Tales from Melrose Place

By now, you know that I live in a shit heap. It’s cheap, it’s close to my work and Byron’s school and it’s in a hip part of town. Unfortunately, the building is 56 years old and still has most of the original fixtures...such as electrical. I am sincerely shocked that we haven’t burned to the ground yet.


The tenants in this building are, for the most part, equally shit-heapy. You know Mange, Rat Tail and The Slave. You know that Mange and Rat Tail bump uglies. Well, it turns out that The Slave has found companionship in the shit heap, too. A single mother who lives next door to me.


I met the mother a couple of months ago when there was a huge bang on the roof that shook our apartment. All the tenants on the top floor scampered out to the hall to find out what it was. The Slave was there, too, complaining that he might have to go on the roof to find out what it was. You know – his job. A woman was in the hall, holding a gurgling baby. I asked her if she was new here and she said she just moved in. She apologized for the baby and thought the bang was a neighbour banging on the wall to tell her to be quiet. I told her I didn’t know we had a new neighbour, let alone one with a baby. The child was cute enough, with this humongous shock of blonde hair in the front that sort of swooped up like a pompadour. I asked what the baby’s name was.


“Jesse James,” said the mother. But she said it like Jesse James was one name. My sister, for example, does not introduce her son as “George David”. It’s George. I imagined the child’s name to be something dumb like JesseJames Dillinger.


After all the other neighbours and The Slave left, JesseJames’ mom and I were left awkwardly in the hall. She took the opportunity to ramble to me about how JesseJames is 7 months old, and she went to the Salvation Army that day and got 25 diapers and she’s trying to stockpile diapers and diapers are expensive. I nervously agreed and tried to untangle myself from that conversation. I felt bad for her. Until the afternoon I went to get a friend at the front door. We also have no front buzzer so visitors have to call us on their cells. We’ve saved a bundle on delivery food.


I ran downstairs, only to find JesseJames and his mother on the stairwell. She held him on her hip and let out this massive sigh. I said hello and she said “laundry” and sighed again. JesseJames and his pompadour drooled. She stood in the way, so I said I have a friend waiting at the door. She sighed again, not moving. It was like she wanted sympathy from me for having to do laundry while carrying around her child. It took all my strength not to tell her it’s her own damn fault for taking a place on the top floor of a three-story walk-up with a baby and the laundry in the basement. So I just sternly told her to excuse me while I went to get my company and I snaked past her and JesseJames.


Byron was the one who found this gem out. JesseJames’ mom and The Slave are companions. He saw The Slave going into her place one afternoon, but Byron said it was obviously a social call. Blech. We hear The Slave next door in the hallway a lot. And we also hear JesseJames’ mom carousing downstairs in the hallway. JesseJames’ mom and Mange are buddies. Byron has heard JesseJames’ mom coo to the child “say hi to Auntie Tina.” It’s like Melrose Place, with neighbours sleeping with neighbours. Except without the beauty. And way more insane.


44 days. The Slave has started to show our place to potential tenants. A young girl came by on Saturday. The Slave was “upselling” the place by telling her that our place has a custom paint job (that Byron did!), original fixtures and tenants can put anything they want on the walls. Are you sold yet? The Slave also told her that management keeps up on maintenance around here and things. It took all my strength not to laugh. The unshovelled driveway and walkways? The filthy hallways? The ancient electrical? Rat Tail’s “buddies” who happen to know how to plumb? She asked me if it was warm in the winter. I said the windows will have about an inch of frost and you can’t see out them, but we had our snuggies. Byron told me to reign it in. I wanted to pull the child aside and tell her to run. Maybe she has a blog, too, and she can continue the Tales from the Tina File, or tell more stories of JesseJames’ mom. Before we leave, though, I have a few more tales of my own to tell.


Amanda Woodwardingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS