Today began round two.  This would be the second field inspection of a condo whose owner was.. difficult.  The difficulty arose from the condescending tone he took with me.  It was buttercream frosted.  So thick your eyes would water.  He was condescending in the worst way; as if to say, “Of course we’re friends!”  Idiot.

I could have slapped his sweaty face off this morning.  He was glistening—no, this prick was soaked.  Same trashy outfit he had worn the first time I met him; no regard whatsoever for the prospective tenants he interviewed.  He had been on the roof of one of the four two-story condos.  No more than twenty feet high at best (the condo was a converted apartment built in ‘69).  And yet, when he climbed down and greeted me with his clammy palm, he confessed he had been scared shitless by the height.  A shitlessness he couldn’t let on, fearing the roofers wouldn’t allow him to squeeze their balls on the bid.  Idiot.

It was my turn.  I said flatly, “I’m here to see the shitty ones.  If I don’t see them, they don’t get adjusted.  Period.”  So we were off, Moshe seemingly desperate to show me as many units as he could before the midday Central Florida heat extracted too much more sweat.  The tour didn’t last.  He started to rush me in and out of the last few units.  ”It’s so hot!”  Fucking shut up!  Idiot.

He briefly considered handing me over to his—well, she’s a fine specimen, indeed.  Whatever her short skirt, high heels would lead you to believe, I’m told she’s the leasing specialist.  Riiiight…  No, Moshe thought better and escorted me to the last two, largely intact units himself.

At the end of the tour, he pressed me, “So you’re going to take them off?”  ”No, I’m not going to ‘take them off,’ but I’ll review with my manager Greg the photos I took, and we’ll decide on a fair adjustment.” “They should really be on for next to nothing then.”  ”Why?” I countered.  ”What do you think they’re worth?”  ”Moshe, yeah, a few of them are complete and utter shit.  I’ve already done you a $125,000 favor for those.  This next bunch, well, aside from new air handlers, some shitty used appliances you like so much, and an exterminator to rid them of the billions of roaches that have infested the place, I’m not at all sure they’re worthless.  I’ll let you know.”

Like a fucking dog in heat, humping my leg mercilessly, Moshe gives it one last go.  And so do I.  Back to the office, and chilly air conditioning.  He can suck it.  Idiot.