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My day and welcome to it
Jun. 15th, 2012 09:28 pmAs I've said a few times, some of the people who live in the flats above me are clients of a social care agency. This is good, as they have nice flats. This is sometimes bad, as when they are not well it can be rather upsetting to the rest of us.
There is a man living in a flat on the other side of the building who is a transvestite. Now I have no problem with transvestites, and he does take a lot of care in his dressing and hairstyling. However, instead of spending money on food, TV license (that's television, not transvestite), telephone, and the like he spends it on clothing, makeup, perfume, et al. This creates a problem when he runs out of money.
He has gotten into the habit of borrowing money from HWMBO and me: small amounts, paid back reasonably quickly. However, his interactions are quite, um, odd. I had told him after he'd rung the doorbell several times at 8 or 8:30 am that he was allowed to call on us between the hours of 10 am and 8 pm. The worst instance was one day about a month ago when the doorbell rang at 1 am. That is NEVER a good sign. When I struggled out of bed and answered the door it was M. He wanted to pay back £20 he'd borrowed earlier. I'm afraid I was very rough on him at that point. I let him in and he gave me the money, but my admonition that he was not to ring the doorbell except at socially-acceptable times fell on deaf ears.
A few days ago the doorbell rang at about 10 pm. Doorbells ringing when you do not expect it are never good news. It was M. He said, "It's M. What time is it?" Now I don't usually wear a watch at home, and there is no clock in convenient sight of the front door. I told him "It's around 10 pm." Before I could say any more, he said, "Thanks" and apparently walked away.
The very next day the doorbell rang at around 8 am, as HWMBO and I were enjoying our breakfast. I said to him, "I'll bet that's M." and, sure enough, it was. He said, "It's M. What time is it?" Now I was really steamed. I said, "I don't know, M., but what do you think I am, the Speaking Clock? Don't ring the doorbell and ask me the time again!" He said, "OK. Can I borrow £10?" As it was before HWMBO's payday, I said, "No, not today." "Well, when?" I told him Friday.
Today is Friday. At 8:30 am, you guessed it. The doorbell rang. M. said, "Do you have my money?" This made me quite angry, but I managed to control myself and said, "No, I'm going out later to get some money and you can come by after that, say, 4 pm."
He said, "I don't have a clock." I told him to switch on his Skybox and find out the time from that. He replied that he no longer had TV, radio, mobile phone, or a regular landline. I told him to wait at the door, got an old clock-radio, and gave it to him. We never use it so I thought, "Well, maybe this will kill off the time-check requests."
At 4:45 pm the doorbell rang. In the meantime I had withdrawn some money from the bank and was waiting for him. He appeared at the door in a red dress, black stockings, and carrying a black purse. I had the money ready, but he said, "Can I use your phone?" I sighed, "Who do you want to call and where is it?" He replied, "I need to call my flight school."
That CLUNK you hear is my jaw dropping and hitting the floor. I was so stunned I let him call the flight school (and from hearing this end of the conversation I'm certain that it was indeed a flight school). When he was about to leave he asked whether he could use our phone number for callbacks. I'd had enough. I took the £10 out of my wallet and held it while I lit into him, basically for being anti-social, not listening to me when I tell him something, and unwilling to take responsibility for supporting himself. I even started to hyperventilate, which is a first for me and was quite scary. I told him that he was not to use our telephone, I wouldn't give him our phone number (he's taken it several times but presumably lost or mislaid it), and I would not lend him money again. I'm afraid that I got quite angry.
I then gave him the £10 and he left.
Now, you may ask, why is my rent so much under the market value of this flat? People like M. living in the same building is why. I try to always let my better nature hold the reins, but with people who have difficulties like M's, one has to temper one's better nature with a will of iron. I would like to drip liters of the milk of human kindness, but I am beginning to think that it would have been kinder to simply pretend that I was not here and let him stew. I am considering tipping the landlord off (they are connected with the social agency that supports M.) and asking them to get in touch with the social agency to see if they can determine what's wrong and how best M. can be helped.
What is the moral of the story? I think that perhaps it's "No good deed goes unpunished." Salvador Dali would be proud.
At the tone, the time by Accurist will be Stupid O'Clock, exactly. BONG!
There is a man living in a flat on the other side of the building who is a transvestite. Now I have no problem with transvestites, and he does take a lot of care in his dressing and hairstyling. However, instead of spending money on food, TV license (that's television, not transvestite), telephone, and the like he spends it on clothing, makeup, perfume, et al. This creates a problem when he runs out of money.
He has gotten into the habit of borrowing money from HWMBO and me: small amounts, paid back reasonably quickly. However, his interactions are quite, um, odd. I had told him after he'd rung the doorbell several times at 8 or 8:30 am that he was allowed to call on us between the hours of 10 am and 8 pm. The worst instance was one day about a month ago when the doorbell rang at 1 am. That is NEVER a good sign. When I struggled out of bed and answered the door it was M. He wanted to pay back £20 he'd borrowed earlier. I'm afraid I was very rough on him at that point. I let him in and he gave me the money, but my admonition that he was not to ring the doorbell except at socially-acceptable times fell on deaf ears.
A few days ago the doorbell rang at about 10 pm. Doorbells ringing when you do not expect it are never good news. It was M. He said, "It's M. What time is it?" Now I don't usually wear a watch at home, and there is no clock in convenient sight of the front door. I told him "It's around 10 pm." Before I could say any more, he said, "Thanks" and apparently walked away.
The very next day the doorbell rang at around 8 am, as HWMBO and I were enjoying our breakfast. I said to him, "I'll bet that's M." and, sure enough, it was. He said, "It's M. What time is it?" Now I was really steamed. I said, "I don't know, M., but what do you think I am, the Speaking Clock? Don't ring the doorbell and ask me the time again!" He said, "OK. Can I borrow £10?" As it was before HWMBO's payday, I said, "No, not today." "Well, when?" I told him Friday.
Today is Friday. At 8:30 am, you guessed it. The doorbell rang. M. said, "Do you have my money?" This made me quite angry, but I managed to control myself and said, "No, I'm going out later to get some money and you can come by after that, say, 4 pm."
He said, "I don't have a clock." I told him to switch on his Skybox and find out the time from that. He replied that he no longer had TV, radio, mobile phone, or a regular landline. I told him to wait at the door, got an old clock-radio, and gave it to him. We never use it so I thought, "Well, maybe this will kill off the time-check requests."
At 4:45 pm the doorbell rang. In the meantime I had withdrawn some money from the bank and was waiting for him. He appeared at the door in a red dress, black stockings, and carrying a black purse. I had the money ready, but he said, "Can I use your phone?" I sighed, "Who do you want to call and where is it?" He replied, "I need to call my flight school."
That CLUNK you hear is my jaw dropping and hitting the floor. I was so stunned I let him call the flight school (and from hearing this end of the conversation I'm certain that it was indeed a flight school). When he was about to leave he asked whether he could use our phone number for callbacks. I'd had enough. I took the £10 out of my wallet and held it while I lit into him, basically for being anti-social, not listening to me when I tell him something, and unwilling to take responsibility for supporting himself. I even started to hyperventilate, which is a first for me and was quite scary. I told him that he was not to use our telephone, I wouldn't give him our phone number (he's taken it several times but presumably lost or mislaid it), and I would not lend him money again. I'm afraid that I got quite angry.
I then gave him the £10 and he left.
Now, you may ask, why is my rent so much under the market value of this flat? People like M. living in the same building is why. I try to always let my better nature hold the reins, but with people who have difficulties like M's, one has to temper one's better nature with a will of iron. I would like to drip liters of the milk of human kindness, but I am beginning to think that it would have been kinder to simply pretend that I was not here and let him stew. I am considering tipping the landlord off (they are connected with the social agency that supports M.) and asking them to get in touch with the social agency to see if they can determine what's wrong and how best M. can be helped.
What is the moral of the story? I think that perhaps it's "No good deed goes unpunished." Salvador Dali would be proud.
At the tone, the time by Accurist will be Stupid O'Clock, exactly. BONG!
