others turn their backs and walk away
My landlord and her boyfriend don’t really seem to talk to each other, and this makes me nervous. I say “boyfriend,” but it’s not really the right word. They’re both in their 40s or 50s and are stable adults - and I know that she, at least, has gone through one divorce and has a daughter my age. So “boyfriend” seems wrong, hints at a certain carefree, youthful arrangement that doesn’t match this one. If you can think of a better word, let me know.
So she’s the landlord and he does maintenances-style tasks for the apartment building and so far, (always, always knock wood), everything’s okay. Sure, he never installed some shelving he promised in the bathroom when I first moved in, but on every single request I’ve made, he’s been prompt - and almost obsequious in his quickness of response and interactions with me on whatever the matter is.
But the thing is, after I hear from him, I always hear from her. Or sometimes it’s the other way around, but it’s always completely separate: He’ll call from his cell phone somewhere, and then she’ll call from her office. It is always, always two completely separate interactions.
Example: When I was moving in, he had left me the wrong key and I couldn’t get in. So I called their office and he called me back. He was out of town; he’s usually away on business on weekdays, but could be back here in two hours with the right key. Fifteen minutes later, a call from her, starting at square one: So the key isn’t working, huh?… I told her I’d talked to him and that we’d ironed everything out. She called him and then called me and apologized for “his stupid error” and then sighed her harsh Sigh of Russian Contempt.
Since then, I’ve heard her Sigh of Russian Contempt regarding a number of things: the men painting the side of the house who’re trying to screw with her, Small Beach Town for raising the prices on new mailbox keys, a tenant who screwed with her on rent - and the man fixing the ceiling who was doing his best to screw with her. And her boyfriend, Mr. Maintenance. Not yet for anything so acute as screwing/with anything – (at least, our conversations, thanksbetogod, haven’t gone there) - but for various small things he’s forgotten to do.
So far they seem have a rather symbiotic relationship: She, at constant war with a hostile world, and he, with his docile affect and desire to please her. This notion of a relationship frankly gives me a bit of the jim-jams; I imagine it fraught with passive-aggressive snares and whatnot. (You know, whatnot.) Apparently, though, they’ve been together for something like eight years, so I guess it’s worked so far.
What worries me is this seeming complete lack of communication between them. Its oddness is heightened by the fact that both of them are so darn good at getting back to me. I called this morning about a stopped-up bathtub and a burned-out light bulb in my (extremely high) entryway ceiling. Twenty minutes later, he called, promising to come by tomorrow night, “if that’s okay with you.” Then, an hour later, she came to my apartment, telling me she has Drano if I want it and also talking of eight-foot ladders that are really quite difficult to carry up these steps, but if I insist, it’s fine. I told her that I’d take the Drano but that Mr. Maintenance had offered to change the bulb. “He did? Whoa-kee,” she said. “Sounds goot.”
She leaves and I think: I have never, ever seen the two together. They live beneath me and, in five months, I have seen them both in and around the building, but I have never seen them in the same space, conversing. Or even not-conversing.
If this is simply their way, then fine, but if it’s some relatively new development in their relationship, I’m a bit concerned. I want this couple to stay happy. Because, (mama, daddy,) If they broke up, what would happen to me? I like having him as my maintenance man. Yes, his sometimes oddly submissive attitude makes me uncomfortable. It feels artificial. But then, so do all our interactions. He and I are chock full of, “Nice weather we’re having” and “Thank God Friday’s almost here” sort of non-exchanges, and that’s just fine with me. It keeps us on a good, businesslike level of Friendly. I don’t want some new maintenance person to have to adjust to, or worse: No maintenance person. And I don’t want my landlady going through a personal crisis, either. Then again, everything’s a crisis to her. Or maybe she just attracts a lot of genuine crises. Either way, she’s holding up just fine as my landlady, though (again with the wood-knocking) she hasn’t really been called to task on anything with me in her capacity as landlady, either.
Just in case things are getting dicey between them, I’m about ready to blast the Al Green from the windows of my apartment, which overlook their porch. Or maybe “You and Me Against the World” by Helen Reddy. I wonder if he was frightened by the clown when the circus came to town. If so, I want to make sure she’d punch out that red nose. For screwing with her man.
My landlord and her boyfriend don’t really seem to talk to each other, and this makes me nervous. I say “boyfriend,” but it’s not really the right word. They’re both in their 40s or 50s and are stable adults - and I know that she, at least, has gone through one divorce and has a daughter my age. So “boyfriend” seems wrong, hints at a certain carefree, youthful arrangement that doesn’t match this one. If you can think of a better word, let me know.
So she’s the landlord and he does maintenances-style tasks for the apartment building and so far, (always, always knock wood), everything’s okay. Sure, he never installed some shelving he promised in the bathroom when I first moved in, but on every single request I’ve made, he’s been prompt - and almost obsequious in his quickness of response and interactions with me on whatever the matter is.
But the thing is, after I hear from him, I always hear from her. Or sometimes it’s the other way around, but it’s always completely separate: He’ll call from his cell phone somewhere, and then she’ll call from her office. It is always, always two completely separate interactions.
Example: When I was moving in, he had left me the wrong key and I couldn’t get in. So I called their office and he called me back. He was out of town; he’s usually away on business on weekdays, but could be back here in two hours with the right key. Fifteen minutes later, a call from her, starting at square one: So the key isn’t working, huh?… I told her I’d talked to him and that we’d ironed everything out. She called him and then called me and apologized for “his stupid error” and then sighed her harsh Sigh of Russian Contempt.
Since then, I’ve heard her Sigh of Russian Contempt regarding a number of things: the men painting the side of the house who’re trying to screw with her, Small Beach Town for raising the prices on new mailbox keys, a tenant who screwed with her on rent - and the man fixing the ceiling who was doing his best to screw with her. And her boyfriend, Mr. Maintenance. Not yet for anything so acute as screwing/with anything – (at least, our conversations, thanksbetogod, haven’t gone there) - but for various small things he’s forgotten to do.
So far they seem have a rather symbiotic relationship: She, at constant war with a hostile world, and he, with his docile affect and desire to please her. This notion of a relationship frankly gives me a bit of the jim-jams; I imagine it fraught with passive-aggressive snares and whatnot. (You know, whatnot.) Apparently, though, they’ve been together for something like eight years, so I guess it’s worked so far.
What worries me is this seeming complete lack of communication between them. Its oddness is heightened by the fact that both of them are so darn good at getting back to me. I called this morning about a stopped-up bathtub and a burned-out light bulb in my (extremely high) entryway ceiling. Twenty minutes later, he called, promising to come by tomorrow night, “if that’s okay with you.” Then, an hour later, she came to my apartment, telling me she has Drano if I want it and also talking of eight-foot ladders that are really quite difficult to carry up these steps, but if I insist, it’s fine. I told her that I’d take the Drano but that Mr. Maintenance had offered to change the bulb. “He did? Whoa-kee,” she said. “Sounds goot.”
She leaves and I think: I have never, ever seen the two together. They live beneath me and, in five months, I have seen them both in and around the building, but I have never seen them in the same space, conversing. Or even not-conversing.
If this is simply their way, then fine, but if it’s some relatively new development in their relationship, I’m a bit concerned. I want this couple to stay happy. Because, (mama, daddy,) If they broke up, what would happen to me? I like having him as my maintenance man. Yes, his sometimes oddly submissive attitude makes me uncomfortable. It feels artificial. But then, so do all our interactions. He and I are chock full of, “Nice weather we’re having” and “Thank God Friday’s almost here” sort of non-exchanges, and that’s just fine with me. It keeps us on a good, businesslike level of Friendly. I don’t want some new maintenance person to have to adjust to, or worse: No maintenance person. And I don’t want my landlady going through a personal crisis, either. Then again, everything’s a crisis to her. Or maybe she just attracts a lot of genuine crises. Either way, she’s holding up just fine as my landlady, though (again with the wood-knocking) she hasn’t really been called to task on anything with me in her capacity as landlady, either.
Just in case things are getting dicey between them, I’m about ready to blast the Al Green from the windows of my apartment, which overlook their porch. Or maybe “You and Me Against the World” by Helen Reddy. I wonder if he was frightened by the clown when the circus came to town. If so, I want to make sure she’d punch out that red nose. For screwing with her man.
Labels: home life
posted by Alice at 1:39 PM
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