A South Bronx Tale

Laws of Nature 101: Throwing a bunch of random strangers into a shared space will result in individuals selectively grouping themselves together, usually according to a social hierarchy.

Janis Ian knows what's up: "Where you sit in the cafeteria is crucial because you got everybody there. You got your Freshmen, ROTC Guys, Preps, JV Jocks, Asian Nerds, Cool Asians, Varsity Jocks, Unfriendly Black Hotties, Girls Who Eat Their Feelings, Girls Who Don't Eat Anything, Desperate Wannabes, Burnouts, Sexually Active Band Geeks, The Greatest People You Will Ever Meet, and The Worst. Beware of The Plastics."

In the office environment, every company has it's own A-list clique. I hope that it goes without saying that I am a member of my own office's most exclusive group. We're made up of four saucy ladies:

MG: Me. Dis bitch has got swag pumping out her ovaries. 

D: The "mother" of the group. She's lived her whole life bouncing around one NYC project to another. D knows EVERYTHING about everything so you better pay attention to her advice.

B: The Puerto Rican fashionista. She's super hot and always comes dressed to impress.

T: Hails from Africa. Her BFF is Nelson Mandela's step-daughter. Not joking. Lady is an amazing dancer and is my personal inspiration and definition of the word "diva".

I am very happy that my work rarely brings me to NYC's less savory neighborhoods such as the South Bronx or Brownsville. Whenever I do have to make an appearance in these sorts of neighborhoods, I like to schedule my appointments in the morning. According to D, "You won't run into any trouble in the morning because that's when all these wannabe thugs are sleeping". Nice thinking! I've found that Brownsville and the South Bronx can actually be quite charming and peaceful at 10:30 am. While I have been in plenty of inappropriate, creepy, potentially not-so-good situations, I am thankful that I've never personally been in one that was truly scary.

This isn't true for most inspectors, including T. T recently found herself waiting for a superintendent outside of a building in the South Bronx. I guess the super was taking his sweet time arriving at the site, because T was forced to listen to a rather uncomfortable conversation as she waited. 

A man and a woman on the stoop next door loudly, without trying to hide the content of their conversation, negotiated the sale of a firearm. The woman wanted to kill her deadbeat husband and the man asked her what she was looking for regarding the type of gun, price, model, etc. Midway through their conversation, the woman stopped the negotiation to compliment T on her purse. They then turned back to one another and continued discussing gun prices. After the pair had finished their business dealings the woman said, "Thanks man. Now Imma 'bout to go get me some breakfast at the liquor store". It was 9 am.

You. Cannot. Make. This. Stuff. Up

Photo credits: Mean Girls

Sleeping Strangers

Hide yo' kids, hide yo' wife, damnit!

I don't know about you, but I don't particularly welcome the idea of a random stranger poking around my apartment while I sleep. I'm not weird, am I? I don't know, I guess we all must have different comfort thresholds for this, because it appears some people are A-okay with strangers rifling through their homes without feeling concerned enough to open their eyes. I've performed at least two or three inspections in which residents were not fully conscious. One time it happened when I was relatively new to the mold game; I was involved with some legal HPD thing (NYC Department of Housing Preservation & Development) in a low income housing development. I inspected the room of some sleeping teenage boy, in the dark!, while an HPD official and the kid's mom waited outside in the living room... Like seriously, what the fuck are you doing? It's 11 am on a Wednesday! Get your ass up! So, so awkward.

Last Friday I found myself in another slightly uncomfortable sleeping situation, but at least this one was a million times more legitimate. I was up in Riverdale performing an inspection for an extremely old woman. I guess she had recently been in some sort of accident and was having trouble moving, in addition to other more long term ailments. The woman greeted me, but just didn't have the energy to stay awake during the inspection. Thankfully I was not the only conscious body in the apartment, I had her friendly housekeeper for company. Before the lady had drifted off, I learned that she was super cool and friendly, and had an amazing terrace garden with the most spectacular view of Manhattan. We compared notes on our gardening likes and dislikes (I love deserts and have been working on growing my own cactus/succulents garden). I didn't want to be a total creep and take a million pictures of her garden, but check out these shots from her terrace. What a view!

So much green!

'Sup Manhattan

Boom! A section of my very own BADASS cactus garden! :)

Photo credits: WAFF-48 News, The Bed Intruder Song, Antoine Dodson

Werk it Out - Boogie Down Bronx Edition

I'm just gonna throw it out there. The Bronx is crazy. Even crazier than Queens. And let me tell you, Queens is pretty crazy (what genius thought it'd be a good idea to name streets "64th Road", "64th Street", and "64th Drive", all of which are located in completely different areas? I know Queens is a big borough, but come on, we can be more creative than that). Despite the confusing nature of Queens, the Bronx is still weirder. It's so different than all the other boroughs. NYC is a typical urban city - it's like, you know, flat. The Bronx on the other hand is a mountain. Actually scratch that, it's the Infinite Staircase described by Justin Norton in my favorite book, The Phantom Tollbooth. 

“Whether or not you find your own way, you're bound to find some way. If you happen to find my way, please return it, as it was lost years ago. I imagine by now it's quite rusty.”

Everywhere you go there are staircases and staircases, and then more staircases. If you weren't familiar with the area and looked at a map, you'd think, "Oh! It should be easy to drive from Point A to Point B, all you have to do is take this short little road!" But no, this "short little road" is, you guessed it, a staircase. Below you are looking at a legitimate portion of West 238th Street: 

This shot had to be taken very quickly - I was starting to get strange looks for photographing a nondescript cement staircase...

Note the grading and height of the staircase. There are not one, not two, not three, but FOUR separate stair sections. I don't know how the locals do that every day, especially those who are a little up-there in years. I feel like some sort of sneaker commercial or amateur free running video must have been shot here. Or else needs to be shot here. I'm imagining something along the lines of this...

Or this...

So, who's inspired? Any DIY dare devils out there? I'll volunteer to be your camera(wo)man!

Photo credits: The Phantom Tollbooth

DTF?

Hey, anybody interested in picking up an STD or two in the South Bronx? Lucky for you, I know a place! Today I was in the charming industrial warehouse district of the Bronx neighborhood Hunt's Point. I've heard stories about this particular area (come sundown it's hooker heaven), and was bit concerned for my personal safety. Fortunately things were not that bad. I did run into a couple of junkies and saw a few more scrubs than usual, but other than that everything was fine. Today's job site was a rather disgusting warehouse that was conveniently located adjacent to the "King of Clubs NYC Upscale Gentlemen's Club". Nothing says upscale like excessive amounts of barbed wire.

This place meets all my needs: I can sell my excess pellet crates (red sign) and lust after some sexi ladiez all at the same  convenient location!

Road Trip to Nowhere

Often I'm given no more information than an address and apartment number when visiting a job site. I don't know the reason for the mold inspection, who will be present during the visit, or whether there's serious drah-mah between management and the residents. I recently inspected a large apartment in the Bronx. The apartment was originally two separate units that had been combined in a... co-op?.. condo??...something building (I still can't tell the difference between the two). 

I arrived at the address. No doorman, and no answer when I buzzed the apartment. Fortunately someone entered the building and I stealthily snuck in behind. I proceeded to  awkwardly creep around trying to find the super. Eventually I located him belting out Celine Dion while mopping the floor. He let me into the empty apartment which was occupied, although allegedly the tenants had temporarily moved out during the remediation process. The super informed me that only the kitchen required testing--a pipe connected to the dishwasher had burst. I was like, awesome! Easy-peasey! The super leaves me to get back to his work (aka "My Heart Will Go On") since I didn't need any help. I decided to call my mom on the phone, thinking I could waste a little extra time checking in with her as well as fooling around on Social Girl during the inspection (if you aren't familiar with this app, I highly suggest you familiarize yourself IMMEDIATELY!). Mid convo avec ma mère, I notice a man standing behind me.

Direct quote: "There could never be too much argyle in the world!"

This man was middle-aged, balding, chubby, and exuded an aura of general creepiness. He identified himself as, let's say... Clark Crabman. He prefaced his name with some long-winded BS sounding job title, that did not register in my brain. He claimed to represent the apartment's residents. Uhh, what? I have no idea what that means. To this day, I still have absolutely no idea of his purpose, or how he was involved with the apartment. In the aftermath of the investigation, my fellow colleagues and I came to the conclusion that we wouldn't exactly call him the most upright of "business" men. 

Bald? Check. Chubby? Check. Kinda creepy? Check-times-infinity-no-comebacks.

Anywho, Mr. Crabman followed me around the entire time at a distance that can only be described as inside-my-personal-bubble. He also kept calling me "Ma'am". Let me make one thing clear, it is ALWAYS offensive to call a woman, especially me, "ma'am" OR "miss". Both words send shivers down my back. The former = old lady, the latter = young girl. I am a WOMAN. If you must use one of those sort of phrases, I'll accept  "mademoiselle" (because everything said in French sounds fancy) or, even better, how about you ask me to repeat my name and use that?! 

Ooh la la!

Feminist aside over, continuing on... About every 3.76 seconds, he would call me to come over to an area in which he had found "mold". He made me take a picture of every, little spec of whatever. I'm like dude, I'm going to report that there was water damage on this wall. I'm not going to say there was water damage in the top left corner, bottom right corner, middle, above the granite counter top, etc. etc. etc. Despite this, he continued to insist that I take pictures of all the "damage". And instead of testing only one room as planned, he had me test EIGHT rooms. I can't even tell you how much bending up-and-down and crawling all over the place with a moisture meter that entails. Ugh. All work and no play makes me a dull mold girl. 

Heeerrreeeeee's Moldy!

To add insult to injury, the place was absolutely disgusting. It looked like the family had gotten out of there in a HURRY. Food was still lying around. Dirty towels remained in the bathrooms. Random belongings cluttered the entire apartment. The icing on the cake was the den. One could argue that the residents are creative? Resourceful? Call it whatever, but I think everyone can agree the den was a tad unusual...

Why yes, that is a van car seat used as a couch! I call it post-, post-modern trailer trash chic!

Butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Here I was thinking that only the cast of Aaahh! Real Monsters used discarded junk as furniture, but I can admit when I'm wrong!

Ickis is so on trend!

Photo Credits: Social Girl, Nickelodeon, Spongebob Sqaurepants, Aaahh! Real Monsters, The Shining, http://stylinggame.blogspot.com

Skeletons in the Closet?

Almost, but not quite! This was an inspection of a very creepy closet in the basement of a hospital. If you can't tell from the picture, it's stuffed full of bodies... Well at least CPR dummies. 

As a side note, I was also asked to keep an eye out for any signs of rodent activity. Nothing spices up an investigation quite like the possibility of a rat jumping out at me!

Photo credit: The Muppets