Earning bad karma hand over fist.

I just had my fifth run-in with the old woman who owns the next building over. If things continue as they have, a bail bondsmen might be in order.

She starting screaming complaints in my face even before we moved here, back when we were at the old place and this street was where we came to do our shopping. Then it was about the dog: Don't tie your dog up there, don't let your dog pee there, you damn kids and your damn big dogs, I hate dogs, there should be a law, you'd better pick up after that dog, what's wrong with you people and your dogs...all for simply walking past her on a public sidewalk. Now that I live next door she's added garbage to the list of things to yell at me about. She's stopped me--I mean walked in front of me hand splayed out like a traffic cop stopped me--four times to date; and then launched into a long tirade about how I, and my ilk, have destroyed the neighborhood. How our building used to be one of the nicest on the street, and is now a garbage dump. Why don't I care? Why don't I DO something about it? Was I raised in a barn? Why don't I clean that UP? It's disgusting...you kids. Each time adding the threat of her intent to call the police and our landlord.

And all four times I begged her to do both. We have serious garbage problems in this building brought on by our landlord's refusal to provide us with any garbage bins, and every single tenant in the building has called and complained about it. However he still flat out refuses to provide us with containers for our garbage and recycling. We've been instructed to let our refuse pile up in our apartments until garbage day. Recycling likewise. Which (in addition to being illegal, a violation of city code, a major health risk, and invitation for a nice rat and roach infestation) is totally impossible in a tiny NYC apartment. G and I have to restructure our whole set-up if we bring home a four-pack of toilet paper for Christsakes, our neighbors likewise. So garbage piles up out front at the curb, where it gets picked through and added to, until the sanitation department won't touch it--thus compounding the problem. All of which I have explained in the past to Miss 'You should be ashamed of yourself' and why I strongly agreed she should call the city and our landlord as it would help to back up our own complaints. But no. Oh no. She doesn't have any interest in working together to solve the problem. She just wants to stop me periodically, shove her forty pounds of garish make-up in my face, and assassinate my character.

There's a precedent for that in my life, being singled out for abuse. Something about the way I look. Female, redhead, freckles, pasty white skin. No matter what I'm wearing or how my hair is done I just can't help but look tame, meek; exactly the qualities a bully seeks in a target. Even with my more daring looks of youth (piercings, jack boots, ripped fishnets, dyed black hair) I still looked like Opey's sister, all folksy and wholesome--about as punk rock as a Holly Hobby doll in a leather jacket. Trust me, if there's a disgruntled employee or pissed off neighbor or angry teenager or crabby waitress or plain old crazy fucker with a beef to pick, and they're looking for someone to pick it with, they pick me. That fragile looking chick with the fine bones. Someone they assume will not retaliate, who will just take their abuse, who will burst into tears. I'm a magnet.

The upside of such assumptions based on my appearance? The look on the face of my antagonist when they realize the extent to which appearances can be, as they say, misleading.

So sorry about opening up that can of whoop-ass, mean old lady next door. Must suck to feel like the victim of a bait and switch.

Posted by Antigeist at January 11, 2005 02:20 PM