As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m no longer a property manager, so I no longer have tenants. That said, the front desk phone rolls over to my desk if the receptionist is away from the desk or on the other line, so I still get to talk to a lot of the company’s tenants. I’m running a hot streak of being cursed at by little old ladies at least once a day. It’s like there’s been a full moon every day for the last week. It’s easy to laugh it off when it’s some young, dumb and full of cum college kid, but when it’s your grandpa? That shit’s fucked up.
“I’ve been trying to reach *so and so* all day, and she’s not returning my calls!”
“Did you leave her a voicemail?”
“I don’t want to leave her a voicemail! I want to talk to her now!”
“Well, it doesn’t appear that she’s in the office at this point, so unless you have access to her cell phone, I cannot help you and it would be in your best interest to leave her a message so she can return your call.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
One guy was calling for someone who wasn’t in the office (and I told him as much) and kept calling back as soon as her voicemail picked up.On his 6th call, I called him out.
“You’ve called 6 times in the last 5 minutes. Either leave her a voicemail message, or try her again tomorrow, but I will not be transferring you again, so I’d highly recommend that you choose wisely.”
“Fuck off. I’ll call as many times as I want.”
He called back 30 seconds later, so I picked up the call and disconnected it without even saying hello. And then 10 more times because he was, apparently, that stupid.
We have a lot of elderly residents in elderly housing communities, and because most of them are disabled and/or don’t work, they like to fill their days by making angry calls and writing angry letters. One such lady managed to land at my desk on Friday at 4:15 (15 minutes before we close for the day) demanding to speak to my boss, the president.
In a sweet, frail old lady voice: “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got a problem with the people running the place I live, and I desperately need to talk to your boss because I just can’t keep on like this…”
“Well, I apologize that you’re having those troubles. Unfortunately, he is out of the office this week and won’t be returning until next week. Generally, we’d have you speak to your property manager first to give them the opportunity to correct the problem and –”
Losing any vestige of sweetness: “SHE IS THE PROBLEM! Now you listen to me, you little bitch – no one is ever out of the office for a whole week! I demand to speak with him right now, and if he’s not here, then I want the next person in charge behind him!”
“Okay, that would be *Department manager*. I’ll transfer you now.”
“NO! I hate her! She’s in cahoots with that harlot that runs this dump!”
“Well, ma’am, those are your options. It’s late on a Friday afternoon and most of our staff is gone for the weekend. If you’d like to leave a message, I’d be happy to transfer you–”
“This is ridiculous! There should be someone there every day to answer my call if I need something! I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy since I moved here!”
“Ma’am, may I have your name and address?”
“Why do you need that?”
“To make sure that I can communicate your information and your message to the appropriate person. And also because if you’re unhappy in that community, there may be other communities you can transfer to. Your current community has a long waiting list and I’m sure there are any number of people who would be thrilled to live there.”
“No! I’m not moving out!”
“Well then, since you’ve exhausted all of your options and are still being unreasonable, it’s now past my quitting time and I’m going to disconnect. You do your best to have a nice weekend.” *click*
And yesterday at around 3:30, there was the guy I shall henceforth refer to as “strung out on ALL the drugs.”
An unhappy resident launched into a diatribe that vascillated wildly between tears, Stoner Keanu, and Pseudo-intellectual, and failed to give me his name once during the course of an 8 minute call. Apparently, his girlfriend kicked him out, and he didn’t have his apartment keys, and he couldn’t get into his apartment, and no one at the office had answered his call in three.whole.hours. He pays rent for someone to be in that office from 8:00 to 5:00, and he thinks that his (now ex-)girlfriend is going to stick him with rent instead of subleasing in a timely manner and she’s already not paying bills, and the apartment is trashed, and he had a physical altercation with a visitor to the apartment who called the police…
Does your head hurt yet? Mine too! All the while, he was using 2 dollar words entirely out of context, and called me a “fucking slag” when I told him that he’d need to speak to a manager who was out that day. I told him that while I understood his frustration, swearing at me was not going to get him the speedy resolution he demanded. So then he switched back to Pseudo-Intellectual and said he was very disappointed in me (HAH!), that I had an obligation to respond to his concerns in a timely fashion, and that he expects better than to be treated like a criminal (?), at which point I put him into his property manager’s voice mail.
His manager replied this morning – “He didn’t leave me a voicemail. Lucky me! But he is a criminal. He broke down a door in the apartment to get at some guy and start a physical altercation.”
The receptionist has been trading stories with me about some of the crazies she’s dealt with and I’m giving her helpful tips. She recommended that she just be allowed to tell them all that I said to blow it out their tight asses.
I might just be turning into a bad influence.