Page 36 of You'll Love it Here

He shakes his head. “So many people vent to me over their eggs without expecting me to solve their problems. Thing is, they just want to be heard.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “They need to feel that you care. That’s how you’ll get their trust.”

He has a point. As it stands, they pretty much ignore me, butI’ve been ignoring them for years. “Okay, yeah, maybe that could actually help.”

His smile creases the corners of his eyes. “I can even promote it at the diner. I’ll be your hype man, tell them all the great things about you.” I kind of want to ask him what he means, but there’s something in the way his eyes sparkle that makes me believe he has something to say.

“Yeah, that would be really great.” I nod. “I’ll send out a message about the mixer tonight.”

I guess I can attend one shitty get-together if it means getting things done.

“Of course.” He grins. “Anything for someone who actually cares about these old buildings.”

His words hit me like a splash of cold water. I try not to let my eyes shift as I hand him back Ernest’s leash and wave.

I can attend one shit party to charm a crowd that’ll probably hate me again in a few weeks. I’ve faked my way through enough corporate networking events to keep a straight face.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Interstitial

Text Message Exchange Between Lana Winston and Mona Bucket, Friday, May 28

Lana Winston:Hi Mona, I was in the neighborhood for work and popped in to collect my aunt’s mail. Loved seeing the packages organized in the new boxes. Make sure it doesn’t get too full please.

Quick question: the Google Doc shows the electric inspection was scheduled for yesterday, but I can’t locate the completion certificates. Can you please add them—would be nice to add to the info packages I’m prepping.

Mona Bucket:The good news is we were able to complete inspections for five of the units. Unfortunately, a few tenants weren’t able to accommodate their appointment by giving us access to their suites. Not to worry, I’ve gotten our fantastic electrician Jamie to agree to return to complete the inspections June 8.

Lana Winston:Great! I’m hoping to schedule some pre-viewings with select clients prior to officially bringing to market (discreet, of course!). You positive you can get them done by June 11? That’s when I want to start notifying.

Mona Bucket:Yes, that target works. Thanks Lana!

Lana Winston liked message from Mona Bucket

Slack Message Exchange Between Jane Brando and Mona Bucket, June 1

Jane Brando, 3:47 p.m.:Shit! I just remembered the inspection was set for today, but they’re making me stay at work again. I hate being the newb. I’m sorry. You can let the electrician in with the key! Please just watch him and make sure no funny business (like I don’t want him sniffing my things).

Jane Brando, 3:48 p.m.:I forgot I was going to clean up before letting people in! Just don’t look at things too much!! Tell the electrician to do the same!!

Jane Brando, 5:58 p.m.:I realize the inspection was two hours ago, but still!! Erase your brain. I swear I deep cleaned last month, and it was sparkling. I said: from now on I’ll be a clean apartment girl. But the next day I was back to being a piece of shit.

Mona Bucket, 5:59 p.m.:No worries! The inspector isn’t scheduled until Tuesday, June 8. Thanks!

Shit Building Mixer

In a normal building, I’m sure scheduling an electrical inspection wouldn’t cause a person to question their existence. But this is anything but.

I was hoping that after five days of asking/reminding, at least one person would’ve acknowledged the upcoming inspection appointment, other than Jane, who might be a bigger mess than I’d previously realized. But it seems most tenants are blanking me.

Sami is certain that people will come around after the mixer, but I have my doubts.

Worse still, I stopped by the diner for my morning coffee run and found Carmen sitting at the counter. He has a truly upsetting method of slurping sunny-side-up eggs. And he swallows his triangles of toast whole, like a fucking pelican. He just glared at me—so I guess I am still on his shit list for making him take his packages into his own home once in a while.

But it’s when I return to the lobby that the real bullshit starts. I ease my way through the finicky first door and spot a long narrow strip of white paper taped to the interior door. It’s got the city’s logo on top next to big bold letters:VIOLATION TICKET.

Crap.

I peel the plasticky paper from the glass window, flip it over, and let out a sharp breath so big it makes Ernest’s eyeballs bug out. The back of the paper is covered in words that indicate Irene has been fined $250 dollars due to our building bins having been consistently improperly sorted. She has sixty days to pay or it could turn into more money and a court date. Worse still, they apparently are refusing to take this week’s recycling until the bins are properly sorted. Which means that—instead of preparing for the office’s annual director’s luncheon that would’ve been happening in my real life if I was still working—today I get to pick through literal garbage.