Seattle City Light came out today to investigate the flickers in my building. And – as with anything new, exciting, or just plain occurring on the property – the Resident Retired Lady emerged to investigate City Light. I was trekking back and forth from the laundry room.
She yelled up at me from the parking lot, “You! Get! Down! Here! Yes -You! Get Down HERE!” I kept walking, thinking I could see her knuckles clearly from the second floor. Big knuckles seem to be a side effect of age. Unfortunate.
At Retired Lady’s instruction, I went downstairs with another neighbor and joined her and the City employee. Retired Lady asked if I’ve been having trouble with my electricity. I said yes. She asked the other neighbor, who confirmed similar issues. Then she looked at the City employee. Told us he’d just knocked on her door, and she’d “forgotten” to get dressed before answering the door.
She laughed. The rest of us watched her laugh, trying to not picture the visual.
We all moved from the parking lot to the room housing all the units’ meters. Retired Lady monopolized the conversation, talking slowly and loudly – perhaps thinking the guy in a flannel, a hard hat, and a mullet wouldn’t be able to understand English. City employee kept raising his voice to match hers – perhaps thinking she was hard of hearing. Or didn’t understand English.
The same questions kept getting asked, the requests restated. She wanted the voltage checked on the meters. She wanted the City to fix the entire building’s wiring challenges. She asked for City Employee’s name and number in case she had trouble with her unit later. She corrected him when he said “apartment,” since clearly these were condominiums. She wanted to know if this week’s troubles were connected to a fire in 2004. And if not the fire, then maybe the new heaters recently installed in someone else’s unit.
Retired Lady turned on me, demanding to know why I hadn’t reported the problem. I answered in a voice softer than usual, to combat her grating tone, “I did. To my landlord. Who contacted the property manager.”
She didn’t believe me. I reaffirmed. She didn’t believe me again. I quit answering and just looked at her. She went back to the City Employee – asked more questions. Talked even louder.
It carried on and on and on. She blocked the door so neither the employee nor I could leave. And she kept talking.
I stood waiting for the conversation to conclude. And wondering how she got to be the resident Retired Lady. How does one go from comfortably middle-aged to kind of crazy and old?
Retired Lady is in her 70s. She’s lived in the building for over 15 years. Never worked. Goes to the local Greek Orthodox church. Got a divorce long before they were cool. She drinks her martinis by the pool in metal glasses (so they don’t shatter if she drops one). Naps daily. And is a closet smoker…the kind that goes in the bathroom and turns on the fan as she lights up…redirecting her smoke up into my unit.
I’m not that young. No guarantee I’ll ever get married, have children, or need more space than a one-bedroom apartment – errr- condominium. I spend a lot of time by myself. Keep an eye out for unusual things happening around me. I’m particular about many of my routines and habits.
I’m afraid it’s a slippery slope. Hopefully I catch myself before tumbling headlong into whatever world she lives in.
