Please forgive me, it’s my first “rant”.
I live in a small apartment building with about 10 other apartments in the building. I assume that most apartment buildings in urban areas have a small “trash room” on the first floor- serving as a repository for trash bags that the super will transport to some dumpster within another worldly dimension on the frequency of one morning visit per day. Perhaps the weekend would garner one visit, but it’s very commonly emptied. I’ve lived in the same building for about 7 years now and I have never had a problem with the super. Therefore, I don’t blame him.
What I have not been afforded is the luxury of having the same considerate apartment-neighbors for 7 years. Lately, new crops of youngsters, cramming themselves 3-per to an apartment have been turning up. Now, I’m no prejudiced old woman, in fact a spring chicken myself, but at least I know enough of the world to refrain from shitting where I eat. For the others, not so. Ohhh ho ho ho not so.
Lately, every time I open the door to the trash room, I’m assaulted by some new, godless sight. People tossing poorly-closed bags haphazardly into the center of the room, completely IGNORING the conveniently-lined trash containers that ring the perimeter of the space. Often, ALL TRASH BINS ARE EMPTY, but the FLOOR is covered in shit. And not even CLOSED shit- OPEN shit. I can SEE the remains of others’ dinners. And then, once these piles materialize upon the floor, it’s impossible to reach the containers for the BAGS JUST INSIDE THE DOOR, so everyone begins to do the same. Who is going to climb over a torn Mt. Everest of food in order to throw theirs away? Therefore, once begun, the circle is not complete until one cannot even OPEN the door because of all the trash piled in front of it.
Now, this is the city, and it’s summer, and it’s starting to get HOT. I just noticed the First Mouse Ever in my apartment, and the first bugs I’ve ever seen crawling around the trash room. I have never, I say never, I SAY NEVER (foghorn leghorn, anyone?) been SO tempted to write a passive-aggressive note to my buildingmates, warning them of the oncoming BIBLICAL PLAGUE OF VERMIN, as utterly predictable and unsurprising as the venereal diseases on their mothers’ cuntlips, that will ensue if this trend is to continue. I am not one for passive-aggressivity, however, and I imagine the note would be ignored, because these are obviously not the types to heed the sharpie call of common decency, however loudly and forcefully I would capitalize my letters and underline my words. Hence, I find myself fuming at loose ends.
This is a nice part of town. We don’t get a lot of riff-raff. My boyfriend and I pay a lot for our space, and we’d like to keep it nice. We seem to be in the minority, however. We’re not ready to move, but I’m beginning to sharpen my knives. If we wind up with roaches because these jackasses can’t take the extra 10 seconds to hurl their trash into a bin instead of all over the floor, oh, there will be blood, there will be no end of blood, and the elevator from the Shining will blush in shame at how inadequate it suddenly seems (or would blush, that is, if it had any blood left inside of it)!
OK, I’m done.