The Hom Chronicles If you're a loyal Doser then most likely you are already familiar with Ms. Hom. If you've never heard of her before, here is your chance to get better acquainted. Over the years I've peppering the Dose Diary with my experiences with Ms. Hom, the elderly chinese woman, and mother of my landlord, who lived in the apartment below me. The feedback was wonderful and these entries quickly became a Diary favorite. I no longer have contact with Ms. Hom and recognizing that most people probably don't go back and read old Diary entries, I decided to do the following -- I've plucked all the Ms. Hom entries from the Diary and placed them here to read as a single collection. Eventually I'd like to add some Ms. Hom stories that I haven't written about yet. Trust me, there are more! But until that time this is what we have.... now go and get your Hom on!! June 10th, 1998 Friday evening I saw Ms. Hom pruning the bushes in front of our building. She sees me and announces her one word all-purpose greeting to me. ""Aahndy!!" I say hello. Before I know it I'm sweating, hedge clippers in one hand, a butcher knife in the other, taking directions from Ms. Hom. "There! There!" (pause) "There!" as she points out what sections she wants me to hack away at. Jeez. I swear there is a sitcom waiting to happen revolving around me and this woman. She finally lets me stop cutting and she starts to schedule me for a "Ms. Hom appointment" for sometime over the weekend. A Ms. Hom appointment is where she makes you commit to a time to meet with her to............. well, she never tells you exactly what she wants until you actually show up. You never know if you're going to end up changing light bulbs, installing a lock on the basement door, or addressing envelopes for her. (I've done all of these and more). And once you have this appointment, its impossible to get out of because it would take 3 hours plus to break the language barrier and fully explain that you can't help carry stones on Tuesday night because work friends are going for beers that night. It's easier and less painful to just move the stones. This time she lets me know that it will involve the garden behind our apartment. She tells me more but all I can understand is "Garden 1:00 Sunday". The appointment has been made. I am now a man with weekend obligations. She will work me like the dog that I am. And I will do it quietly. My reward will be most likely 4 fortune cookies, an orange and possibly a canned ham. December 25th, 1999 Ms. Hom doesn't know that I celebrate Festivus, not Christmas. She called me down Friday afternoon to give me some Christmas gifts. She gave me $30 in cash, a family-size box of Ritz crackers, and a canned ham. Go figure! January 7th, 2000 After a long hard day at work all I want to do is go upstairs to my apartment, take a shower, surf for porn, take another shower, have some food and watch some tv. But it's not that easy. To get to my apartment I have to pass by Ms. Hom's apartment. And when I see her door open, I know it means she's waiting. And a conversation is inevitable..... Andy: How old are you? Ms. Hom: 45 year CHINA. 45 year SAN FRANCISCO. 45 year BOSTON! Andy: so you're 135 years old? Ms. Hom: yeah, yeah. Andy!! Andy: what? Ms. Hom: you good boy Andy. Andy: thank you Ms. Hom: Andy. Andy: yeah Ms. Hom: how you? Andy: good Ms. Hom: you good boy Andy: (laughing) thanks. I gotta go upstairs Ms. Hom: what time home tomorrow? Andy: (ahhh SHIT) I don't know Ms. Hom: what time? Andy: sometimes I work late or sometimes i go out. i just don't know Ms. Hom: what time you come home? Andy: I don't know Ms. Hom: 5:00 Andy: i might work late that night Ms. Hom: 5:30 you come here Andy: well I don't... Ms. Hom: 6:00 you good boy Andy 6:00 Andy: ok fine. 6:00. Ms. Hom: Andy Andy: yeah Ms. Hom: 6:00 you come down Andy: yes yes yes! 6:00. This incredibly annoying circular conversation takes about 15 minutes to complete. The end result being me rushing home by 6:00 (having to pass up an invitation to get after-work beers) to knock on her door just so she can hand me some almost rotten oranges, some nasty cookies and a canned ham, and then send me on my way. Welcome to MY world. Good boy! January 31st, 2000 Guess who I have to call today? Boston Gas. Guess what's wrong with my gas? Nothing. But Ms. Hom has a problem with her gas. And it's my job to call Boston Gas and tell them to come at 2:00. Then I have to call her back and tell her that they're coming. I know they're not going to be able to come on such short notice and she won't understand. The most simple things become incredibly complicated with the language barrier. I hate this. Why am I doing this? Why doesn't her son (our landlord who lives an hour away) handle this? While examining her stove last night and shaking my head I actually asked her why she doesn't just call her son. Her response was, "Vacation. He on vacation." Well this pissed me off because I know he's not on vacation, so I called her on it! She didn't give me much of an answer but it's pretty obvious what's going on here; she's old and she's proud and she's pushy. She doesn't want to be a burden to her son who has bought this building and is letting her live in it for free, but she has absolutely no problem inconveniencing me. And if I ever mention calling her son, she freaks out and gets all mad at me and says, "No! You no make trouble for me!!" So I'm caught in the middle. I don't want to do this stuff for her anymore, but if I call the landlord, she'll find out and be very upset. You're probably thinking, "Geez Andy, just call Boston Gas for the old lady." Well, I will... but you don't understand the history and extent of all of this, I think I'm starting to get at the end of my rope. continued.... Ugh. I just called Boston Gas and told them of my situation. They don't do service or repairs of any kind anymore; you have to call an independent contractor. So I call Ms. Hom from my cube at work and tell her the deal. She doesn't get it. She wants me to call them again. No. That's usually her solutiuon, just try again. For example if I can't open her window that's painted shut, she just keeps telling me to try again and again and again. I tell her they won't come to fix the gas and she says I should call someone who can come. There's no way I'm gonna shop around for someone to come fix this because then who is gonna pay the guy? I doubt the landlord wants me calling service on her apartment withouth his knowledge. So the saga continues... and it's becoming clear I need to create a separate section of the Dose dedicated to chronicling all the Ms. Hom stories that have accrued over the past 5 years. February 2nd, 2000 I get home and the phone rings right away. She can tell when I'm home. It's like she waits by the phone and as soon as she hears me come up the stairs she starts dialing. She wants me to come down, what else? I come down and she proudly shows me that her stove is now working. Wonderful. Can I go now? Not quite. She hands me her gas bill and money. See, she doesn't have a checkbook, and even if she did, she can't write english; hell she can hardly speak it. So it's become somewhat of a regular routine for me to pay her bills and she pays me in cash. (I still think a family member should be doing this for her and not me) She always tries to pay me when I help her and I always refuse. She tries to hand me money and I say no. She insists. I say no. She insists. I say no. She insists, and I finally give up. Last night I tried to walk away from her to avoid taking the money and she grabbed onto my nice grey sweater and pulled HARD. I was like "YO! Watch the duds!!" I felt like I was scolding her but she was really yanking on my sweater. But she got what she wanted because I took her $6. She also gives me food. I can never leave without her giving me food; it's a guarantee. This time it was 3 sheaths of crackers and a mini can of V8. Then she reminds me like 100 times to put mail the bill. Every step closer to door I get, she reminds me again. "ahhndy!!" "what?" "tomorrow mail" "yes, i'll mail it in the morning, I promise" (i manage to take a few steps towards the door) "andy!" "what?" "you mail tomorrow" "yes!" (a few more steps towards the door) "andy!" "what?" "tomorrow mail." arrrrrrrhh!....... this circular conversation goes on for about 10 minutes. It's ridiculous! March 7th, 2000 "Bob the Plumber" showed up at 9:00am to replace my water heater. Nice guy. He knows me from back in the day when we had some heating problems. We chat a little and I find out that Ms. Hom calls him sometimes to do stuff too. I couldn't believe it! I guess she calls him up and bribes him with money to move heavy stuff out of the basement. Insane. For not speaking the language, she is one crafty broad. And one HELL of a kisser. Oh no, I've said too much. May 1st, 2000 I come home yesterday to find Ms. Hom on her landing with two garbage bags. Oh no, bad timing Andy. Every chance encounter with her opens you up to being scheduled for a possible appointment. You fear that at any moment you'll hear the dreaded phrase "What time you come home?" come out of her mouth and be screwed. She always ties her garbage bags closed with these flimsy little pieces of string. I don't she's ever seen a twist-tie before in her life. I help her tie the bags up (not easy with string) and put her bags on the curb. As I come back inside I fear this is the moment I'll get roped in. But it's my lucky day. All I get is a "Thank you. You good boy Andy." I say you're welcome and scamper to my apartment door, a free man. June 27th, 2000 Ms. Hom buzzed me tonight. She had locked herself outside and decided leaning on my bell was the most apt approach to resolving her issue. I'm 29 I should be living in a place with CABLE and AIR CONDITIONING and MODERN BATHROOMS and.. and.. and a ROOF DECK DAMNIT! This is not quite where I pictured myself to be at this point... with a pitifully small handful of friends and staring at the same bare walls going on six years plus. When I walk across the threshold of my room, all that I own in this world is contained within. Nothing in storage, nothing in my parent's house. It's all here. And it's dwindling by the month. When does minimalism cross the line into obsessive compulsive disorder? Yesterday I decided I can no longer tolerate metal wire hangers (no more wire hangers!) and that only wooden ones will do. So I threw out all my metal hangers.... along with some old pants, a shirt, and a braided belt. Monday nights..... garbage nights..... are my salvation. July 17th, 2000 I caught a glimpse into Ms. Hom's apartment this weekend and she had crap EVERYWHERE (not the norm) and it explains why she has 7-8 bags of garbage to put out every week. I wonder what she's up to, but I don't dare ask her, it'll just mean more work for me. July 23rd, 2000 I saw Ms. Hom this weekend. Remember I was telling you about all the garbage she's been putting out on the curb? She called me into her apartment and there were full garbage bags lining her hallways. She offered me an old typewriter. Ms. Hom: you take. Andy: No thanks. Ms. Hom: you take Andy: nahh, thanks, but I don't need it. Ms. Hom: why no take? Andy: I have a computer. Ms. Hom: (quizzical look) Andy: you know, online porn? Ms. Hom: (quizzical look) Andy: forget it. Ms. Hom: YOU TAKE ANDY!! Andy: no no, thank you very much but no. (i try to walk away) Ms. Hom: AHHHHNDY!! Andy: (sigh) yes? Ms. Hom: here (hands me a bag of cookies that looks like they've been in her apartment for 50 years) Andy: Thank you. Ms. Hom: You good boy Andy. Thank you Andy. By the time I got to my apartment door two things had hit me. One: I probably could've sold that typewriter on eBay for some good vintage cash. Two: I think Ms. Hom may be moving out! I immediately starting thinking of all the good things. I can go on the roof and not be hassled. I can have a party in my palacial apartment and not worry about the noise. No more paying her bills. No more taking in her mail. No more taking out her garbage. No more appointments! I closed the door to my apartment with an excited glee in my eye. I felt like putting on a kilt and running around my apartment yelling "Freeeeeeeeedom!!!!!!!!!!" at the top of my lungs. But then I felt a twinge of sadness. As difficult as she's been over the years, Ms. Hom has been a very unique part of my life in Boston ever since I moved here. I have so many great Ms. Hom stories. The time I came home to find her getting out of a police car. The time we were on the roof and had a half hour good hole vs. bad whole conversation. The time she sent me on an errand to buy gin, batteries and hand lotion. The time she told me she was 135 years old. The time she told me to meet her in the basement but I went to the curb because her english is so bad that basement sounded like "pizza man". I could go on and on with these stories! But I do know this, over the years I have done so much and been so nice to this lady... I know that my actions will be repaid to me one day. And even if they aren't, I don't care, I'd still do it all again because it was the right thing to do and it felt good to do. (awwwww) I'll keep you posted. July 31st, 2000 So now Ms. Hom wants me to get her some moving boxes. And she doesn't ask, she demands. If there is a chinese word for bitch, I'm hers. She is driving me nuts! She keeps trying to give me things too. Usually I take them because I don't want to offend her. (I'll have to tell you the story about the time she gave me something, I threw it away, and then she wanted it back a few days later, and how I got out of that one) Today she gave me a bottle of gin. She also wanted to give me a desk caddy thing for holding pens. I told her I wasn't interested and she was baffled why I wouldn't want such a thing. What I hate about taking the gin is that look in her eye that says, "ahhh yes, I give you gin. Now get me some moving boxes beeeatch." The more gifts I accept from here, the more it indebts me to her. There is no escape. I actually asked her if she was moving and she said said after a long pause, "maaaaaaybe vacation." So who knows what that means. Ok, now I'll tell you the other Ms. Hom story I was talking about. One day Ms. Hom gave me a calendar. It was one of those free wall calendars that are given out by businesses. This one was from an herbal store in China Town where she must shop. I thanked her, took it to my apartment, and threw it out. I do that with a lot of stuff she gives me. It's easier to take the box of crackers from her and run than try to explain that you don't like crackers that are really old. A few days later Ms. Hom calls me on the phone. She wants the calendar back. Yikes! She shops at that store and she wants to get the phone number off of the calendar. I tell her I gave the calendar to my sister but her response is "go to sister!" So I'm in her apartment and she's all up in arms and I can't understand what she's saying. Finally I grab a phonebook and say, "What's the name of the place?" (the conversation below is HIGHLY abridged. It took about 20 minutes.) Ms. Hom: Nabookah Andy: what? Ms. Hom: Naboomkah!! Andy: say it again? Ms. Hom: (sigh) Nah Boong Kong Andy: what? Ms. Hom: Nah Boom Pom!!! Andy: what? Ms. Hom: Nam Bock Song! Andy: slower Ms. Hom: Nang!!   Bok!!   Hang!! Andy: Don't yell at me! I'm trying to help! Ms. Hom: Nan Bik Hung! Nam Boong Pan! Andy: Num Bing Pan? Ms. Hom: Nam Bok Hong Andy: HOLY SHIT! NAM BUK HONG!!! I FOUND IT! NAM BUK HONG!!! Ms. Hom: yah yah yah. You good boy Andy! I couldn't believe I found it. I had the biggest smile on my face. I knew it was the right place cause I recognized the street address from glancing at the calendar before tossing it. This place was on that street. I wrote down the number for her, was given a canned ham, and sent on my way. August 2nd, 2000 I've had a revelation. Ms. Hom says she's going on "vacation"? She's not going on vacation. She's expecting the mother ship to return soon. August 4th, 2000 I got a few emails asking me to tell more about the Ms. Hom "basement" story. It's pretty short, so here it goes..... Ms. Hom: Hi Andy! Andy: Hi Ms. Hom: You come down. Andy: You want me to come down? I'm already here. Ms. Hom: yeah-yeah. 20 minute, you come down. bessaman. Andy: huh? Ms. Hom: pessaman. downstairs, bizzaman, 20 minutes! Andy: uh.... ok, ok. Ms. Hom: Ahhhndy! 20 minute, PESSAMAN, come! Andy: Ok ok!! I'll be there, don't yell at me! Ms. Hom: You good boy Andy. Yeah, I'm a good boy. But you know what they say, good boys finish last. The reality/punchline of this story is me waiting on the curb for twenty minutes for the PIZZA MAN to show up, while Ms. Hom waited for me in the BASEMENT. August 20th, 2000 One thing I don't like about nice weekends is that it means the old russian couple will emerge from the first floor of my apartment building and perch themselves outside the entrance. They sit in chairs on either side of the door for hours and don't say a single word to each other. They just sit there stoically like two stone lions outside the gates of a mansion. Their presence make me feel uncomfortable. It's bad enough having to dodge Ms. Hom, but now I have to deal with them as well? I feel like they're monitoring my comings and goings. But I have to admit, I have to squelch my urge to pat them on the head and say "good boy" as I go into the building. But leave my apartment I did.... to go to Stop 'N Shop. I had only two things on my mind. Peanut Butter Cap'N Crunch and Chocolate Milk. Two items I haven't eaten in years. And my plans where to eat them together! I normally don't have cravings. I considered picking up an EPT as well. I got on the express line with my items and waited. A pretty girl gets in line behind me and puts down a bunch of purple grapes and we both watch as a single grape escapes from the bunch and rolls the full length of the conveyor belt and hits my box of Cap'N Crunch. We look at each other and smile. Her with her healthy grapes, me with my decadent freak snack. We laugh and a comment about something non-weather related is made. More big smiles as I depart. Feeling super-charged by this experience I rush back to my apartment as quickly as I can, barely noticing the russians still at their posts. Once inside I hastily make my bowl of cereal, strip completely naked, and sit down on my couch to watch some women's gymnastics olympic trials! Mmmmmmmm, so sweet and yummy... the cereal is. I start to wonder if Bela Karoli is a pedophile. Oh, don't tell me the thought has never crossed your mind at least once! September 26th, 2000 I got home from the movie on Sunday night and I had two messages. Oh goody! People like me! Wrong. Message #1 9:00pm: Hallo!? (Ms. Hom's voice) Message #2 9:02pm: [-click-] (Ms. Hom hanging up) I deleted the messages with a dissappointing shake of my head. When I got home from work yesterday Ms. Hom was perched outside her door. She was waiting for me. "Ahhhndy!" She said she wanted me to come see her on Monday, I told her it WAS Monday. Finally I figured out that she wanted me to come NEXT Monday. A Ms. Hom appointment scheduled a full week in advance? Oh this can't be good. And she said the word "vacation" again too. I don't know what to make of it. I just hate being pinned down to times like that. I'll run home Monday and she won't even be around, or she'll give me some nasty chinese cookies and tell me I'm a good boy, or make me do 3 hours of physical labor.(it's happened before!) She basically gets you to do things because it's way easier to just do what she wants than try to explain why you don't want to, can't, or shouldn't be doing what she's asking you to do. UGH! October 2nd, 2000 I came home last night and there were only two bags of garbage in front of Ms. Hom's door. Quite a drastic drop from the six bags I've been used to seeing lately. Maybe she started killing midgets and children instead of grown men? I took the bags to the curb like a good boy. But where was Ms. Hom? We had an "appointment." October 10th, 2000 What a beautiful weekend in the Berkshires. It's peak leaf-peeping season and I took a long slow drive each afternoon just looking at all the amazing colors. I even stopped at a good old-fashioned New England Harvest Festival and picked up a few pumpkins and a cup of clam chowder. I ate the clam chowder. I arrived back in Boston and climbed the stairs to my apartment to find five garbage bags on Ms. Hom's landing. She still hasn't caught on that they collect garbage a day late when there's a Monday holiday, but I'm not about to attempt that explanation to her. I brought 3 of the bags down at once and decided I'd get the last two when I went out later. I got to my apartment and checked my messages, I had one: 9:52pm Friday: Tomorrow you come see me. Andy. This Ms. Hom. You come tomorrow. Tomorrow see me. You come see me, ok? Thank Andy. "NO WAY," I thought to myself. I was taking tomorrow off as a vacation day. I didn't want Ms. Hom running me ragged on my day off.(it's happened before) I got on my computer to check email. When I got off I had three more voice messages: 11:44pm [-click-] 11:45pm   ahhh [-click-] 11:46pm [-click-] Oh boy. This was tell-tale Ms. Hom. Like a drunk sniper she will suddenly bombard my answering machine in short bursts and not leave a message. What is she thinking? Does she think I'm going to suddenly appear home? It's just part of the Ms. Hom mentality. If something doesn't give you the results you want, you try it over and over and over again until it does. She often does this to me verbally with her constant, "when you come home?" line of questioning. If I say I'm busy on Monday she'll say "when you come home Tuesday?" and if I say I'm busy Wednesday she'll just ask me about Thursday and on and on. I honestly think that if I didn't finally give in that she'd keep asking and asking months ahead, "Andy, what time you come home next year?" One time she was in my apartment having me nail a piece of wood onto the outside of a window sill. We had a leak and she said the plumber told her it would stop water from coming inside. Not sure why a plumber would know about windows, but Ms. Hom had made the long trek up to my apartment and nothing was going to stop her from going away without seeing some action. She gave me the piece of wood to nail in place. It couldn't fit. The plank was longer than the frame of the window. I tell her this and it is simply unnacceptable to her. "Try again." "Again." "Again!" She raises her voice. I've learned not to take this the wrong way but I think this was the only time I got so mad that I started cursing in front of her. She was in MY apartment ordering ME around trying to get me to complete tasks not possible in modern physics. "Jesus christ. Look, it won't fit! It's too fucking big!" Another example was when she wanted me to open her window. The window was basically painted shut but I gave it a shot anyway to make her happy. It didn't budge. Ms. Hom watches me and pointing with her cane says, "try again." I tell her it's stuck and that I can't do it. "TRY AGAIN!" Annoyed, I try one more time to satisfy her. POP! The window comes up. She smiles. You'd think I'd be happy about this too but I wasn't. I immediately recognized the horrible positive reinforcement I had just given to her method of resolving things. Anyway, back to the phone calls.... it was late and I wasn't about to call her back, but my curiosity got the best of me. I *69ed just to confirm that it was her number. It was. The next day, on my VACATION DAY, I'm woken up by the phone ringing, at 8:42am. I let the voice mail get it. The phone rings a minute later. I let the voice mail get it. The phone starts ringing again! "Noooooooo!" I moan and stuff the phone underneath a pillow and let the voice mail get it. After I showered I checked my voice mail and there some messages: 8:42pm [-click-] 8:43pm [-click-] 8:44pm [-click-] 8:55am: Oh Hi Andy. I'm calling for Ms. Hom. She'd like to pay you for taking the garbage out, so if you could call her when you get home from work tomorrow..... This was Linda, the daughter. I've never met or seen Linda before but I know of her. My past roommates have run into her and have told me she's not very pleasant. Anyway, all this fuss and constant calling just so Ms. Hom can give me a few dollars for something I don't want money for anyway? Her constant calling for something so minor is setting up a bad precedence. It's like that old fable "The old Chinese woman who cried wolf." What'll happens if something serious were to happen and she really needed me? I'd probably ignore her calls because I'd think it was something silly. Oh this is too good. As I'm writing this Ms. Hom just called me. She wants me to come down. Off I go...... be right back. I'm back. Ms. Hom opened the door "Ahhndy!" She asks how I'm doing and I ask her the same. She tells me to sit down by her at the desk near the front door. Usually this means she's going to have me pay her bills but she would've told me in advance about that I think. She looks in good spirits and I hear someone banging around in the kitchen which I assume from the small pair of running shoes in the hall to be her daughter. "Do you need anything else? Oh you don't need to pay me, don't be silly." I'm speaking in a slightly louder voice now hoping to pull the daughter out from the culinary confines of the kitchen. No such luck. Ms. Hom pulls out an envelope of money and starts to thank me for taking her garbage out. I tell her I can't take the money. She insists. I take the envelope. It has $60 in it. No, I can't accept this. I try to give it back to her but she pushes my hands away. This little refusal of money is part real but also part of our little ritual. She gives me money, I try to give it back, she doesn't let me. I think she loves that part. She loves making me take it and calling me a good boy. I admit there's something endearing about the whole interaction. As I left saying my thousand you're welcomes to her millions thank yous she said, "you keep doing. you keep clean. you keep doing. you good boy Andy." As with many Ms. Hom encounters you don't realize what she's really done until a little later. And back here at my computer now, I'm coming to that exact realization. I used to take care of her garbage out of the kindness of my heart, but now she's paying me to do it. In her mind I owe her now and I'm OBLIGATED to do it in the future. "You keep doing." DAMN HER!! She did it again. Once again, Ms. Hom makes me her bitch. I can't beat her. This is my life. October 17th, 2000 The Day the Garbage Stopped No Ms. Hom garbage this week. None. Hmmm... it did't feel right. Was she giving me a rest? Was she gone? Was she ok? I've come to the decision that Ms. Hom is secretly training me to become a sherpa. By lugging out her trash every week she is slowly conditioning me to haul loads equal to my own body weight like the best sherpas in the world. Ms. Hom's ultimate plan is to return to her Eastern homeland.... and I'll be carrying all her shit for her. My days will be spent deep in the hills of Asia repeatedly attempting impossible tasks with Ms. Hom (stoned on Chinese opium) shouting in my ear, "Ahhhhndy, you try again now!" while her daughter watches on soberly. I had a dream like this a few nights ago. (but it had lesbians in it too) Eh, I can't be so pessimistic. Maybe Ms. Hom is my Ms. Miagi. And I her Andyson. Remember how Danielson hated Mr. Miagi for making him paint the fence only to find out later its hidden benefits? Well maybe Ms. Hom has me taking out her garbage every week and I am somehow learning lessons that I'm not even aware of yet. Some day soon she'll come running at me with a butcher knife (or the Wall St. Journal) and I'll instinctively defend myself (or pick 10 stocks that triple in a year)!! I will come to realize that she is the master and I am the student. Maybe if I get advanced enough in my Hom Style Kung-Fu our relationship will turn into that of Kato and the Pink Panther. Her invitations to "come down Andy" are silently understood as challenges. We spar fiercely in her apartment stopping suddenly and acting amiably to each other only when the phone rings. "Hello, Hom residence. How can I help you?" I walked up to my apartment giggling to myself as I thought these thoughts. Under my door I found an unsealed envelope with the word "Ed" written on it. Inside was a note: October 14, 2000 Dear Ed, My mom, Mrs. Hom, has agreed to spend at least the winter with me in Oakland, CA. May we ask you to please check her mailbox and forward her mail to the following address? Thank you so much for all your help. Ed? Who the hell is ED?!? I was almost insulted. Ed. Andy. Close enough I guess. A surprising mixture of glee and sadness washed over me.... December 16th, 2000 The Day the Garbage Stopped I went to Montillio's last week and ordered a Chicken Parm sandwich for lunch. When the lady rang me up I told her that I also had a Snapple and a newspaper. She charged me $1.24. So I paid $1.24. $1.24?? Why only $1.24? So I sat down and ate, all the time wondering why she only seemed to charge me for the paper and drink but not the sandwich. Did she do it on purpose and if I say something I'll only get her in trouble? Was I the 1 millionth customer and won a free sandwich? Of course I couldn't have a peaceful lunch now with this weighing on my mind; I had to decide what I was going to do about this. I deserve a free sandwich every now and then, right? I mean, they overcharge for their sandwiches anyway and the service absolutely blows. If there's more than four people in the store they get all confused and stressed out and it takes forever. But I just couldn't do it. I went back to the register and paid before I left.... They were impressed. They said "thank you" but it just felt empty for some reason. On the walk back to work it hit me. Maybe what I really wanted to hear were those special words: "You good boy Andy, you good boy." Maybe on some level I've been missing Ms. Hom and have been doing good deeds lately in an attempt fill the void? February 22nd, 2001 I was leaving my apartment this weekend to go mail some letters and I saw a U-Haul in front of my apartment, and three men moving furniture out of Ms. Hom's apartment. My mind started racing. Is she not coming back? What does this mean? Is this a good thing? Did she die? Will I be in her will? Does this mean someone else would be moving in? To make a long story short, she's not moving out. Her son was just getting rid of a bunch of junk that she had accumulated over the years in her cluttered apartment. And I came to find out that she's lived in the building for 50 years. Wow. It kind of shines a new light on those times when she yells "my house! my house! you no make trouble for me. you good boy andy. .....what time you come home?" March 3rd, 2001 So I took a peek into Ms. Hom's apartment since her son got rid of all her "junk." My god... she is going to come back and think someone robbed the place! He took practically everything out of it. I can picture her coming back from California, opening the door and almost having a heart attack when she sees all her stuff gone. And the first word out of her mouth will be "Ahhhhndy!" March 27th, 2001 It's Monday night, garbage night, which means that on top of my own garbage, I have to take Ms. Hom's garbage out to the curb as well. We have a little system. By the time I get home on Monday there is one (sometimes two) garbage bags on the second floor landing and I'm supposed to put them on the curb. They're always tied with a ridiculously flimsy piece of rope that barely does the job. The bags are always very heavy, mysteriously shaped and have an odd smell to them. Although I dismissed it at first, I'm starting to think that my original suspicions may be true; Ms. Hom has killed a man and has been using ME to slowly ship him out to the curb piece by grisly piece over the past year. My god! I have unwittingly been made an accomplice to a murder! April 17th, 2001 Newsflash: Due to her ailing health Ms. Hom is staying in California for good; she's not coming back to Boston. Her son (the landlord) already has the wheels in motion and hopes for a June sale of the building. I feel conflicted about her non-return. And distressed about the future of my living situation. Oh what am I going to do?! May 1st, 2001 It's official. Ms. Hom is not coming back. The doctor has forbid her to travel. Against her will she will spend the rest of her days with her daughter in California. So it looks like I'm never going to see her again. I will never have another Ms. Hom appointment. I will never again change a lightbulb in the hallway. I will never again write out her bills from my own checkbook. I will never again lug her mysteriously heavy and mishapen garbage bags down to the curb. I will never again be made to chop branches off of a bush with a crude dull butcher knife.(cut heya! cut heya!) I will never again attempt to explain to her the difference between a good hole and a bad hole on our roof. .... I will never again hear her say "you good boy andy." The bigger ramification of all of this is that her son is selling the building. Last week he informed me that he was going to stop by with the new prospective owner. I prepared myself for a nice conversation with our new owner and braced myself for the news of a considerable rent hike. The landlord arrived and I let him in the apartment. He was followed by an asian man, then another asian man, then an asian woman, then another asian man.... this continued for a while until I had what amounted to a small army of asian men and women in my apartment. I envisioned a tiny asian clown car somewhere in my hallway with a never-ending stream of asian people emerging from it. I was introduced to Mr. Chow. Mr. Chow shook my hand but didn't speak. I was informed that this was Mr. Chow of the Chef Chow Chinese Restaurants in Boston. Turns out that when you're as powerful as Mr. Chow, you have other people speak for you. The unexpected army swarmed around the apartment peeking and poking every nook and cranny of the living space. Finally we all convened back in the living room. There was somewhat of a communication barrier between myself and the Chow Clan, but there were a few phrases that I heard more than once and they rung loud and clear: "we ronvate" "you look yet?" "we renovate" "you look yet?" Look yet? I've lived here for seven fucking years and I found out yesterday that the building was for sale!! I swore that from that moment forward I would never buy another Crab Rangoon from his restaurant. May 20th, 2001 It's official. Mr. Hom has transferred ownership of the building to Mr. Chow. And the Chows are acting fast. They've already sat down with me to inquire about my plans for getting a new place. And I can already hear workers scraping and working on Ms. Hom's old unit beneath me. back | top | home