This week it’s supposed to be rain, rain, rain for days … but, since the weather in MO is way similar to the weather in RI (Don’t like it? Wait a minute!), I have this mistrusting lack of faith in Gary Lezak and his brethren. I listen to Boogie.
If the Bear doesn't want to come in from the dog run when I leave for work, then she must know something, so I let the girls stay outside.
Huge FAIL yesterday! Her little weather radar must have been all out of whack because by 10am it was an earth-shattering-thunder-rumbling-lightening-crashing-pitch-black-deluge … and that was at the plant, an hour West of home. So I pulled up the local radar from my office and, sure as shit, there was a big honking storm right over my house as well. Sigh. My poor girls. All I could picture was the two of them huddled on the concrete pad outside the basement door under the deck, wet and miserable and really unhappy with me. Also about two inches bigger all the way around because when they get wet, they PUFF UP. Poor little rain-soaked puppies … and it’s not like the rain let up. At. All.
It rained like stink the entire day … I drove home in it, but in one of those frequent practical jokes of Mother Nature the sun came out about two miles from home. So, of course I left the girls outside for another couple hours to dry off. By the time I let them in they were curly-haired fluffballs covered in mud.
Needless to say, this morning, even though it looked nice out, they came right in when I left for work. And needless to say, no rain all day. Sheesh.
Remember our awesome vendor that I love (small business owner, bends over backwards to get us what we need, like, yesterday)? Well, he has a contract to clean out a warehouse over in the West Bottoms for the bank, which foreclosed on the owner, who defaulted on the loan.
As a complete aside, I often wonder why it is that when I drive through the West Bottoms on my daily commute it always smells strongly of something awesome, but generally unrelated. Could be food (coffee, steak and fries, bacon and eggs, muffins), could be fragrance (jasmine, rain), could be clean laundry, cut grass, rain forest, studmuffins (just checking that you're paying attention). I discovered the origin of the great food smells yesterday … there’s a Waffle House tucked up under the viaduct! If they taste even half as good as they smell, they must be the busiest place in town. Okay, back to the story …
Normally I’d feel bad for the owner who lost his building, but check out this scumbag; he deserves to be kicked in the ass by karma. He used the warehouse as storage space for various businesses, so our vendor is going to have an open house to try to get rid of whatever he can (the bank can’t put the building up for sale until its empty, and right now it’s four floors of ... um ... stuff). Our vendor wanted to know if we wanted any of the stainless steel equipment, trolleys, lockers, office supplies, etcetera for the plant.
We go over with him to take a quick look around to see of there’s anything salvageable, and that’s when we discover what an assbucket the building owner really was. That place was chock full of not only business storage (a couple radio stations and boutiques, etc.), but many, many different folks worldly and household possessions. I’m talking furniture, photos, paperwork … entire households. Four stories worth. At first I thought the owner must have picked stuff up at estate sales, but the flavor was all wrong. There were items from all ages and walks of life. It looked like people’s moving vans had gotten lost between their old homes and their new ones. If the place had been set up neatly, it could have looked like a massive consignment shop. But it wasn’t neat.
It was a shithouse wreck, but that was all due to the owner. According to the bank, once he knew the jig was up, he took the final three months before the bank took possession to ransack these people’s belongings and steal anything and everything of value. None of it was arranged in any way, shape, or form anymore. He meticulously went through each and every box on all four floors and took everything he wanted and flung the rest wherever he felt like it.
The first floor was mostly business storage … until we got to the back section, which was the only place in the entire building that leaked. So that is where assbucket moved all the valuable furnishing he couldn’t steal (apparently if he couldn’t have them, neither could anyone else). We’re talking formerly beautiful woodwork, upright pianos, hutches, you name it.
On the second floor was more business stuff and some residential stuff … strewn to hither and yon. The rest was residential items, with a lot of the furnishings still wrapped for transit. The third floor had a HUGE pile in the middle running the entire length of the building, where he threw the cartons as soon as he had plundered them.
It was like an above-ground rabbit warren, with towering tunnels of furnishings and belongings we had to backtrack through because they dead-ended once he’d thrown the stuff too high. There was even one area where it was impressive how high he’d been able to chuck recliners. Top of the heap, as it were.
Then he set off the sprinkler system and flooded the basement … so now the whole place stinks to the rafters or musty mold and mildew. Douchenozzle seems a fitting term for this guy.
By the time we left we were so depressed it was ridiculous. And itchy. Felt like we had chiggers from top to bottom. Decided it was something in the dust. Not comfortable at all. We also came up with a working theory: we’ve decided he’s one of those soulless wastes of skin who scam families that are moving. You know, estimate the move to be $800, then refuse to release the belongings until the movees come up with additional thousands. We have no actual facts, we just feel since he’s obviously such a feckless dick, that line of work must have been right up his alley.
But Lisa, why isn’t the bank trying to reunite these belongings with their rightful owners, you ask? Guess. Yep, assbucket did away with any recordkeeping he may have had. There’s no way to tell who owns any of it (well, actually, we figured out a couple of the radio stations), or where in the country they may be.
Vendor will advertise the open house, but can’t put specifics, so even if someone who’d been scammed by this prick were to see the ad, s/he wouldn’t know it was his/her stuff. I really, really want what goes around to come around for this guy in the worst way, you know?
Enough of that … on a completely different note: if there’s a Jimmy John’s (www.jimmyjohns.com) located anywhere within driving distance of you, next time you’re in the mood for subs/grinders/hoagies, get the #12 Beach Club. Mmm, nom-nom. “Fresh baked turkey breast, provolone cheese, avocado spread, sliced cucumber, sprouts, lettuce, tomato, and mayo." Holy guacamole, Batman, that sammich is da BOMB!
If the Bear doesn't want to come in from the dog run when I leave for work, then she must know something, so I let the girls stay outside.
Huge FAIL yesterday! Her little weather radar must have been all out of whack because by 10am it was an earth-shattering-thunder-rumbling-lightening-crashing-pitch-black-deluge … and that was at the plant, an hour West of home. So I pulled up the local radar from my office and, sure as shit, there was a big honking storm right over my house as well. Sigh. My poor girls. All I could picture was the two of them huddled on the concrete pad outside the basement door under the deck, wet and miserable and really unhappy with me. Also about two inches bigger all the way around because when they get wet, they PUFF UP. Poor little rain-soaked puppies … and it’s not like the rain let up. At. All.
It rained like stink the entire day … I drove home in it, but in one of those frequent practical jokes of Mother Nature the sun came out about two miles from home. So, of course I left the girls outside for another couple hours to dry off. By the time I let them in they were curly-haired fluffballs covered in mud.
Needless to say, this morning, even though it looked nice out, they came right in when I left for work. And needless to say, no rain all day. Sheesh.
Remember our awesome vendor that I love (small business owner, bends over backwards to get us what we need, like, yesterday)? Well, he has a contract to clean out a warehouse over in the West Bottoms for the bank, which foreclosed on the owner, who defaulted on the loan.
As a complete aside, I often wonder why it is that when I drive through the West Bottoms on my daily commute it always smells strongly of something awesome, but generally unrelated. Could be food (coffee, steak and fries, bacon and eggs, muffins), could be fragrance (jasmine, rain), could be clean laundry, cut grass, rain forest, studmuffins (just checking that you're paying attention). I discovered the origin of the great food smells yesterday … there’s a Waffle House tucked up under the viaduct! If they taste even half as good as they smell, they must be the busiest place in town. Okay, back to the story …
Normally I’d feel bad for the owner who lost his building, but check out this scumbag; he deserves to be kicked in the ass by karma. He used the warehouse as storage space for various businesses, so our vendor is going to have an open house to try to get rid of whatever he can (the bank can’t put the building up for sale until its empty, and right now it’s four floors of ... um ... stuff). Our vendor wanted to know if we wanted any of the stainless steel equipment, trolleys, lockers, office supplies, etcetera for the plant.
We go over with him to take a quick look around to see of there’s anything salvageable, and that’s when we discover what an assbucket the building owner really was. That place was chock full of not only business storage (a couple radio stations and boutiques, etc.), but many, many different folks worldly and household possessions. I’m talking furniture, photos, paperwork … entire households. Four stories worth. At first I thought the owner must have picked stuff up at estate sales, but the flavor was all wrong. There were items from all ages and walks of life. It looked like people’s moving vans had gotten lost between their old homes and their new ones. If the place had been set up neatly, it could have looked like a massive consignment shop. But it wasn’t neat.
It was a shithouse wreck, but that was all due to the owner. According to the bank, once he knew the jig was up, he took the final three months before the bank took possession to ransack these people’s belongings and steal anything and everything of value. None of it was arranged in any way, shape, or form anymore. He meticulously went through each and every box on all four floors and took everything he wanted and flung the rest wherever he felt like it.
The first floor was mostly business storage … until we got to the back section, which was the only place in the entire building that leaked. So that is where assbucket moved all the valuable furnishing he couldn’t steal (apparently if he couldn’t have them, neither could anyone else). We’re talking formerly beautiful woodwork, upright pianos, hutches, you name it.
On the second floor was more business stuff and some residential stuff … strewn to hither and yon. The rest was residential items, with a lot of the furnishings still wrapped for transit. The third floor had a HUGE pile in the middle running the entire length of the building, where he threw the cartons as soon as he had plundered them.
It was like an above-ground rabbit warren, with towering tunnels of furnishings and belongings we had to backtrack through because they dead-ended once he’d thrown the stuff too high. There was even one area where it was impressive how high he’d been able to chuck recliners. Top of the heap, as it were.
Then he set off the sprinkler system and flooded the basement … so now the whole place stinks to the rafters or musty mold and mildew. Douchenozzle seems a fitting term for this guy.
By the time we left we were so depressed it was ridiculous. And itchy. Felt like we had chiggers from top to bottom. Decided it was something in the dust. Not comfortable at all. We also came up with a working theory: we’ve decided he’s one of those soulless wastes of skin who scam families that are moving. You know, estimate the move to be $800, then refuse to release the belongings until the movees come up with additional thousands. We have no actual facts, we just feel since he’s obviously such a feckless dick, that line of work must have been right up his alley.
But Lisa, why isn’t the bank trying to reunite these belongings with their rightful owners, you ask? Guess. Yep, assbucket did away with any recordkeeping he may have had. There’s no way to tell who owns any of it (well, actually, we figured out a couple of the radio stations), or where in the country they may be.
Vendor will advertise the open house, but can’t put specifics, so even if someone who’d been scammed by this prick were to see the ad, s/he wouldn’t know it was his/her stuff. I really, really want what goes around to come around for this guy in the worst way, you know?
Enough of that … on a completely different note: if there’s a Jimmy John’s (www.jimmyjohns.com) located anywhere within driving distance of you, next time you’re in the mood for subs/grinders/hoagies, get the #12 Beach Club. Mmm, nom-nom. “Fresh baked turkey breast, provolone cheese, avocado spread, sliced cucumber, sprouts, lettuce, tomato, and mayo." Holy guacamole, Batman, that sammich is da BOMB!
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