Trash Queen

Rachel and I have lived in the Langmore for almost four years (I think). When we originally moved into the building, the place was packed with every unit being rented out. Since the death of Mark and the building being purchased by Tracy, the humans dwelling in the building as dwindled down. With the exception of the store fronts below us, there were only two apartments being rented out consistently for the last twelve months.

Amy lives above us on the third floor, and has been an anti-social weirdo since we moved in. Conversation between has never existed. I have always been polite to her, saying hello, asking if she needed help during the hurricane last summer, dropping off her mail that was mistakenly put in our box, ect. My attempts of friendliness are returned by her with grunts, stares, and more grunts. Even with the grunts, I have still maintained a level of friendliness.

Everything changed when I accidently filled her garbage can up with our trash. It was an honest mistake and was not intentional. Rachel and I were in the process of overhauling our apartment in preparation for moving David’s furniture into our apartment. David is my amazing father-in-law, who is in the process of moving to England with his wife. Rachel and I threw a lot of shit away, filling up our trash bin in record time.

Each apartment has a separate trash and recycling bin which is taken out on Sunday night for Monday morning pick-up. On Saturday night, I went to the trash area and pulled out an empty trash bin from what I thought was one of the empty apartments. The two of us pulled up our trash bins to the building, along with the empty bin and finished filling them with our trash. We also didn’t see any sense in pulling the heavy, filled bins back to the trash area in the back of the property since we would be taking them out to the curb the following day. We finished cleaning up and called it a night.

The following day, Rachel went to work and I hung around the apartment doing my usual Sunday cleaning. At one point, I headed out to the porch and noticed that Amy was in a mood and a half. She was already in her car and peeled out of our parking lot in a rage, creating missiles with the gravel in the parking lot and two huge black marks skid marks.

I headed inside in disbelief and noticed I had a text message from Tracy asking if anyone knows why Amy’s trash bin was filled. I didn’t think anything of it, especially since she had recently rented out the apartment next to Amy. The new tenant had been dumping crap into our bin all week, but I didn’t make a huge deal about it. Obviously there is something wrong with this weirdo that she went running to our landlord about her trash can being filled. I headed back outside to double check to make sure that my car wasn’t dented from Amy’s temper tantrum and finally noticed why she was so pissy: I had accidently grabbed her bin.

In my defense though, trash is picked up on Monday morning and taken to the curb Sunday night. Think about how much trash you take out in your house during a given week. By Saturday night, wouldn’t there be some trash in your bin? I grabbed an empty bin on Saturday night (at about 2 am).

When Rachel got home from work, I gave her the run-down of what had occurred today. She too thought the situation was funny, especially Amy’s reaction to her trash bin being filled. While we were having a good laugh, Amy pulled back into the lot. I waited outside so that I could apologize to her and explain what had happened. At first she tried to avoid us, hoping that we would go back inside before she had to head into her apartment. When she finally came upstairs, I attempted to apologize, but she cut me off before I could even explain what had happened, calling me “unorthodox.”

I was speechless that this douche bag had just cut off my apology to call me unorthodox. Does she even know what that word means, let alone how to properly use it? I responded by telling her that I “was trying to apologize, but fuck it. You don’t deserve one.” Rachel quickly cut me off and calmed Amy down by literally talking over her to get her point across. I sat there in stunned silence that Amy was such an ass and in amazement over my wifey’s communication skills. It honestly was mesmerizing to watch how Amy went from irate bitch to plain bitch in a matter of minutes.

Needless to say, Amy and I barely even speak. I refuse to say hello to her and she refuses to even look at me. She has been much friendlier with Rachel, saying hello to her and actually initiating conversations with her.  I have heard through the grapevine that she’s still trying to cause trouble, such as telling Jackie (the owner of the salon below us) to put our trash bins in front of my car. As always, I will have the last laugh in this situation since I plan on pissing the bitch off in small ways, such as throwing random shit into her trash bin and parking really close to her car.