Up and Out

The entire building is abuzz about the recent suicide. Word is the jumper was a nice guy with girlfriend troubles. Lived alone, but very friendly and chatty with neighbors—no one saw it coming. About three units have vacated and I am not sure if it has anything to do with this particular event or not--tenants have such a colorful selection of reasons to leave. 

We certainly are keen to join the mass exodus and find some other place to live. I mean it’s nice and all that I have material for my blog without ever leaving the house, but there is only so much crazy a person can take.

I have enough drama to install cameras in my living room and the peep hole of my front door to have a reality show. It’s like ‘Fawlty Towers’ meets ‘90210’ meets ‘CSI’ up in here. I might have to go and invest in some heavy duty make up, flat irons, and tight shirts just in case some producer randomly finds news articles on this joint and wants to make yet another unscripted show--it might be called 'The Desperate Tenants of Leaky Towers'.

Any old how, I was concerned that the man who died was the sweet Italian ‘elderly’ man who seems to be under the impression that my first name is ‘Sweetie’. He is always in a jean shirt with matching jeans and whenever he spots me, which is nearly always in the laundry room, he never fails to give me a hearty hello.

I was very relieved to see him today just as I was leaving with my third load of the day. 

I also bumped into the prematurely white haired lady who insists on speaking to me in rapid fire Mandarin and as usual she got me to break all language barriers and help her with the dryer. She was not at all bothered that I was lumbering with a load of laundry that was ¾ my height and body mass. That speaks volumes, no pun intended. She remains unconcerned that I’m a confused looking brown person and continues to be convinced I’ll speak back in fluent Chinese. Somehow we manage to figure things out.

The reason for the huge load was that my parental units have come for a six day visit. They were greeted with the news that we will be having yet another water cut from 9am-5pm tomorrow and with their leaky bladders, this information has caused much panic between them. My parents came with three days worth of dirty clothes because they came via Bangkok where they broke journey and met up with friends. 

My husband, P, and I wanted to keep their visit as a surprise for our three year old, Lanes, but she had eavesdropped on a phone conversation and she was so excited she barely slept waiting for them. They came on Mother’s Day, so we took flowers to the airport to give my mom a thrill. We had a card for her somewhere, it must be in a practical place like under the spare tire in the car.

Lanes faithfully held on to the bouquet with both fists, like a flag holder in a marching band. She sat and waited with such silent determination to hand the bouquet over and wish my mom a happy mom’s day that the lady sitting next to me couldn’t stifle her curiosity and leaned over and asked Lanes who the flowers were for.

Lanes was so happy when they finally came out and they were very delighted to see her. My mom went home with P and Lanes and my dad and I went in a taxi with the luggage. I was swearing that P didn’t take some of the pieces (there were only four), because last time they came, he sauntered into the apartment after I had lugged all four bags inside on my own (my father is not only exempt from helping with luggage but forbidden, on account of having cancer).

P faithfully promised to arrive before we would, but he and I both knew it wouldn’t play out that way.  Before we knew it, one old man, four heavy suitcases and a very agitated yours truly were deposited in front of our crazy building. P was not in sight. I was rushing to get the pieces in before my dad did any lifting, which of course he proceeded to attempt.

He was approaching the elevators, unaware that the elevators have twisted minds. No matter what number you press, you will go all the way up and come whooshing back down to your floor so fast your knees buckle. There is no time for day dreaming when the doors open because the doors will slam shut in 0-2 seconds, mercilessly squeezing anything trapped in between. It’s like a rickety metal Venus Flytrap.

For the first few days after that man jumped, the elevator kept going to his floor and opening and no one would get in and I used to be petrified until the elevator decided to come down to my floor (I am terrified of two things—ghosts and roaches—get me a ghost roach and I’ll probably get a heart attack). When I am with Lanes, I am on high alert and yank her in and out since I am always scared the doors will close with one of us in the elevator and one of us out.

I also didn’t want this to happen with my father. I tried to pull one suitcase in and come back for the rest. I instructed my father to wait with the ones that were left downstairs. With good intentions he put in another suitcase in the lift with me and when I got to my floor (after a scenic detour to the ninth and fifth floors), I pushed one out and before I got to yank the other one, the door slammed shut. I was in a flap trying to get the elevator to come back.

Some folks were moving out at the same time and I was scared we’d never see it again and I’d have to hear about it for an eternity. Luckily, the doors opened and a confused looking couple was looking at it suspiciously and they were most relieved when I dashed in and claimed it.

Eventually everyone got home. If something went missing in the elevator, it must not be that important since my parents have not complained—then again they have been sleeping all this time. I fed them a shrimp cocktail and after having a little love fest with Lanes, which included her stamping them with stickers, like a rancher branding his cattle, my parents were engaged in synchronized snoozing on the sofa.

Lanes was sad they fell asleep and decided that she ‘must make noise’. She marched out with her drums, grinned, and got ready to bang on them with great gusto when P swooped in and diverted her. Undaunted, she came back in with her maracas which she was swinging so precariously she was channeling BamBam from the ‘Flintstones’. Again, she was ushered away.

P and I were pooped and went about cleaning up and getting ready for the next day when we found Lanes sitting next to my father with her little organ. She just set the stool and was about to slam her hands down on the keyboard like a scary character from an '80s cartoon, when P scooped her up and took her away.

She woke up again this morning on a mission to get them up and about and by 7.30am she was in the middle of their bed with all her drums. I think they were blessing whoever invented preschool when she was packed off to go play with her pint size friends.

P and I have decided to conceal the true extent of the madness in this demented carnival that is our apartment from our parents due to their ill health. So we have to hide leaping tenants, bursting pipes, non-flushing toilets, and roller coaster tempera‘mental’ elevators.

We are really trying to find a new place to live but are extra cautious since we don’t want to jump from one hot mess into another. We also have to look at schools since the school Lanes will go to will depend on her neighborhood. The thought of packing while dealing with a frisky Lanes gives me a headache. 

Just thinking of it, I feel a tightening in my temples.

I must sign off as I have to wake up my parents. I am very tired—I was so out of it I tried to put the dryer on with my house keys instead of using the laundry card and I was trying to find a place to add a plug on the Brita water filter instead of the electric kettle.

To add to the madness, my crazy sister has just called me and won’t get off the phone—she thinks Lanes needs ballet lessons because she just found her daughters’ old ballet outfits. She is making my brain feel like it's doing plies and piques. More adventures next week…