Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Mr. RedFace...Inn p6

Mr. Redface made his debut appearance my third night alone on the job. Ideal, from his perspective, b/c that meant I was confident enough in what I was doing to think I knew something, but still obviously shiny-new.

Gliding over a bit of unpleasantness involving alcohol, women, and a fair amount of intimidation, the point is that he managed to wrangle out a much lower rate than he should have gotten.

This happened about once a month (to me, anyway) and each episode was so unpleasant that I frankly just tried to forget about him.

One day, my co-worker, "Ann" was working with me. We got to talking about our *favorites*...those odd people that frequent the place, and she mentioned Redface. Tall, solid, whitewhite hair, small black eyes, and red skin. That's right. RED. I will post a photo of his skin color. If he is angry and hostile all the time, that could do it...or possibly the liquor always consumed before he comes to our door.

I know *I'M* not going to ask him.

Once we both realized that he was playing the same game, she said she'd speak to our boss about it. That next day (Mon), another coworker mentioned to me in passing our new policy with him, and how low we can put his rates. Period.
And that very same evening, he came in, with all his usual bluster. But I was not the same girl that was surprised into compliance before. I stood firm, and his face grew red (er).

And then he left.

Bam! Success! At this point, all of us had the happy thought that if we never laid eyes on him again, the hotel could still go on.

Fast forward to......Picnic Day!
In the midst of inebriated college students and alumni, doting grandparents and shrieking toddlers popped up a red face. THE Redface. I allowed the other girl to handle him; I figured with what all I had gone through, it was *her* turn.

Now's where we enter a bit of a sticky situation. It's not that we DIDN'T have rooms left...even when were *full*, we keep some aside for emergencies, like if something broke or the owner called in a reservation for his son. But we were borderline. We *could* have had rooms left if we'd wanted to, but few enough that we didn't HAVE to. So she decided she just didn't want to deal with it and said we had none available. And that there was no waiting list (which is true, but he seemed to have a hard time comprehending)

Now it gets good. And I really should have seen it coming, and I did. But I was too late. I got a call from our restaurant next door, and the manager asked me if we had any rooms available. I said yes. She said someone would be over shortly, and then I had that chilling thought...who had asked her to call us? I asked who it was...big surprise!! redface.

I had one chance left.
Me: Make sure to let him know our rate for tonight is $175
Her: I don't think he'll care
Through the phone I can hear:
"The rate is $175"

He was very angry-sounding.

So when he came over and tried to haggle, it didn't work. I already knew he wanted the room and had nowhere else to go, and I would almost had rathered he *didn't* stay. But, as always, one must try to salvage the situation:
"I'm so glad a room opened up for you, it can be hard to find a place on Picnic Day" (me in good form: crank up the cheerful smalltalk. There is an odd sort of pleasure in being sickeningly nice to rude people) I ended up helping him with his door, which he couldn't get open, and left feeling rather amused by the whole chain of events.

It alll worked out well tho...he has come in a time or two since and is awfully nice and cordial. I can live with that. ;-)

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Shame on Tom!

There are some situations and conversations that no matter how hard you may look for them, you will never find them. You can scout every back alley, high-brow reception, or your local garden club meeting, and you won't find those little gems that just pop up out of nowhere.

That is why, when you come across them (or *they* come across *you*) one must take full advantage of them.

While waiting for my brand-i new bike to have its final go-over by the bike shop, Jenna and I went over to Ben and Jerry's for a cool treat to reward the trials and tribulations of purchasing decisions. What location could be more harmless?

We took our reasonable-sized cones out to the patio and seated our self a good distance from the nearest patrons. They appeared to be a man conducting some sort of interview with a slouching khaki-wearing college boy.

All appeared harmless.

We were lost in our cones, and at some point, I realized that our man, Lets call him Jack, was on the phone. And he was raising his voice rather alarmingly. I shall attempt to re-create some of the delectable conversation:

"Tom, I'm asking you as a friend to do something, call the FBI."
"I'm a Citizen of Davis. They have taken me hostage, harassing me--DON'T interrupt me Tom! I didn't interrupt you, you should have the decency to not--Stop interrupting me Tom!"
"I have official court documents proving...Listen to me Tom, I have official documents!"
"I am a good citizen, I know my rights. They wanted to make me citizen of the year. I've walk to Woodland, Sacramento, put the bike paths in Davis. How many citizens do you know that a judge granted a restraining order against the police for?"
"Well the sheriff is in on it too! Its all a conspiracy against me!" (and yes, he actually said that)
"Shame Tom, shame on you. I'm asking you as a friend. As a friend who is a lawyer."
"I'm not harassing you! I called you at home and and work and on your cell because you're my friend. I want to to call the FBI and tell them to stop--no, listen to me Tom! Call the FBI, do whatever it takes!"
"Shame on you Tom, shame on you. Well of course I won't call you again, you should be ashamed. I called you as a friend..."

Now repeat this entire conversation about 5 times.

Matters weren't helped by Jenna murmuring "Shame on you Tom" under her breath every time Jack got himself worked up again. My back was to him, so I could actually laugh (silently) while poor Jenna had to keep a reasonably straight face, especially as I was murmuring such phrases as "official court documents" and "I am asking you as a friend"

We *did* have a debate over whether he was having a fake phone conversation just to astound people, b/c the conspiracy theory was coming over rather strong.

Just when we thought it couldn't get any better...he hung up and made another phone call.

"Hi. Who am I speaking to? Well Bobby, are either of your parents home? Ok, well my name is Jack Sherman from the Sherman Company. If you could tell them I called about their water softener. Salt based water softeners are a thing of the past. Magnetic softeners are the way to go. I'd love the chance to tell them more."

...and then he made another one.

The man was a bloody telemarketer!!

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Guest Anecdotes...Inn p5

Aaah, graduation weekend. Like picnic day, but different. Instead of young adults looking to imbibe in relative comfort, you have the uptight parents of graduates where "everything must be..puuurfect"

Picnic Day people come up to the desk in the morning when they check out and make sure to let you know when something didn't meet their standards:

"Just so you know, the people next door were being really loud. I couldn't sleep at all, and the toilet ran all night. Is there a way you can adjust my rate? I want to file a complaint."
>>> inside my head "Well....if you had TOLD us, we could have fixed the problems...."

FoGs (Families of Grads) let you know RIGHT AWAY if anything is not perfect. Yes. We know you only booked a room with one bed in it, and Auntie Clovey came as a surprise and needs a place to stay. I do realize you'd like to switch to a room with two beds. Unfortunately, we don't have any. No, really, we don't have any. (Well, actually we do, but more on *that* later :P )

Mr. CC almost, henceforth to be known as "Redface" almost deserves a page of his own, so we'll see about HIS contribution later.

But now: "Perturbed Woman"
Location? Front Desk (as always)
Description? an Unskinny woman wearing a bright green top/bottom set with bright pink lipstick
& "Housekeeping didn't clean my room"
% "Did you have the 'Do not Disturb' sign on the door?"
& "Well yes, at first, but then we took it off."
% "Housekeeping cannot legally enter your room with that sign on the--"
& "Well, we took it OFF" (unspoken..."duh, you dolt") "And there was a lady right there! And she didn't clean our room!"
>>>Hmm, well, it's not worth it to explain that that parTICular woman may not have been assigned to her room, or all the other circumstances involved
% "Well, the housekeeping staff has left for the day (it was @ 6), but if you'll let me know what you need, I can---"
& "For the rate I'm paying, this in unacceptable"
% "M'am I *am* sorry. If you'll let me know what you need, I can have it sent up"
& "I'm not angry at you, I'm just....(blah blah etc)"
>>It's rather amusing...the hotel is not a machine, where as soon as the DND sign is removed from the door, cleaning people rush to clean. If it is up at the time the room is scheduled for cleaning, then BAM...you have to ask specifically. tsk, oh well

I've decided Redface deserves his own note. He is very notable. So more on him later (and that's a juicy one :P )

Monday, January 19, 2009

...She's a Talker...

Today's scenario....I was riding the bus because.... (well, long story, but ANYway) and there we all were, scrunched up next to people we didn't know. You know how they dip out little individual seats, and you are only *supposed* to take up your particular dip? I think everybody there was straining not to touch anyone else's thighs with their own.

It was on the way home from one of the afternoon classes, so everyone is just staring...not at each other. When someone notices you slipped and looked at them, you have to slide your eyes like you are just scanning the opposite side of the bus. We are just a silent red tomb of zombies on wheels whizzing along...and then it began.

I don't know if she knew the girl she was talking to, or she just felt an urge to fill the empty air. The girl she was talking to didn't really look at her, and made no real response, but on she talked. Mr. Bearded Student fell asleep next to me, just snuggled into the pipe frame of the unused wheelchair restraint system.

There would be a gap in the flow, and I watched her through my sepia sunglasses (hopefully one way). She would kind of look around and for a second, her face would fall into that sort of blah expression you get when you aren't concentrating, then it would get unhappy, and then with a jolt she would turn to her unresponsive companion yet again like they were finishing up a scintillating conversation. "....so I took the picture..."

It was very surreal...like she couldn't NOT have someone to talk to, a compulsive talker; she needed to be seen talking to other people...nervous talker...I don't really know....

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Animals vs (Apt)Animals

I like animals.

Really, I do. Dogs have those watery eyes they beg with. The ducks at the arboretum look so plump and aquatic, they make you want to grab them, and the squirrels that are…practically everywhere running around looking fat and sleek and are always chomping on fat and sleek acorns. And of course cats…but that’s a touchy subject.

These animals all belong to the class of “regular animals”. These are the animals you see on the street, on the leash, in your neighbors yard, public places, and sometimes in your own living room. These animals I most heartily approve of.

There is another kind though. A much more sinister kind of animal that crosses all boundaries of bird, mammal, and other.

The apartment complex animal. (further to be designated by the letters “apt” appearing in front on its name)

The apartment animal is not kind. It is high-strung, messy, and predatory. The bird is cute and chirps, fluttering overhead. The (apt)bird perches on a shrub above one’s bicycle seat and lets loose. A cat lounges in a golden patch of sunlight allowing its beauty to be seen and appreciated by all. An (apt)cat lurks behind the stairwell. It jumps out to fumble your legs when you are on the way to the mailbox and demands a piece of your soul, if not at least a body part. And (apt)cats run in packs…very dangerous.

But I think the most dangerous of all is the (apt)dog. The (apt)dog is not necessarily the one you see doing its business on the sidewalk while its owner is “preoccupied” with a phone call and “not noticing”. The worst kind is the unseen kind, ie the kind that lives right overhead. It runs back and forth and back across the floor barking and yipping like it’s being chased by a hatchet-wielding 5-year-old, having potions of its tail chopped off every time it pauses for breath. When it is shut in the bedroom (very coincidentally the square footage right over *your* bedroom) it throws itself against the closed door approximately every 4.5 seconds while repeating the aforesaid barking pattern. Thus: BANG! (bark bark yip!yip!) THWACK! (yip! Barkbark yipyip!) WHAM! and etc.

And of course, it is not a true (apt)dog unless it only does these things when you are trying to (sincerely) study, sleep or otherwise have peace and quiet. I think we have the only one in the building. Disposal is proving to be difficult…..

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

The Federal Fridge Forager...Inn p4

The day started with Irish People.

For those of you who know me, you know that I have a thing about accents. We had 2 honest-to-goodness Irish People staying there, and I was left smiling every time there was any sort of interaction. This was probably a good thing, considering.

A rather large group a Federal Employees was in the middle of checking in this particular evening. Droves of them. When I asked the purpose of visit, the response I received was deservedly vague. "A workshop. Measuring things."



As I am naturally a very nosy person, it is difficult to be satisfied with such an answer, but I have learned that sometimes it it best to just not ask questions.

And then there she was.

Lets call her...(Jane is already used...how about Susan? Susan it is!)

There she stood. Shorter than me...which is a feat in itself. She was rather thin, with thin coffee hair, large features...and dare I say...very large, slightly protruding eyeballs. As if there was something THAT MINUTE that was so astounding that they might pop out and roll across our freshly-put-in marble flooring. Now with that bit of imagery in mind...

Susan: I want a fridge. I brought food.
Me: I understand M'am. You're in a King room, most of them have fridges.
S: But I have to have one. Assign me to a room with one
M: I don't have a list of which rooms have one and which don't, but most of the kings have them.
S: I have food that will spoil.
M: Check your room, if you don't have one, give me a call. We can move one in for $10 if there isn't one in there
S:I shouldn't have to pay
**there is a line building up**
M: check your room, and we'll work something out if you don't have one
S: grrrr. hmph. grrrr.

Ok...I'm betting most everyone is done with the inane dialogue, as I can most assuredly say *I* was. So I get a call. And you guessed it. She didn't have one. (of course not!!! that would make my job EASY!!) Her problem was that some of her "friends" had them. (apparently these "friends" didn't want her food in their fridges) I even called the general manager and she knew of a fridge that could be moved. But Susan didn't want to pay for it.

Ok. Honesty time. I can actually really see her point. It was plain luck that they got them, and of COURSE she didn't want to pay for something that everyone else had gotten as a matter of course.

The problem was, as is with most people, how she handled it after that point. But really, after my introduction, how could it have been any different?

This was during our Free Booze Hour (*ahem* sorry...."complimentary happy hour") She came up and spent 10 minutes telling me that it wasn't fair. Then she suggested that I just switch her rooms to one with one in it. (umm...I told you I DON'T have a list). And then...THEN she suggested that I send someone around to scout out a room with one in it. (like that's all our maintenance people have to do???). She worked the "lets switch rooms" thingy for a while, then the "its not fair" thingy for a few more minutes.

What was interesting is that she kept going into the bar, getting a drink, and then coming over to the desk to repeat herself. Like I would all of the sudden change my tune? Who knows. But finally, she wanted to make a complaint. So I gave her a piece of paper and a pen and she went to the bar to write it down. She came back with the page filled, front and back. She looked me straight in the eye and said. "Do you have an envelope?"

I gave her one, and she looked at me again, then sealed it. Then she had a dilemma. She had to give it to me in order for the manager to get it. But she didn't trust me. (maybe? I don't know...but she was sure leery about handing it over) But really...the whole sealing the envelope thing was so funny. Unfortunately, laughing would have been the wrong response. I mean...REALLY the wrong thing to do....but 'twas so tempting...

So although she kept saying that she understood I couldn't do anything FOR her, she had this urge to keep asking, to keep making SURE. Or maybe she just had to make sure I was constantly aware of her unhappiness.

I've just never heard an adult say "Its not fair....." that many times in the course of so few hours. I'm sorry Susan. Life isn't fair.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Drunk People...Inn p3

Working at the Front Desk is like standing on the good side of one-way glass wherein the other side houses a bar. The bar-goers can still get to you, but seem oblivious to you in every other capacity.

For some reason, the desk makes me invisible except when people need change to tip the bartender.

I do not have a problem with this.

We have 2 European ladies staying with us…both have good command of the English language (not sure what they speak back across the way). Probably in their 40s, and they were having fun. Lots of fun. Especially getting to know the other people in the bar, ie: men. (I don’t say this with intent, just that it seems that most people traveling alone for business that stay in hotels, and then go down to the bar are men) Fine. Great. But then came the “ick” moment.

They step out of the bar, all in good spirits (heh heh…no pun intended, but I’ll take what I can get :P). From across my desk, the following unfolds:

The ladies are saying “farewell for now” to their companions and will meet later at G Street. One of the guys is skinny and … well … rather oily looking. The other is … um …NOT skinny. So one of the ladies puts out her hand and says “Goodbye”
The skinny oily guy looks at her is, is silent for a moment. Then says in a somber voice. “I don’t shake hands”
She looks at him a little confusedly, he smiles a broad one and says, opening his arms wide “I give hugs. Come ‘ere”
So they hug, and then the not skinny guy, maybe seeing what can be accomplished, hugs the other one. Then they switch.

Ug. I’m sorry, but I know for a fact that none of them knew each other beforehand, and just the phrase “I don’t SHAKE hands” had my mouth dropping open.

Maybe Its just b/c I’m not in the habit of hugging people I’ve barely met.

The one-way glass works fine…except when the bartender foists someone upon you.

The bearded man in #214 had had a few too many.

One of my check-ins had, in a most lovely effort to be sociable (I LOVE it!!) commented that he was (I quote) “pretty far gone”. This was of minor interest to me until I heard that nights bartender say “The girl at the front desk can help you get a cab, go ask her”, in which case he was unceremoniously booted out of the bar. From where he unfortunately managed to find *my* desk 8 feet away. Blech.

Ensuing conversation:

Him: (silence, breathing)
Me: Did you want to go somewhere sir? I can call a cab.
Him: I want to go somewhere. Call a cab
# I can call a cab (I dig for a card) Where do you want to go?
% I want to go….to the place
# Where is the place?
% YOU know… the place.
# Sir, I can’t call a cab for you if I don’t know where you are going. The cab won’t come.
% Where do the girls go
# (mental “Huh??”) I don’t know where the girls go
% I want to go where the girls go. Tell me where the girls go.
**(only later did it occur to me that he may *not* have meant where females in typical tended to hang out rather than…um…yeah)**
Bartender (comes back through, sees the problem) Sir, she can’t get a cab if you don’t know where you want to go. She will give you a card, and you can call them from your room. Go to your room.”
% I don’t WANT to go to my room
Bartender “You need to go to your room and call from there” (she leaves)
% Is she your boss? She’s mean
# You need to call from your room sir.
% Ok…but first, give me your hand

**ok now. We are on opposite sides of a 4 foot high, 2 foot across desk. I know that I need to practice saying no….but I wanted him to go away. So….**

# Why?
% Give me your hand!
# (gingerly stretches out hand)
% (he holds in a handshake sorta way) I just wanted to say thank you, in case I don’t remember any of this later.
**for what? May I ask? No…I DON’T want to ask…never mind…**

And so he went away. WHEW. I promptly wiped my hand on my pants and felt slightly yucky the rest of the night. But hey…every new experience teaches you something.

This one?

I’m still figuring it out.
I’m thinking “don’t let strange drunk people touch you”, or maybe “If you have to get drunk, don’t do it in public; do it in private with close friends who will take care of you.”

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Squeaky Wheel....In the Inn p2

So they say the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

Pretty much.

So when the third party calls up to where I work, I am cordial..but I don't try extra hard to go out of my way to make the reservation for the entire week. The guest in question...hereafter dubbed "Jane" for convenience sake...needed to stay for the entire week. We have several diff types of rooms: Standard Kings, Balcony Kings, Handicapped Kings, Handicapped Balcony Kings, Double Queens, Balcony Queens, and so on. Policy is that we don't move people from night to night, and not *one* type of room was available all week.

Said third party is told.

Reservation for 2 nights is made.

"Jane" calls with Credit Card # to reserve the room. When I hear her situation and talk to her, and find that she IS willing to move rooms if it means staying in the same place...I spend 15 minutes solid switching room types of OTHER people to get her some sort of room for every day she needs. (naive!! naive i tell you!!)

first question out of her mouth when I tell her that I could give her something after all:
"So can you give me a fridge?"
(me) "We only have fridges in the King bed rooms...I can only put you in a double queen"
"Well can you move me to a king?"
(me) "Well, like I mentioned... the two queens is the only thing open tonight"
"Are you SURE??"
**conversation repeats ditto for about 5 minutes, in which case I realize I have severely underestimated my opponent**

Jane gets to the hotel, and after seeing room, requests a balcony. If the casual reader will recall, the balcony is a different room type..I just can't simply assign her to a room with a balcony. But will she take no for an answer??

Of course not!!

After I have told her it is impossible...which it kind of is...our Maintenance man helps her up to her room with her bags. In all honesty, I could have sat there for another 20 minutes and figured something out. But see...I had gotten this niggling thought. Every time I spent effort getting her something she wanted, she disregarded how lucky she was to be getting even that, and asked for something more.
Yet another case of ... "I've got YOUR number lady"
So when Maintenance Man comes back by the desk, he says.."are you SURE you can't give her a balcony?? She really wants a balcony"

Um. ExCUSE me... I had told her spCIfically that it WASN'T POSSIBLE and there she goes..

The story continues of course.. involving other hotels and an extremely large and difficult to locate coffeepot....but I don't want to bore my readers. So I will leave with one important fact.

Every time we talked. Every time...I got to hear at LEAST 15 minutes of her life story, explaining exACTLY ***Why*** thing were the way they were, and ***Why*** she needed what she needed.


I went...am going...AM quite mad. :D
Straight jackets are rather comfy really...except no one has realized I need one. :P

Thursday, January 8, 2009

In the Inn

I work at a hotel.
Well, technically, it’s an Inn. But the point is, people sleep there. In beds. And when people from many different backgrounds all converge in order to sleep on *your* beds, the following is inevitable.

“Front Desk!” (in a suitably, I’m here to help YOU with your problems tone of voice)
*I’m in room 269…and, well to be honest, the beds are uncomfortable. They are hard”
(momentary panic….what am *I* supposed to say? “did you check for a pea under the mattress” or even worse…”are you sure you’re not imagining things???) I’m so sorry ma’am, could you try a room in the main building? I know we’re replacing mattresses here.”
“Well okaaay…”
(new room is given, second call is received)
“I just got up here, and the beds are the same. And I smell paint in the air. Do you TELL people you are doing renovations when they call?? This is unacceptable” **click**
(up at desk, paraphrased for your convenience/enjoyment)
“Your hotel sucks” (that’s INN folks, and don’t you forget it!!)
“The fact that you are doing renovations makes it seem tacky” (ummm, what’s the point of renovations again??)
“Even though my friends slept great last night, your beds are too hard” (did you ever think YOU were the odd one?? And you expect me to do….what??)
“For 20 dollars more, I could have actually stayed somewhere comfortable. I just don’t want to stay here anymore. I just want to go to sleep. Me and my daughter are tired” (daughter looks tired, like she could really sleep ANYwhere, trying to ignore mom by all appearances).

Now. The Problem.

It was not that she found the accommodations substandard. *You* will get people like that. It was that throughout the entire discourse, she smiled and said things in a cheerful tone, and somewhere in her mind, this allowed her to not be as pleasant with the words she used, gave her a license to say things that were not as polite because she was “being nice” by smiling and sounding happy and laughing every now and then.

So when she hinted at just wanting to leave, hinting (hinting being the operative word here) that there should be no payment, I pulled out policy. I would have had to anyways, once I checked her in, the system will not let me NOT charge her, but we do have a 24 hour cancellation policy. And I didn’t feel any better when she stood there and told me that it shouldn’t apply to her because someone ELSE had made the reservations, and she hadn’t known. (exempt through ignorance….whatever)

All in all? I found her something that would work, her daughter gave me a brilliant smile behind her back, and I got to watch her interact with her family in the exact passive-aggressive way she had towards me. Her daughter and I exchanged smiles with a hint of laughter in them, and I thought:

“I’ve got your number lady. Now that I know what you’re doing, it won’t work on me”

I hope she slept well. I really do.

And that her mother had an OK night too.

Sunday, January 4, 2009


Remember “Lady in the Water”, that M. Night Shayalmalin movie that came out a few years ago about “narfs” and etc? And the lovely apartment complex that teems with people who all know each other and socialize in grand parties?

I don’t live in one of those. Does anybody? (if so, please share…) There are no floor parties that everyone turns out for, no Friday night pinochle parties in the clubhouse. My knowledge of neighbors is limited to the bass of the radio from 112 (me = 111, so shared wall). Mostly her tastes are good…except when she chooses to exercise it after midnight. And how do I know they are female, and that there are two of them? I refer back to an exciting incident last October/November wherein I witnessed them being driven out of their apartment by copious amounts of smoke. After ascertaining that we were in no danger, I and my roomies enjoyed the diversion of the fire dept paying us a visit Friday afternoon, courtesy of a forgotten pizza box left in the oven.

As the concerned neighbor (you know it!!) I went to lend my help as well as an ear to all things interesting, where I learned 2 very important things besides the nitty gritty of the situation.

They were exciting, colorful people.

I did not want them as roommates. Ever. In fact, I would be perhaps more comfortable were they a few more numbers down.

On the other side, the occupants still remain a mystery. I am told by my roomies that there are 2 Hispanic girls that live there. But for the past month, I have heard male voices (only), cupboard doors slamming at 1am in the kitchen, and hear male voices (only) when I pass by. But I have never seen one.

That brings me to another point. I am beginning to form the conclusion that there ARE no males at these apartments. Or if there are, I have not seen them. They are hiding. And when you add that to the rare sightings of any females (maybe one on any given day) you have the ghost complex…full of sounds and smells and potted vegetable gardens in the walkways, washers and dryers full of clothes when you need to use them and bicycles absent and then back (in *your* spot) when you weren’t looking.

Community would be nice. Knowing the name of someone besides the elderly lady on the second floor would be great. I would especially like to meet whoever lives directly above. 211. The owners of the (apt)dog. (to be explained a tad later) I just want a *little* discussion. Something along the lines of “you make the dog be quiet…or I’LL make the dog be quiet. Your choice.”

And then we can go back to being strangers.