A Brooklyn Tale

I have been working with the app TaskRabbit (www.taskrabbit.com) for about a year-and-a-half, eight months full-time.  It is fascinating what people with no time and some money will ask you to do.  Most of it is normal, some worth talking about with friends, and one worthy of sitting down and recounting in great detail.

Tuesday was my first day back after a well-deserved and amazing vacation.  I had a couple things to do that morning, and was making some progress.  A job popped up that was near my house, and was, according to the description. fairly simple.  It involved moving a couple of garbage bags and some furniture to the curb.  It paid well and wouldn't take long, so I accepted.  I began the usual conversation with Sabrina*.  I expressed that I would be happy to help, and asked if 9:00 PM was the time she wanted to start.  She answered that 9:00 would be great, and then gave a few more details about the job.  She explained that she was moving out of her apartment because it had bedbugs and the landlord refused to treat.  There would be a bed, dresser, small table, and several bags that needed to be moved from a fourth floor walk-up (or as Sabrina chose to say, a "walk-down.  After all," she said, "we will be bringing stuff down, not up.")  I thanked her for her honesty, and went on with my day.

Later that evening, I went to her neighborhood.  Which was my neighborhood.  Kind of.  Sabrina lived 6 or 7 blocks from me.  I got there early-about 8:30, and sent her a message explaining I was early, but could start whenever she was ready.  As I waited for her response, I glanced around.  Flatbush Avenue is a major roadway through the neighborhood, lined with shops and restaurants.  This block appeared to be mostly residential and this building was twice as wide as a brownstone.  A man was standing on the stoop and the front and vestibule doors were open.  There was a police officer inside the building speaking with an older man.

A man approached the stoop and began speaking with the man on the stoop.  I overheard the man on the stoop say this was his building.  He had owned it since 1979.  I was still under the impression, based on previous context, that Sabrina was moving into this building.  Somehow, I believed she had moved everything into this building and wanted to moved the infested items out.  It didn't make sense to me, but I didn't ask.  I figured there would be time to discuss that later.

"IN THE NAME OF JESUS OF NAZARETH, PLEASE HELP ME!!!  Lord Jesus, I am your child," the man who had been speaking to the police officer shouted.  He pleaded for help for a few moments and quieted.  I still had not heard from Sabrina, so I approached the man on the stoop.  I asked if he owned the building and explained why I was there.  That I would be helping a tenant move her stuff.  I was going to ask if I could wait for her inside, but before I could get the request out, the man showed me into the building.  He explained to the people in the lobby and the police officers that I was there to help one of his tenants.  I followed him upstairs, and the door to apartment 8 was open.  He showed me in, and said, "Everything in here goes."

I started in the living room.  I collected garbage bags and put them in a dresser drawer and took the drawer to the curb.  Going back up the steps, one of the officers asked me what my role was in the building and if I was an electrician.  I explained I had been hired to remove the things from the apartment upstairs and that's all I knew.  He said, "Oh, you're the hit man.  I just wondered because they are having some issues in this building.  Good luck!"

I made another trip or two before a lady stopped me in the lobby.  "How did you get into the apartment," she asked?  I told her the owner had let me in the building and showed me upstairs where the door was open.  She said, "I'm Sabrina, it's nice to meet you," and we shook hands.  I apologized and she said I had done nothing wrong.  She immediately went to the police officer and said the landlord had entered her apartment illegally.  She said the landlord had previously told her he had lost the key to her apartment and couldn't open the door, yet her door was now open and I had been let in.  She was furious- but not with me.

Each time I passed through the lobby, the crowd grew.  Sabrina was still there, and the people from apartment 2 on the first floor had their door open.  People from at least 3 other apartments were talking in the lobby as well.  All were listing their complaints to the police, who could not specifically do anything to remedy the situation.  Apparently, the cause of the original phone call to the police that night was that the landlord had shut off the electricity to the apartment of the man who had earlier been praying for help, but each person, including Sabrina, had a laundry list of complaints.  He had shut off the electricity to the whole building, would not treat for bedbugs and other pests, and would even ask for rent twice a month.  It seems that Sabrina had been in this apartment a short two months when she and her roommate decided they had to go.  The landlord was not going to return her deposit.

As I continued removing things from Sabrina's apartment, I double and triple-checked with her.  I didn't want to take things to the trash that she wanted.  There were things in the kitchen that she said she would get later, and a green bag that looked like some kind of air mattress but wasn't. Dresser drawers, pillows, and a box that had been shipped from Amazon and never opened went out on the curb.  A coffee table, side table and some kind of display rack went.  She also told me the things in the closets of each of two bedrooms was trash as well.  Winter coats, dresses, a teddy bear, an air mattress, dresser, mattress and box spring, hangars of all sorts, all gone.  I left the bed and dresser for last, as Sabrina had offered to help me get those down the steps.

As I cleaned out the closet in one of the rooms, I heard someone outside the room, but didn't pay attention to who it was.  Suddenly, Sabrina, who had come up to check my progress shouted, "Get out of my apartment!  We have paid through July 1, and you are now in here illegally!"  I looked up in time to see the landlord walk past the bedroom door, mumbling under his breath.  Not threatening, but more of an apologetic mumble.  She called the police again.  I told her that I was sorry she was going through this, but that I knew that I wanted her on my side.  She was one of those people who you could tell would be a great friend to have, unless you got on her bad side.

One of the many bags in the closet was small, canvas, and very heavy.  I looked inside it to make sure Sabrina hadn't missed anything and found a Minolta 35mm camera.  I brought it to her attention and she said it was her mother's and she probably should keep it.  She asked me if I had ever seen "The Jerk" where Steve Martin's character was ready to leave with nothing except this ashtray!  And this paddle ball game!  And this chair!  That's how she said she felt as I took stuff down and she pulled it off the trash pile.

As I finished bagging the stuff in the closet, she came to me and said we would not be taking the heavy items downstairs.  The bed, dresser, and a few miscellaneous items would stay in the hallway just outside the apartment door.  I don't know what prompted her decision to do that--the landlord entering the apartment while she was there, the refusal to return her deposit, or just that she was ready to sever ties with this situation effective five minutes ago.  Whatever the reason, I didn't give much of an argument for getting the large furniture downstairs.

Once everything was out of the apartment and on the street or in the hallway, I was dismissed.  She thanked me for my help and then offered me the camera.  I turned it down because it was her mother's.  She said, "Well, I guess I'll put it on the sidewalk, and maybe somebody will pick it up."  I told her that if that was her final decision, I would take it, but she should be very sure.  I left the job with a camera.

Sabrina was very kind, and even had a sense of humor despite the difficulties she had had and continued to have in just two short months.  I am always amazed to see a righteous anger in action.  She had every right to be upset, but chose at whom she directed her anger.  I was also intrigued by the owner of the building.  He never engaged any of the tenants or responded to their anger.  I feel like so many  people would have answered back and the whole situation as bad as it was, could have been worse.

I've never had a problem like that with a landlord.  I have heard such people exist, but have never had a personal experience like that.  I am blessed and lucky.  It was a hot, sticky night, so I was already itching a bit, but when I got home, I put everything I had been wearing in a plastic bag and took it to the laundromat straightaway.  I do not need the scourge of bedbugs, and I'm sure the two lovely ladies I live with would not have appreciated it either.

*I told my client that would definitely be writing about this experience, but that I would change her name, so obviously, Sabrina is not her real name.  But she did live somewhere on Flatbush Avenue.

TaskRabbit has given me the opportunity to do some interesting things.  I have thought about putting pen to paper for some other jobs, and this might just be the kick I need to pick up again.  Or I may wait ten months.  For now, I'm off to help someone move in, but not into that building!