Here’s the deal: she’s Black, I’m White. Since she took over management of the large complex I live in over a year ago, I’ve had few dealings with her, but they’ve been uniformly unpleasant. Every time, I’ve come away wondering what her problem is.
Tonight, I came home to find myself living next to a construction zone. Workmen are remodeling the game room and former gymnasium in the courtyard across from my apartment. They are using jackhammers and circular saws.
As you can gather, it’s loud.
So, since I would like to be able to hear myself think, I went down to the complex office a few minutes before they closed to ask when the workmen would stop for the evening. The manager was there, so I directed my question to her.
From her reaction, you would think I had just passed gas in front of her.
Me: “Hi. When will the jack-hammering stop?”
Her: No reaction.
Me: “In the old rec room?”
Her: “I know where.”
Me, trying to be polite: “It’s horrendously loud in the apartments.”
Her, cold as ice: “I understand,” with a thin smile. Translated: “Don’t bother me, you worthless tenant-vermin!”
Me, giving up: “I see.” I turn and leave.
All my few interactions with her have been as pleasant as finding a worm in an apple I’ve just bitten into. I’ve noticed, when I pass the front office, that she’s almost always in the manager’s private office with the door closed. Tenants have to deal with the assistant manager of the week. Whenever we’ve interacted, she’s come across as cold, smug, and superior. Lord knows what she thinks of me.
So, I wonder: Is she just a condescending jerk to everyone, or does she have something against Whiteys? Or, is it me?
(Note: At 18:13, I looked out my window to see the manager in question talking to the workmen. They’ve stopped, hopefully for the evening.)
A Seat By The Fire 