Not Even Your Dog Is Safe

There's a lot to be said for a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline when a furious storm is approaching. I'm not gonna say it though. The storm was definitely among the most spectacular that I have seen, but not nearly as spectacular as the idea that came flying to me while I was watching it.

I got up early to browse the job listings, and by about 3:00 I was cross-eyed. I decided that I should do something relaxing, so I went down to sit by the pool and read a bit and maybe tan myself to a nice off-white. The sky looked foreboding so I figured I didn't have much time. I stretched out on a chair as far away from everyone else as I could get, and opened my book. I read exactly three sentences when the lifeguard came over and asked me to move. I figured it was reasonable, since the pool is actually on the 9th floor of our building, on top of the parking garage. It's basically a nice basin of water thrust a hundred feet in the air on a steel pedestal into the waiting arms of the approaching thunderstorm.

But he didn't ask me to leave, he asked me to move. He cleared the pool not because it was going to rain, but because the photographer wanted to get a picture of it for a brochure. And any fool knows that when you are showcasing the recreational areas in your apartment, you don't want the scene to be all mucked up by happy people having fun. Instead, what you really want to do with these people is enlist their help in mechanically arranging the pool chairs in rows so neat you'd feel bad sitting in them without a plastic covering. And then you would of course want to have your former swimmers stand huddled, dripping wet and whipped by the wind, while you tell them it will just be a minute (in what will become a very liberal use of the word). Then you are free to realize your vision, proudly displaying to potential tenants that you have a pool deck that is so beautiful on a warm summer day that no one is allowed near it. Also that the chairs are bolted in place.

So one by one my fellow disappointees and I peeled off from the crowd. I went back upstairs, with a good six minutes of sun added to me, and watch an amazing light show over the city. This storm rolled in quick, with rain so thick I could barely make out the flooded streets 27 stories below, and wind so strong it shook the building. But it passed quickly and left behind some very cool air. I was happy because this meant I got to open the windows. I basked in this for a good minute or so before I realized my living room did not smell like fresh air, but rather, nicotine.

With the coming of summer, the lady next door has taken to smoking out on her balcony. Due to the way the wind blows around the building, 100% of her exhaust is whisked 10 feet to the left and right into my living room. I don't smoke, but even if I did I would find this annoying. I know this because I do shit, but I don't want her bathroom vented into mine. I think what gets on my nerves most is the strength of it, and the regularity. I can always tell when she is out on her porch because a visible cloud of smoke comes rolling into my bedroom.

I'm a big fan of trivia, but I couldn't really think of a use for the knowledge of when exactly my neighbor is out on her balcony. Then it hit me. I have a lot of bills to pay right now, including some pretty pricey dental work, and the cash isn't exactly flowing in. It seems only natural that I should use this information to systematically burglarize her apartment. That's right lady next door: I will sell your belongings. Not even your dog is safe. China Town is right across the river hon.