counterparts.
The Canadian prime minister had told certain people to fuck off in the House of Commons, and of course he had also publicly told certain individuals to eat shitâbut he had never offered to flash his pecker in the house, or at least it had never been reported in the press that he had.
It seemed as though everyone was affected by the syndrome of the timesâanger. Everyone seemed determined to vent his rage whenever the occasion arose. How could a simple average guy like himself be expected to act normal when everywhere world leaders, heads of government, were acting like maniacs. He remembered a saying by someone, âIn a sick world even the healthy are sick.â
He sighed deeply and pushed the newspaper away. Aside from his success in meeting the girl, everything had been lousy that dayâand even the one good thing had come to nothing.
He hadnât been able to accomplish a thing. His whole day had been wasted in useless meetings. He wanted to take Friday off and head up north for a long week-end of fishing but he was behind in all his work. He hadnât even had time to open his mail or dictate a word of correspondence.
He hated the correspondence. That was the most difficult thing of all. Administering twenty million dollars of high-class commercial and residential real estate wasnât easy. The majority of his residential tenants were people who had been spoiled by wealth and had to be handled at worst diplomatically, at best with kid gloves. They were used to demanding and receiving.
Levin found that in dealing with them, even on the most trivial matters, he had to choose his words very carefully. He figured since he was probably in for a long night, he might as well try to do some work so that he could be completely free for the coming Friday.
It would be good to take the long week-end. Perhaps heâd take Monday as well.
He had his dictaphone in the car. He could go over his mail and dictate his correspondence as well. He leaned over into the back seat and pulled his briefcase over into the front. He opened it and took out his mail. He placed it in a stack beside him, and pushed the briefcase away. He picked up an envelope, tore it open and pulled the letter out.
Dear Mr. Levin:
I felt I must write to you on what I consider a very serious matter. The tenant directly across the hall from me (Mr. John Martin) is making things very difficult for me. As you know from previous discussions on the telephone, I was never very happy about his taking occupancy in our building. I have lived here at the Grosvenor Arms for thirty years and he is not our kind of person. He works at a night club and is continually coming home in the morning hours. I can hear him getting off the elevator at four oâclock every morning and am constantly being awakened. Once up, I am unable to fall asleep again.
He is a most inconsiderate person. I approached him one day and asked if he wouldnât mind taking the stairs at night instead of using the elevator but he objected to climbing the ten flights of stairs each night. I donât think I was being unreasonable. At his age I would have found ten flights easy to climb. He replied to my request in a very nasty way saying â_uck you lady.â (If you know what I mean). I donât think this was called for, under the circumstances. In general I find him a very rude and ill-mannered type, certainly not of the calibre of tenant we are used to here at the Grosvenor Arms.
However, this isnât the main problem. Last week he bought a rather large dog, a mastiff I believe. It is the size of a small lion and apparently only six months old. I have nothing against dogs as such; however, I found that he allows the dog to make wee wees in the elevator.
This is something I simply will not tolerate and I donât expect you will either. I confronted him with the fact the other day but he denied it was his dog that had done it. His reply was,
The Canadian prime minister had told certain people to fuck off in the House of Commons, and of course he had also publicly told certain individuals to eat shitâbut he had never offered to flash his pecker in the house, or at least it had never been reported in the press that he had.
It seemed as though everyone was affected by the syndrome of the timesâanger. Everyone seemed determined to vent his rage whenever the occasion arose. How could a simple average guy like himself be expected to act normal when everywhere world leaders, heads of government, were acting like maniacs. He remembered a saying by someone, âIn a sick world even the healthy are sick.â
He sighed deeply and pushed the newspaper away. Aside from his success in meeting the girl, everything had been lousy that dayâand even the one good thing had come to nothing.
He hadnât been able to accomplish a thing. His whole day had been wasted in useless meetings. He wanted to take Friday off and head up north for a long week-end of fishing but he was behind in all his work. He hadnât even had time to open his mail or dictate a word of correspondence.
He hated the correspondence. That was the most difficult thing of all. Administering twenty million dollars of high-class commercial and residential real estate wasnât easy. The majority of his residential tenants were people who had been spoiled by wealth and had to be handled at worst diplomatically, at best with kid gloves. They were used to demanding and receiving.
Levin found that in dealing with them, even on the most trivial matters, he had to choose his words very carefully. He figured since he was probably in for a long night, he might as well try to do some work so that he could be completely free for the coming Friday.
It would be good to take the long week-end. Perhaps heâd take Monday as well.
He had his dictaphone in the car. He could go over his mail and dictate his correspondence as well. He leaned over into the back seat and pulled his briefcase over into the front. He opened it and took out his mail. He placed it in a stack beside him, and pushed the briefcase away. He picked up an envelope, tore it open and pulled the letter out.
Dear Mr. Levin:
I felt I must write to you on what I consider a very serious matter. The tenant directly across the hall from me (Mr. John Martin) is making things very difficult for me. As you know from previous discussions on the telephone, I was never very happy about his taking occupancy in our building. I have lived here at the Grosvenor Arms for thirty years and he is not our kind of person. He works at a night club and is continually coming home in the morning hours. I can hear him getting off the elevator at four oâclock every morning and am constantly being awakened. Once up, I am unable to fall asleep again.
He is a most inconsiderate person. I approached him one day and asked if he wouldnât mind taking the stairs at night instead of using the elevator but he objected to climbing the ten flights of stairs each night. I donât think I was being unreasonable. At his age I would have found ten flights easy to climb. He replied to my request in a very nasty way saying â_uck you lady.â (If you know what I mean). I donât think this was called for, under the circumstances. In general I find him a very rude and ill-mannered type, certainly not of the calibre of tenant we are used to here at the Grosvenor Arms.
However, this isnât the main problem. Last week he bought a rather large dog, a mastiff I believe. It is the size of a small lion and apparently only six months old. I have nothing against dogs as such; however, I found that he allows the dog to make wee wees in the elevator.
This is something I simply will not tolerate and I donât expect you will either. I confronted him with the fact the other day but he denied it was his dog that had done it. His reply was,
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