Scratches

Comments on life, the universe and everything from an aging Sixties survivor.

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Location: Massachusetts, United States

Ummm, isn't "about me" part of the point of the blog?

Friday, January 09, 2009

Rent

Once upon a time I used to torment my cubicle mate with stories from my misspent youth (and young adulthood and middle age...). One of them concerned my time working for a property management company.

It had wide-ranging interests. My job was to promote their failing retail property, which I helped fail faster, I think. However, we had a couple of other guys who were a couple of do-it-all types. One of their jobs was to collect rent in an economically disadvantaged part of a nearby city.

Once, when they were going off on the rent run, these two began a jovial argument about who was going to take what tools along on this trip. Along with a tin box for the money (if any), a clipboard, and various gadgets for boarding up or breaking into abandoned property, the toolkit included an M-16 semiautomatic rifle and a Glock semiautomatic pistol (I am not making this up). When you collect rent from people whose living comes from selling certain types of dried leaves or different types of white powder, you succeed with superior firepower.

It was this news item that brought it all back. The prosecutor says "Nobody brings a hatchet and wears rubber gloves to discuss rent at that hour of the morning." He obviously never tried to collect rent in a crack house.

I think the management had it backwards. Those two should have promoted the retail property and I should have helped our disadvantaged tenants market their weed and powders. The retail property would have had crowds of people, brought in at gunpoint, whilst my marketing singlehandedly eliminated the drug problem in that city.

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