13 mars 2006

There is a faint chance I might be deluded.

Seriously.
I need to stop with the "24" obsession. Apparently, I've taken that "suspending disbelief" one step too far and am now completely believing that I'm living a real-life 24 episode. Strike that, a season. A life.
I had to go to the managing agent yesterday.
Now, for those of you who haven’t been reading this site with the religious zeal of the recent convert, consequently don't have the faintest idea what I'm talking about, and are already jumping to conclusions, first things first. What have you been doing instead?? And second, I’ll fill you in, but I’ll need to make this fast, and will only be saying this once, so listen very carefully, OK?
I’ve had this blog for a little over a year now, and during all this time, the managing agency, whose mission supposedly is to make sure that the building doesn’t collapse in on our life savings, has been faffing about, probably drinking cocktails on a tropical beach somewhere thanks to our sweet fee-paying, gullible asses. We’re three weeks from the end of our contract with them, and I'm thinking of having one taken out on them. Violence being no solution blah blah blah, we're simply not renewing.
As we are evidently as incompetent at protecting our own interests as they are at securing their own source of income, and due to some weak link in the security chain, we weren't completely
clear what the actual date was, so I had to go there this morning to check a specific document. The secretary wasn't too helpful, I gotta say this. It's like she didn't want me to have it, really - you'd think I was asking for a list of nuclear facilities and their access codes. And that's when she made a mistake. She tried to get me to leave - by saying something as inane as "we'll post it to you". Oh boy. What else could I do but insist? Especially as that silly girl told me that our dedicated manager was in a meeting when I'd just seen her go for a ciggie. It was all I could do to physically restrain myself (in case you’re wondering how exactly one does that, one doesn't move.) from pointing a very threatening finger to the secretary and shouting "Get me the document! NOW!" while at the same time flicking my cellphone open and saying "Chloe, I need you to uplink a blueprint of the building to my phone and monitor the whereabouts of everyone in here. I'm going to find that manager. I’ll call you back as soon as I can."
Oh, I can sense your worry. No need -
I did get the document, and no blood was shed. Man, I'm good.