Super My Ace

Mmmm. The super. Who would've thought it possible that someone so elusive could be such a present, nagging factor in your life?

Landlords are owners. They get your rent. They are making lots of money off of you. They work for you. 

Supers are not owners. Supers want free rent. Supers aren't making lots off money off of you. Supers work for the property owners.

Supers, in a way, are like serfs. But with human rights. And (fortunately) no threat of violence or mistreatment to keep them in line. The Russians emancipated serfs in 1861 for a reason. An economic one (for a second there you thought rulers did things out of the good of their hearts.) A serf-based economy is not a competitive economy. Clearly, in 19th century Russia, nothing was getting done.

Sounds like my building. Sounds like my apartment. 

Here I demonstrate that my problem with supers is not the people themselves, but the system under which they are employed. A system that has been PROVEN INEFFECTIVE FOR CENTURIES.

But I gots big problems with my not-so-super. And I gots to find a way to deal with it. 'Cause stress is bad for your health. And I ain't gonna let no super (or her creepy, criminal, angrily tattoo-ed husband that answers her work phone on occasion) shorten my life span.

Here is a post-broken-fridge example of a super frustrating super situation:

Super: "No problem. I'll be there in twenty minutes with the key to the vacant apartment so you can store your groceries there for the time being."

Me: "Oh great! Much appreciated. I'll be here. Thank you so much."

An hour and a half later.

[Ring Ring.]

Angrily tattoo-ed husband: Hello?

Me: Hi is Agatha* there please?

Angrily tattoo-ed husband: Nope she went out.

[Long pause.]

Can I uh take a message?

I explain the situation

Angrily tattoo-ed husband: Uhhhh...she should be back in twenty ok?

Me: [tight-lipped] Okay! I'll try back then.

%$@$%@$. Text musician boyfriend to explain frustration. Twenty minutes later Musician boyfriend enters apartment, breathless.

Musician boyfriend: Did he show up here?

Me: Who? That guy who answers Agatha's phone sometimes?

Musician boyfriend: Yeah. Her husband. Just uhh..just wanted to be home in case he did. 

Interrupted by sound of jangling keys. Knock on door. Musician boyfriend opens door to be met by criminal angrily-tattooed husband.

Angrily-tattooed husband: I uh, I talked to Agatha and she won't be home for 'nother couple hours so uh. I can take you up to that vacant apartment now with thick cement walls, blinds and a deadbolt.

Awesome.

Musician boyfriend volunteers to go without me.

I could go on, but I need to get to my point.

To begin with dealing with my not-so-super, I'm going to start looking on the bright side more often.

Watch how I do it.

Depressing Fact: Broken fridge needs to be replaced.

Bright side: A mug of tea I was cooling off in the refrigerator (morning rush) spilled in there the other day. No longer my problem.

Depressing Fact: We've been storing what's left of our groceries in a vacant apartment on another floor.

Bright side: It's practice for when my house is so huge that I need to take an elevator to the kitchen.

Depressing Fact: When I called my super at 8:15 am the other morning re: broken fridge, she was still asleep. She has two small school-age children. It was a Monday.

Bright side: As long as people like my super exist, I'll always feel like a successful human being. Even when I forget someone's birthday or give my boss the wrong directions or realize that I've been calling tomatoes vegetables and the blasted things were fruits all along.

Depressing Fact: This latest fridge/super ordeal has inspired musician boyfriend to suggest we look for a new apartment when our lease is up. 

Bright side: This fridge ordeal inspired perhaps the funniest joke I've ever made.

Depressing Fact: I may be educated. I may know about serfs in pre-Communist Russia and be taking a math course in August so whatever, but in any apartment building, the super reigns supreme. Ultimately it's the serf's turf and I'm just the fool who has chosen to live on it.

Bright side: In 15 plus years I can look forward to owning a home.

Yes. This is a blog post.
And I'd appreciate your suggestions on how to deal with not-so-supers.

*Name changed to protect identity.