1363 Spooky St.

I hope everyone had a great Halloween. I realize that I'm a little late with this and that I'm now on the ass-end of the holiday. An interesting side note here, I wanted a graphic to go with my comment. And, while the picture jlee used would have been perfect, I didn't want to steal from her. So, I went looking for my own. I am often amused at what the search engines come up with when I search for pictures. This time I was just confused. I found out that while searching for pumkin ass, the first picture to come up on Yahoo is this:

Not that I'm complaining really. It's just that there is no rhyme or reason. On second thought, I could probably give an explanation… but I digress.

I also realize that some of you were hoping for some scary, ghetto Halloween story pertaining to my tenants. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your vantage point) I don't really have one. Halloween was relatively uneventful as far as my tenants and properties are concerned. I will, however, tell you about something that freaked me out a bit today. There are some other stories to tell, but they can wait. This one is as close to seasonal as I can muster, plus it ties in and wraps up my last post.

Last week I finally had time to get an estimate on the damage done to my car. I called the guy who was driving the truck, we'll call him Ted, a few days ago to let him know.

Now, on the day of the accident I had met both Ted and his business partner (who must have been following behind in another vehicle at the time). Even though they gave me their insurance info, they had asked me to just let them pay me out of pocket so that their insurance rates didn't go up. I told them sure; that I didn't care how it was taken care of, as long as it was. This was actually a good thing. Dealing with insurance companies can be a pain, and they usually take a while to get you your money. Besides, I have been on the other side of this coin before considering our construction guys run into or drop crap on people's cars from time to time. We like to not involve insurance for small claims, as it would be more expensive in the long run.

So, I get a call from Ted today. "I wanted to see when we could have a sit-down and settle up," he says. Great, he had to say sit-down. He obviously doesn't realize I've seen far too many movies for that kind of talk. Most sit-downs I've watched don't normally end all that well.

I shake my head to try and do an Etch-a-sketch erase of the Tony Soprano image in my brain and answer back, "sure, what's your schedule like during the week?"

We decide that I would meet him at his work after I leave the office. His place of business is in a shady part of town, but is actually not far from my apartment complex.

Wait, there are shady parts of town around your complex?

Yes, hard to believe, but it's true. So, at this point I figure he either wants to pay me my money or hit me in the head with a lead pipe. Either way he'd be done with the situation, but I'm hoping for the former. I told The Accountant where I was going after I left the office and she tried to get me to take someone with me. Nah, but at least now someone knows where I was going in case I don't show up again.

Later, after assuring Yahoo Maps that I really did want to go to that part of town,

I had my directions and was on my way. As I drove I thought back to the day of the accident. I tried to remember everything I could about Ted and his partner. At that point I realized I don't even really know what these guys do for a living. While gathering information from them, I had asked what the name of their company was. "Well, we don't really have a name, we're in like the salvage business." What the hell does that mean? It almost sounded like a bull-crap type of answer.

Uh, yeah, I'm in the waste management business.

No, get out of my head Tony, you're not helping here. The area was full of old, run down commercial buildings. I found the street and slowly worked my way along looking for the address. The fact that it was almost dark at this point was not helping me see the numbers; it wasn't helping the creepy feel of the place either. The street became a dead end, but the last building before it did was the one I was looking for. I parked on the street behind a flatbed semi and surveyed the building. It was old red brick and maybe five or six stories high. Some of the doors and windows had been bricked up as its use had changed over the years. The windows that were left had bars and wire mesh covering the glass. I guess this was a good thing as some of the glass was broken and laying all over the sidewalk.

There was seemingly only one entrance and I made my way towards it. It was a simple glass door, two steps off the sidewalk, with only the street numbers on it. The only things I could see inside were a small hallway, a steep set of stairs, and a camera facing the door. I tried the door, but it was locked, so I called Ted on his cell phone. "Ted, It's The AML. I'm here, where do I go?"

"Oh, come down to the end of the street behind the building," he says. This was not the answer I wanted, but I figured screw it, I had come this far. As I made my way around the end of the building, I still couldn't figure out what the hell this place was. There were random trucks and cars parked all over, none of which looked in good shape. In fact only one looked drivable, and it stood out like a sore thumb. It was a big black Cadillac parked amongst the rubble. It looked bizarre sitting there, but played nicely into the fantasy I had going in my head. I worked my way up a decrepit set of steps that led to a back door. The door was solid, dirty, and adorned with ancient looking mailboxes. I found a weird little doorbell and gave it a push.

After a few moments Ted comes walking up from behind a truck. "Oh, we have that area over there." He smiles and motions to somewhere off in the distance behind him. I couldn't really see where he meant, but at that point I didn't care. It was cold, dark, and I just wanted this to be done. He looks about how I remember him looking. He is smaller than me in both height and stature. He is dirty and scruffy, but I think his hair was longer last time. His hands have the thick, ground-in dirt look to them that comes with years of manual labor. From his jacket he pulls an envelope filled with almost $1500 in cash. It is slightly more than what I'm due and he says, "I didn't have any change. Do you have any on you?"

"I try not to carry any cash on me if I can help it," I say truthfully.

"Oh, we try to deal in only cash," he says with a smile. I pull out the eleven dollars I had and he shrugs his shoulders. "That's fine."

At this point we are using the hood of the afore-mentioned Cadillac as a sort of desk. He counts the money out and hands it to me. "Can I have the estimate so my partners know where the money went?" he says.

"Well, I don't want to give you the original so that I can make sure the place gives me the same price. We could make a copy, do you have a copy machine?" He just smiles at me. "Alright," I continue, "what if I just write you a receipt?"

"That'll work," he says with a shrug. So I proceed to write him out a receipt. In hind site it was most likely way more than he needed, as he didn't even look at it and just shoved it into his pocket.

"You know, we check the axels of the trucks every day now since that day. I still can't believe it happened. I had never seen it before, and I hope to never again," he says shaking his head.

"Yeah, hopefully my incident will save it from happening again to you in the future when someone could get hurt." At this point I'm trying to wrap the conversation. I am still cold and am now carrying way too much cash for this part of town. We shake hands and part ways. Looking over my shoulders, I make my way back to my car and waste no time getting out of there.

I'm home safe now.