Tuesday, October 6, 2009
1:00 pm: Grown woman throws temper tantrum
At roughly 10:00 am, I was at work, sitting at my desk, enjoying the morning, when a woman, we’ll call her “Talia”, walked into the office. She came to my desk and told me she was picking up keys to move into her apartment. I asked her to have a seat while I grabbed her file from my coworker’s file cabinet.
Upon returning to my desk and browsing through the file, it became apparent to me that the woman was not able to move into the apartment because she had yet to provide us with her proof of income; therefore, she was not approved.
I explained the situation to her and asked her if she had brought her proof of income with her. She told me that she had never been notified that she needed to provide her proof of income, so I proceeded to show her three forms in her file that she had signed, explaining that proof was required before she was able to move in. She complained that her income is in the form of disability checks she receives and she would have to go stand in line at the government office all day to get them.
I told her that sounded like a great idea and we would be open until 6:00 pm. She left the office.
Around 11:00 am, a man walked into the office and up to my desk. He explained that his wife “tried to move in” and we “rudely turned her away.” I went over the situation with him, to which he responded, “We had never been notified that proof of income was needed.” I showed him the three documents that he had signed, at which point he demanded to see a manager.
So, my manager came out and told him the exact same things I had said. He said he needed to talk to his wife, who was standing in line at the government office, and he would come back.
Which brings us to 1:00 pm. I, again, was sitting happily at my desk, loving my life, when all of a sudden, the office door whipped open and slammed against the brick wall. Startled, I turned toward the door to find “Talia”, stomping to my desk, pointing her finger in my face and yelling at me. Her husband followed behind her. I asked her politely to calm down and speak to me in a normal tone of voice, as I did not appreciate being yelled at.
Thankfully, my manager heard the commotion, (who didn’t?), and came to my desk to talk to the couple. I snuck away and sat down at my coworker’s desk so we could continue working. (Aka. observing the scene from a safe distance.)
After explaining the situation again, and showing the couple their signed paperwork again, “Talia” exclaimed that she was not moving in and that she wanted her money back. In cash. Immediately.
My manager told her that, unfortunately, we do not keep cash in the office, nor do we have a check book with which she could write her a check. She would have to wait for her deposit to be refunded via mail, which would take about a week. And “Talia” wasn’t having it.
Next thing I knew, “Talia” was screaming at the top of her lungs and pounding both fists on the desk with all of her might.
“I (pound) WANT (pound) MY (pound) MONEY! I (pound) WANT (pound) MY (pound) MONEY!”
I looked wide-eyed at my coworker. She asked if we should hide in the copy room. My manager told “Talia” that if she didn’t leave, she would call the police.
“Talia” threw her purse to the ground, stomped to the front door, slammed it open and stomped to her car, screaming all the way. Her husband quietly picked up her purse and walked out after her.
And honestly, I felt bad for him. Poor guy has to live with that every day. For the rest of his life.
4:30 pm: Young woman complains of “borrowed” personal item
A resident, a pretty young blonde woman, came into the office and asked to speak with a manager. Since our manager was busy at the time, I asked if she would like to speak with me. She said she would.
Her apartment had a water leak over the weekend, so vendors had been in her apartment the past couple of days, fixing the drywall, repairing the pipes and replacing the carpet. She had stayed with a friend while the repairs were being done.
On Sunday night, she came home to her apartment to get some more clothes to take back to her friend’s house. When she walked into her bedroom, she noticed that the top drawer of her nightstand was open. Nervously, she looked into the drawer to see if anything was missing. And something was. Something definitely was.
“My… ummm… a….. a very personal item, which I keep… uhhh… in my nightstand… next to my… uh, bed… had been taken.”
“I looked all around and I’m sure it had been taken. But the weird thing was, when I came home on Monday night, my nightstand drawer was open again, and… well… it was back.”
“So I threw it away, because, well, who knows where it was overnight. But it was very expensive.”
Anyway, long story short, we had her apartment locks changed, and we gave her a $100 Visa gift card to use however she desired.
5:00 pm: Audrey shows me how to do a self-breast exam by doing one on herself
(Sidebar: If you’ll recall, she also demonstrated this to my coworker Susan a few months ago. Apparently, it’s something she’s very passionate about.)
5:15 pm: Audrey tells me my hair looks “terrible” and it needs to be colored immediately
I tell her that, thankfully, I have a hair appointment after work that day. Aloud, she thanks God.
8:00 pm: My hair gets bleached. And so does my left eye.
My hairdresser was in the middle of telling me a very animated story while she applied bleach to my hair. Before either of us could react, a chunk of hair with a chunk of bleach fell into my eye, therefore bleaching my eye.
Ironically, bleach does not make one’s eye whiter. It makes it red. For at least two days.
9:00 pm: It’s a wonder I made it home alive.