We’re moving in a few days, over to there *points to a unit over on the other side of the pool*
It has more patio space. Actually, it HAS patio space. In the unit we’re in, people step on my toes when they walk by if I happen to be sitting by the front door enjoying the day.
The AC guy was kind of sarcastic when he came over to do maintenance to the air-conditioning unit. I asked him to wait until we’d moved because then the apartment would be empty and he’d have it all to himself. “Where ya moving to?” he asked. “Over there” I said, pointing to number fifteen, over on the other side of the pool.
He looked over at it, then turned back to me with a “WTF?” expression on his face. That’s because he knows that this place is an old motel, full of motel-room studios that all have the exact same floor plan.
“What, the view is better?”
He was being a smart-ass, but in a friendly kind of way because he’s a hired-hand for the place and we’re basically customers. But he had difficulty hiding the scoffing sound in his tone of voice. The view isn’t that much better, although it is a little – if anything, it’s just a different view.
“Well, not really” said I. “It’s just that there’s more patio space out front. You know.. by the front door.. we can put two or three chairs and a table so that we can sit out front during the beautiful desert evenings and enjoy a beer with some good conversation as we contemplate the night sky.”
I didn’t really say all that about contemplating the night sky to an AC repairman, but I did point out that it’s more room by the front door and it’s not in a walk-way. His half-hidden snort with accompanying shrug told me a lot about him – that he probably has a nice house with an awesome non-public patio looking out to a full yard that’s all his own. He probably has additional rooms to his house, like bedrooms and a full kitchen and things of that sort, and he probably thinks people who live in these tiny studios do so because they’re not worthy of a house like his.
You can tell a lot from a snort, if the shrug is big enough too.
It was like when the cops came a few weeks ago to check on our neighbor, James, who’d been having some sort of a mental breakdown and was behaving strangely. When we hadn’t seen him for a few days but could hear his dog whimpering inside, I called them to investigate. I was sure he’d done himself in and they’d find the dog lying under his feet as he swayed gently back and forth on a noose.
Turned out James was missing – the apartment was empty and the dog was starving, so it got fed and cared for by neighbors until he returned. He was doing a stint in rehab and forgot he owned a dog, so everything’s okay now, but my point is about the cops. The one lady cop in particular, who talked to me like I was a friggin’ meth dealer. I was the one who called them, for heaven’s sake, and she grilled me like a steak, talking down to me like I’ve seen them do so many times when they suspect someone is up to something.
Oh, I get it.. this is Palm Springs, and you’re the Palm Springs Police Department. We have neighbors with multi-million dollar homes around here like Barry Manilow and Suzanne Somers, so whatever you can do to make the desert dwelling riff-raff of an old, renovated 1950s motel to feel unwelcome in your town, well.. the better off you’ll be.
Because we certainly must all have meth labs and brothels operating in our shady little hovels, and Lord only knows what kind of dark, sinister plots we’re hatching as we slink around in the dead of night.
That was called sarcasm.
Okay, so we’re moving to that unit over there across the way *points to it again* and we’ll be able to sit comfortably out front and contemplate the night sky as we have conversation and beer, though not necessarily in that order. You’re welcome to join us, even if you’re a smart-alecky cop, because you know what? We have nothing to hide and plenty of friendship to spare, even if there’s not much room.
It’s still a beautiful view.
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