i live on a private way. a terrace even. because it’s private we’re not required to purchase cambridge parking permits. but we weren’t quite as free as we thought. it turns out that our neighbor is the self-appointed parking manager of the terrace. val’s a pretty nifty guy. has tons of goofy stories about his family, our other neighbors, laying the asphalt that became MA-128. but starts of his conversations in the most antagonistic ways.

“i’m going to have your car towed if you don’t move it right now.”
“uh. but i live here. i just moved in.”
“well, you have to buy a parking permit then.”
“from who?”
“me”
“uh. but i thought this was a private way.”
“the police will still tow you.”

here he went into this horribly graphic story involving the suicide or maybe murder of one of the other residents. it involved some probate issues which for some reason involved the entire terrace. and now val recoups this with permit parking.

“okay, well, how much is it?”
“2 dollars.”
“uh. for how long?”
“forever.”
“oh. heh. sure. no problem.”

ever since then if our permits aren’t completely visible, or if we’re not perfectly in the lines (that val painted), or if someone seems to be using the visitor’s pass too much val is right there on the front lines. for god and the terrace.

well. the visitor’s pass is not doing so well. it was passed to us from the previous tenants. who knows how many generations of tenants it’s been through. instead of confronting val for a new pass i decided to take it to work and borrow some of the clear packing tape to paste all the pieces together.

problem.

when i got into work i found an email from our office manager. she wanted the tape guns returned to the supply room. these emails of hers are code for when she’s looking to chew someone out.

the situation is thorny. first, i know where the tape guns are. second, while i don’t know if i’m actually on her bad side or not i know that i don’t want to make my situation worse by having her think i misplaced them.

about the second point. last year i noticed a nasty brown stain on some of the papers on my desk and another one on the carpet nearby. i looked up to find the pipes coming from the urinals in the bathroom on the floor above me. nas. ty. i asked the office manager to get this fixed. many times. nothing happened. she kept telling me that people had come in to fix it or that people were coming in soon, but the spot just got bigger. a year later and i was still tasting the golden spray. i move desks and suddenly it gets fixed. if i’m not already on her bad side, i do not want to be. also, check this. toward the end of my sentence i got yelled at for not informing her of the fire sprinkler dripping behind me.

“i had my headphones on and couldn’t hear it.”
“don’t you ever take them off?”
“i think i’m done asking you to fix leaks.”

now, about the first point. i used these tape guns to “fix” my “book”. (which has been working quite nicely.) i got one from some supply type shelf, which isn’t the supply room, but to me a sensible place anyways so i put it back where i found it.

now i can’t just tell her “i used them, but didn’t know i got them from the wrong place.” that won’t be good enough. according to the email, these guns are “clearly labeled” that they belong in the supply room. i’ll also point out that the tape guns are prolly labeled with one of those “oh so handy” label makers. just like half the office. “oh, this is chris’s mouse!” i’m pretty good at unconsciously ignoring the labels now.

i can’t pretend to have found them either. too risky.

and i can’t just use one secretly either. the office has no walls. she will hear me use it.

so i’m sitting here wallowing in my inability to confront people.