Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Tenant Pains! Damn it!
Yes, all of them, they all are a pain in the ass in a different way. We have the united nations so race is not an issue (White, Italian, African American, Chinese....) and they all hate each other.
The White/Italians:
"Can we have a service technician come out and take a look at our furnace? We can't seem to be able to get it above 75 degrees, that is really concerning us."
What??? Who the hell wants their apartment above 75 degrees???!!! Are they walking around nude??? This particular apartment has two levels with lofts and vaulted ceilings, it is hard to have the thermostat reach 75 degrees when it is -10 outside. Are you people nuts? During the winter time, my wife does not turn on the heat until we are close to Christmas, and only because my niece visits us, it is like her Christmas present to me... turning the heat on. Otherwise she asks me to "man up" and put on some warm socks and a sweat shirt. When it's 65 degrees in our house, I will say something like "man, is it cold in here", she will answer "well of course your cold, look, you are wearing a simple t-shirt, go put on a sweatshirt and run up and down our stairs, that'll warm you up". She also bakes so that the heat from the oven can propagate throughout our house.
The Chinese People:
Tell us they are moving out. We ask when. They say they are not sure, but that as soon as we find a tenant to give them 2 weeks notice in order for them to move out. We find a tenant and then they say they can not move out and would like to extend their lease for another year. This they say, after we've showed the apartment to 10 different possible tenants, after we adjust our schedules in order to meet with these people, after we have gone through the process of choosing the right tenant. She then complains that her electrical bill has increased from $35 to $50 and asks me to check all the electrical wiring to see if there is a possible "electrical leak" somewhere. I tell her she is on crack.
Our African American Tenant:
Ah man, I really run from her. Every time she calls I feel like someone has just punched my stomach. She HATES, and I mean HATES the Chinese tenants. When she complains about them I really feel the hatred grinding out of her teeth. She wants to me install carpet on the hardwood floor so that she does not have to hear their "animal like" (according to her) bodies stomping around the house. She is the least annoying as she hardly calls me, but when she does, look out, I am on the phone with her for 2 hours. It seems she writes a list and goes down item by item with bullet points and all.
We wish we could just sell the building and get rid of the headaches, however with this buyers market, we would not get close to what it's worth. We will have to wait and put up with all the complaints and hopefully sell it at a later time.
Nance, this post was light, however TT still H.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
From Dominican Republic to Haiti
OK, not all my entries are going to be as gloomy as this one, I just had the Domican Republic on my mind, and had to post, what to me, was a very powerful experience.
Our distributor in Dominican Republic also had several accounts in Haiti. On this particular day, he requested that we visit a mom and pop shop on the Haitian side. Crossing the border from DR to Haiti was something surreal. There were several young (maybe even teenage) soldiers on the DR side keeping an eye (blind?) on the border. The dirt road leading from DR into Haiti was no too bumpy, that is the only positive thing I can say about it.
Entering Haiti from DR, was going from one of the poorest countries in the Caribbean, to the absolute poorest. People actually leave Haiti into DR to look for a better way of life. Ironic as I think of all the people crossing the border between Mexico to the US for the same reasons, however crossing from Haiti to DR is like having two rabid dogs gnawing at each one of your legs, to just having one. You're still in hell. Now, the people who have money or have normal jobs will tell you living in DR is living in paradise, not these people, not the people looking to cross over...
We cross the border and drive for another 45 minutes. I feel like I am in Africa. We arrive at the customer site. As we are exiting the vehicle, several children immediately approach us desperately asking for money. As I am reaching into my pockets, Pablo (the white man) firmly grabs my arm and says "DO NOT GIVE THEM ANY MONEY, WE WILL NOT BE ABLE TO GET THEM OFF OF US". I walk with Pablo, he still has my arm and is walking rapidly towards the entrance. I can see the desperation in the children's eyes. There are women/men/children laying on the sidewalk, they are dying, I know they are dying. My body hesitates and tells me to go towards them, "you need to do something". Pablo says "DO NOT LOOK AT THEM, THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN DO. KEEP WALKING".
People are dying, and there is nothing we can do about it, as much as we try.
This is a true story... this will always stay with me.
The Truth Really Hurts.
Our distributor in Dominican Republic also had several accounts in Haiti. On this particular day, he requested that we visit a mom and pop shop on the Haitian side. Crossing the border from DR to Haiti was something surreal. There were several young (maybe even teenage) soldiers on the DR side keeping an eye (blind?) on the border. The dirt road leading from DR into Haiti was no too bumpy, that is the only positive thing I can say about it.
Entering Haiti from DR, was going from one of the poorest countries in the Caribbean, to the absolute poorest. People actually leave Haiti into DR to look for a better way of life. Ironic as I think of all the people crossing the border between Mexico to the US for the same reasons, however crossing from Haiti to DR is like having two rabid dogs gnawing at each one of your legs, to just having one. You're still in hell. Now, the people who have money or have normal jobs will tell you living in DR is living in paradise, not these people, not the people looking to cross over...
We cross the border and drive for another 45 minutes. I feel like I am in Africa. We arrive at the customer site. As we are exiting the vehicle, several children immediately approach us desperately asking for money. As I am reaching into my pockets, Pablo (the white man) firmly grabs my arm and says "DO NOT GIVE THEM ANY MONEY, WE WILL NOT BE ABLE TO GET THEM OFF OF US". I walk with Pablo, he still has my arm and is walking rapidly towards the entrance. I can see the desperation in the children's eyes. There are women/men/children laying on the sidewalk, they are dying, I know they are dying. My body hesitates and tells me to go towards them, "you need to do something". Pablo says "DO NOT LOOK AT THEM, THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN DO. KEEP WALKING".
People are dying, and there is nothing we can do about it, as much as we try.
This is a true story... this will always stay with me.
The Truth Really Hurts.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Yes, The Truth Really Hurts
This is my first blog ever. I am 32 M, have been employed for the last 10 years by the same company in a suburb outside Chicago. I have seen the world with this company. I have seen things that made me laugh, scratch my head and turn away in disgust.
Here is my Santo Domingo story:
My first time in Santo Domingo (Dominican Republic) the owner of our local distributor invited me out to dinner, then drinks. He was a white man. I say white man because even though he was born in Santo Domingo he was not black, so that makes him a white man. You are either black or white in Santo Domingo, nothing in between. One of his customer service engineers, Miguel, accompanied us for dinner that night, he, was black, black, black, not the coffee with extra cream black, he was old copper penny black.
I had a great time, we had dinner in a posh restaurant, then had drinks and danced a little in an upper scale bar in an upper scale neighborhood.
The next day, the owner of the company indicated he could not accompany us for dinner that night but that Miguel would take me out and show me around town. Miguel picked me up at the hotel (Jaragua in Malecon) in his "suped" up 87 Honda with the dice hanging from the rear view mirror, his non-stock stereo system with blinking lights, and his shiny hub caps. I like Miguel he is a cool cat (had to add this comment, don't want you to think I am making fun of him and his car, just had to paint the picture). Miguel took me to a different type of restuarant, the people there were more lively, dancing, screaming from table to table, it was a little louder than the night before. I had a great time.
After dinner, he asked "How about we go to a bar for a drink?". I agreed.
Miguel: Any place you would like to go?
Me: Not really, I would not know, this is my first time in SD... how about the same bar we were in last night, that was fun.
Miguel: We can't go there tonight, they will not let me in.
Me: Why not? Is there a private party going on?
Miguel: No, they will not let me in because I am black.
Me: What??? We were just there last night!! What do you mean because you are black??
Miguel: Last night Pablo (owner/white man) was with us, that's why they let me in. He knows the owner, but tonight, they will not let me get past the door.
Me: I don't believe it, you are kidding me right?? Not possible nowadays, those days are gone... aren't they?
Miguel: Not here in DR, I am black and discrimination here is still alive. The only reason I have this job with Pablo is because he knows my father, otherwise he probably would not have hired me. If you do not believe me, let's go to the same bar, see for yourself.
Me: Yes, I have to see.
He parked a block away from the bar, he asked that I walk ahead of him, and indicated he would follow after I made it past the bouncers. I did, the bouncers mildly frisked me and gave me the green light. Miguel approches the entrance:
Bouncer: Sorry my friend, the bar is closed to the public, private party.
Miguel: What about him?? Why did you let him in? We are here together.
Bouncer: Well... you see... we only have a certain number of people we can allow who are not invited to the party, he was the last one. You can not come in.
The bouncer turns and looks at me:
Bouncer: Your friend can not come in tonight... are you in or out??
Well, after I had a few drinks inside and danced a little I left and met with Miguel. He was waiting in the car and... of course I did not come in.
That my friends is my Santo Domingo Story.
I left and could not understand it. Racism lives!!
The Truth Really Hurts.
Here is my Santo Domingo story:
My first time in Santo Domingo (Dominican Republic) the owner of our local distributor invited me out to dinner, then drinks. He was a white man. I say white man because even though he was born in Santo Domingo he was not black, so that makes him a white man. You are either black or white in Santo Domingo, nothing in between. One of his customer service engineers, Miguel, accompanied us for dinner that night, he, was black, black, black, not the coffee with extra cream black, he was old copper penny black.
I had a great time, we had dinner in a posh restaurant, then had drinks and danced a little in an upper scale bar in an upper scale neighborhood.
The next day, the owner of the company indicated he could not accompany us for dinner that night but that Miguel would take me out and show me around town. Miguel picked me up at the hotel (Jaragua in Malecon) in his "suped" up 87 Honda with the dice hanging from the rear view mirror, his non-stock stereo system with blinking lights, and his shiny hub caps. I like Miguel he is a cool cat (had to add this comment, don't want you to think I am making fun of him and his car, just had to paint the picture). Miguel took me to a different type of restuarant, the people there were more lively, dancing, screaming from table to table, it was a little louder than the night before. I had a great time.
After dinner, he asked "How about we go to a bar for a drink?". I agreed.
Miguel: Any place you would like to go?
Me: Not really, I would not know, this is my first time in SD... how about the same bar we were in last night, that was fun.
Miguel: We can't go there tonight, they will not let me in.
Me: Why not? Is there a private party going on?
Miguel: No, they will not let me in because I am black.
Me: What??? We were just there last night!! What do you mean because you are black??
Miguel: Last night Pablo (owner/white man) was with us, that's why they let me in. He knows the owner, but tonight, they will not let me get past the door.
Me: I don't believe it, you are kidding me right?? Not possible nowadays, those days are gone... aren't they?
Miguel: Not here in DR, I am black and discrimination here is still alive. The only reason I have this job with Pablo is because he knows my father, otherwise he probably would not have hired me. If you do not believe me, let's go to the same bar, see for yourself.
Me: Yes, I have to see.
He parked a block away from the bar, he asked that I walk ahead of him, and indicated he would follow after I made it past the bouncers. I did, the bouncers mildly frisked me and gave me the green light. Miguel approches the entrance:
Bouncer: Sorry my friend, the bar is closed to the public, private party.
Miguel: What about him?? Why did you let him in? We are here together.
Bouncer: Well... you see... we only have a certain number of people we can allow who are not invited to the party, he was the last one. You can not come in.
The bouncer turns and looks at me:
Bouncer: Your friend can not come in tonight... are you in or out??
Well, after I had a few drinks inside and danced a little I left and met with Miguel. He was waiting in the car and... of course I did not come in.
That my friends is my Santo Domingo Story.
I left and could not understand it. Racism lives!!
The Truth Really Hurts.
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