“Miss Crappy Pants” Strikes Again

I Guess That I Just Bring Out The Worst In Some People


It took over two weeks for me to cool off enough to talk about this issue, but now, being the arrogant bastard eloquent wordsmith that I strive to be, I feel like venting a little this morning.

What got me started thinking about it again came about while taking my early morning wander stroll around our complex.

You see, I just came back home after doing my job as official unofficial pool Nazi, checking things out to make sure that none of our Independence Day Reveler’s were abusing the property, and I noticed that the bulbs in no less than eight of our landscape, parking, and security lights are not functioning.

Still Again.

I want to say “still” because most of them have been out of service for over a month now.

Not a big deal for me personally, but it’s a maintenance issue that is a sore spot with many of our full time elderly residents—many of them women.

What pisses me off personally is that I’ve previously done my best to assist in these areas with the previous arrogant asshole original property manager that I helped get fired, and now the current property management company has relegated the task of managing our 48 unit condo complex to a woman that has the personality of a brick, and the people skills of a prison convict bilge pump septic tank the Grinch.

In spite of paying over $7,000 per year for managment services, I've found that we have outdoor lighting in need of service here almost all of the time, and calling to notify someone of the problems is only met with arrogance and indifference, especially if it comes from me…but I digress...

I call her, this offending, unprofessional bitch lovely assistant property manager, Miss Crappy Pants.

If you are a regular reader of this blog you’ve probably already heard of her.

Any way…

Miss Crappy Pants and I got into another disagreement a couple of weeks ago, and she thinks that she won.

I have a little message for her…

SHE LOST, BIG TIME…She just don’t know it right now.

Here was the situation.

Just before Memorial Day, Miss Crappy Pants’ boss, Miss Property Management Company Owner, asked me to take a look at the pool deck and, pending her prior approval, pick up a few things at the local hardware store if we needed them.

I did.

And she did—prior approve my purchase, that is.

All we needed was about seven dollars of brackets and bolts to properly hang up our “Shepherds’ Hook” on the Pool deck fence railing. (For those of you that don't know, a ""Shepherds Hook" is that curved thingie on a long pole designed to pick unattended dead grandchildren poor unfortunate potential drowning victims out of the deep end of the pool.)

Until late May, our “Shepherd’s Hook” had spent at least three summers conveniently hidden behind a row of bushes, out of sight and unavailable in the event that someone that could swim wasn’t available to remove the aforementioned unattended grandchildren poor unfortunate drowning victims from their watery demise.

Any way, after a trip to Ace Hardware and after fifteen minutes of turning bolts with a crappy pair of pliers I brought with me for the task, our rusty “Shepherds Hook” was hanging up in plain view on two shiny new stainless steel brackets.

I was so proud.

Then a couple of days later, just before our mid-June poolside Condo Owners Extravaganza, one of our lovely neighbors that happens to sit with me on the Condo board of Directors asked that I purchase a tungsten light bulb to replace the one that had been burned out for about THREE MONTHS. This bulb illuminated our pool side flag pole.

No problem, another six dollars at Ace Hardware, another five minutes with a screwdriver, and we had a brightly lit American Flag in the evenings.

Hurray for me….

But then, enter Miss Crappy Pants—stage right.

I waited another week or so, not caring to make a special trip to the real estate office and not really wanting to deal with the stupid arrogant bitches lovely property management staff, but finally I wandered into their office and presented the lovely assistant property manager Miss Crappy Pants with my original receipts.

After explaining what each piece of paper was for, that I had preauthorization to do the work, that I didn’t expect any compensation for my time and effort, and that there was no rush for repayment…

this stupid, arrogant, miserable, mouth breathing, ugly, crotch stinking, smelly footed bitch Miss Crappy Pants had the audacity to say out loud something to this effect (and I paraphrase because the top of my head blew off and I forgot the exact words she uttered)

“Well, I don’t know about this…how can I tell that this stuff was really for the pool area, and our regular contractors could have done this work if we had just been informed of the need.”

I turned 37 shades of red and purple, but I briefly managed to keep breathing and utter something about the “shepards hook” having been laying on the ground behind the bushes for 2-1/2 years. "What's there to not know about the need?"

Miss Crappy Pants didn’t blink, but instead added that she couldn’t tell by the receipt what the light bulb was and blaa blaa blaaaaaa….blaaa blaaa blaaa blaaa.

I reached across her desk, snatched the receipts cleanly out of her hand, and issued the following statement (and I absolutely do remember verbatim what I said):

“Dammit woman, but you have the worst F**KING unprofessional attitude on the whole damn planet. How dare you accuse me of trying to steal thirteen measly damn dollars. I don't know what you're about or what you're thinking, but I’ll have your job before this is over with.”

“Good luck”, She replied.

I turned and bolted out the door of the real estate office, and before I could burn the Mustang tires out of the gravel parking lot she must have come to her senses because she came outside and motioned for me to come back inside.

I flipped her a giant middle finger as I spun out of sight.

I also called her boss when I got home and told her about the incident, and stated that I would see to it that their property management company lost our account if Miss Crappy Pants continued to handle our business.

I tell you, I’m getting too old to let stupid idiot ignorant people upset me like that, and I’m actually a bit embarrassed at my own behavior, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and…

The silence is deafening.