Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
I was listening to her, and also wondering if that was legal—selling a complex like ours without notifying the tenants— and being proficient at multi-tasking, also reading.
And further, not believing my eyes.
First, the notice assured us that rents would not change.
Then, the notice told us there would be upgrades to the complex happening beginning Monday, and we should be advised that there would be workers and delivery people on the property, and soon, we would have to assist in their endeavors by moving our cars.
Next, it listed all the things that were going to happen in the coming month or two.
Things that made it shocking…nay, downright impossible that rents weren’t going to rise.
In other words, the pool deck was going to be lifted and a new cool deck installed. This winter, the pool was also going to be drained and new pebble finish applied, with a pool light upgrade. Topping that, the courtyard furniture was going to be replaced and the barbeque area updated.
Further, the exterior of the complex was going to be painted, solar panels added that would reduce our electrical bills, and a new sign erected.
Onward from that, new, updated security fences and gates would be installed, along with cameras trained on the parking lot.
If that wasn’t enough, the blacktop of the lot was going to be replaced with a heat reflecting surface. JuiceBoxes to charge electric cars were going to be affixed in the carports, metered to the unit the space belonged to. A compost bin was going to be built in a corner of the parking lot. Window boxes were going to be fitted to the outer building windows and the greenery planted would be maintained by building management. And a new recycling service had been contracted, so the four narrow rooms (upstairs and down) at the two north corners of the complex that held the garbage chutes would have new recycle containers, compost collectors and a plastic bag bin.
“Did I wake up in an alternate universe?” I asked the bulletin board.
But it wasn’t the bulletin board that answered.
It was Patsy.
“Linda’s freaked,” she said.
Linda being the longest-standing resident at Oasis Square. She’d moved in about five years after the complex was built. She was a retired schoolteacher who never married. She was in her seventies, and as such, on a fixed income.
“She’s sure they’ll raise our rents after all this work is done. And she barely survived Campos’s last rent increase,” Patsy went on.
Every year, bar none, John Campos had increased the rents.
This was annoying, but it wasn’t out of hand. It happened everywhere, and especially in our area, which was pretty safe (for city living) and popular, just north of McDowell on Seventh, not a five-minute drive from downtown.
Rent in Phoenix was astronomical, and although this rent was affordable to me, it was because I did some moonlighting work. I’d barely be scraping by if I didn’t, and probably would have to move somewhere that was not nearly as nice.
It would totally blow if Linda had to move after living there for forty years.
“Has anybody emailed that address?” I asked, pointing toward the contact info at the bottom of the notice.
“Bill and Zach are on it,” she told me. “They’ll hit the email chain with anything they learn.”
It was Linda who started the complex-wide email chain. She made it her mission to hit up any new tenants to get their comms info, partly so we could invite them to our pool parties and partly so we could collectively bargain when Campos was falling down on maintaining things.
Bill and Zach looking into this change was good. If anyone could get the complete lowdown, Bill and Zach could.
“Right,” I said to Patsy. “Never a dull moment, I guess.”
“I like animals, but I don’t want to have to walk dogs on top of dealing with doctors all day in order to live here.”
Patsy worked reception at a primary care physicians’ office.
“Word,” I replied.
We bid adieu, and Cleo and I had barely hit Seventh on our way to Indian School when my car told me my phone was ringing.
The display on the dash said it was Cap.
I was weirded out about my new landlord, but seeing his name made me smile.
I took the call with a, “Yo.”
“Mornin’, baby,” he said, sounding sleepy.
Those tingles and ripples he caused went positively volcanic when I experienced his deep voice sounding sleepy.
Not to mention, he obviously woke, saw my text and called right away.
Nice.
“You sleep well?” I asked.
“Yeah. What you up to?”
“Cleo and me are on our way to work.”
“Who’s Cleo?”
“I pick up pet sitting gigs for extra bank. She’s my gig for the weekend. Say hello to Cap, Cleo.”
Cleo didn’t adhere to my request. She sniffed the wind coming in from the window I’d opened for her.
“Sorry, she’s busy sniffing the wind,” I told Cap.