I haven’t complained about my apartment lately.  So here, let me tell you about some things that have happened recently that have deeply pissed me off:

Back at the end of October, they started working on water-proofing the garage.  It’s the end of April and they still haven’t finished; in fact, one entire floor of it is still unuseable.  I was heading to the library and bringing Maia along with me, and someone was jackhammering the concrete ten feet away from our car.  It surprised me to see someone working, since they’re out there maybe once every two weeks, and it surprised me even more when he stopped, looked up at me, smiled, and waved.  I waved back with my free hand.  And then he continued jackhammering. You know, as I brought my infant daughter to my car.  My infant daughter that he saw me carrying.  The one who has brand-new ears?  Maybe delicate hearing?  Yeah, thanks jerk-off.

Last week, I took Maia and the dogs out for a walk.  It’s always a harrowing experience trying to control two chihuahuas on their leashes as well as push the carriage.  In fact, most people like to say “Gosh, you have your hands full!” as I walk by them.

Well, as I push the carriage into the parking garage (it’s the only way to get into the building where there is only one stair, not multiple… handicap access is apparently not a concern) and to the door, I hear clicking behind me.  I turn around and a guy is on his bicycle.  I open the door, turn around and smile at him, “Go ahead, it’s going to take me a minute.”

The dogs are bouncing around, the baby is screaming, and getting the carriage through the door means negotiating a step, a narrow hallway, and a heavy door that slams shut quickly, without anyway to prop it open.  I’ll be real, I was grateful to see someone because I anticipated them holding the door for me (like everyone everywhere does when someone is literally on your heel as you go through a door).

The guy passes me by without so much as a thank you, and I watch the door shut behind him.  Any second now, he’s going to remember I’m here with my hands full, and turn around, and open the door for me, I think.  But he doesn’t.  The door would have slammed in my face if I hadn’t pushed the stroller forward at the last second to prop it open.

By the time I get into the building, I’m steaming.  He wasn’t anywhere in the hallway, but the elevator door shut just as I rounded the corner.  He would have gotten a big piece of my mind, if I’d caught him.  What an asshole.