Working with Really Stupid People: The Neighbors

By Cindy McDermott

“Hate them all. At least you’re consistent.”
That’s the mantra followed by Association Manager Jill Fountaine as she deals with sleazy creepos, know-it-alls, manipulators and “really stupid” people who live in her development. Commons at the Arms, or Commons at the Armpits as she calls it, is home to several hundred people. But her focus right now is on the Blim Pass Condominium Association that always seems to be in turmoil. Follow her hilarious situations as conflicts abound over the things homeowners think they can get away with, regardless whether their perception of right is about as close as the back side of the moon. Scarred by a troubled past that has left her with a quick temper that easily soars into the red zone, Jill attempts to work with these “really stupid” individuals, all the while admitting she’s not much of a people person.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cindy McDermott
• Release date: Oct 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301919895

Cindy McDermott

Cindy McDermott is an internationally award-winning writer and video producer with 25 years experience in communications for the nonprofit, industrial and military sectors. She retired in 2006 as a Commander in the United States Navy as a Public Affairs Officer with nearly 21 years of service. In addition to her writing, she is committed to helping military veterans, suffering from the invisible wounds of war, find a way to negotiate their pathway of hope and recovery. In 2016, she co-founded the non-profit, Moral Injury Association of America, to bring assistance to military veterans suffering with Moral Injury, by using intensive group therapy as a treatment. The charity also teaches vets writing techniques, tips and tools, enabling them to tell their military stories and begin the healing process. Visit her webpage at www.cindymcdermott.com to learn more.

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Working with Really Stupid People™ : The Neighbors

By Cindy McDermott

Copyright 2012 Cindy McDermott

Published by McD Media at Smashwords

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Illustration Copyright © 2012 by McD Media. Cover design by Danny O’Leary, mrsolearysdesign, www.mrsolearysdesign.com. Produced in conjunction with Leary Literary Agency, www.seanleary.com. Working with Really Stupid People: The Neighbors, copyright © 2012 by McD Media LLC.All Rights Reserved. Working with Really Stupid People is a trademark of McD Media. Visit www.cindymcdermott.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to Dean, my co-president for life. Thanks for your patience, support and guidance. I love you googles and googles. Mom, Dad, Suz, Lis and Bri -- you get the prize for best family ever. Bud -- I guess we’ll keep you. Phyllis -- Wish we could have cooked together more in the kitchen. Think of you often.

CHAPTER ONE

I am an Association Manager.

And I hate it.

As an Association Manager, I have hundreds of rental and owner-occupied units and buildings that I am paid to manage for various homeowner associations.

Basically, I’m stuck with all of the tasks none of the homeowners want to do.

Figuring balance sheets. Tracking checks supposedly lost in the mail. Arguing legal documents with fools who think they’re Perry Mason just because they watched him on TV a million years ago.

Calling schmucks who haven’t paid their dues because they simply don’t want to pay their dues. Bitching out people because their neighbors don’t have the balls to bitch them out but revel in the idea they’re getting bitched out by me.

My list of Fun Things to Do goes on and on.

I run my business with the mantra, Hate them all. At least you’re consistent.

In all honesty, I cannot wait until I can retire and go to live with my kids in Texas. Then I can take out my frustrations on them. What the heck? They’re my kids. I can punish them as they punished me when they were teenagers.

Yes, I’m dealing with hundreds of individual personalities, each one more warped than the next, making demands and griping constantly about whatever gets up their ass at that particular moment.

I am working with really stupid people.

Why can’t I paint my door fuchsia? It matches my petunias.

But Rex would never drop ‘dookies’ on the lawn.

One might think this conversation was about a dog taking a crap on our common area lawns. Unfortunately, it dealt with an overnight guest, drunked up on Pabst Blue Ribbon, emptying his bowels, and then, heaven forbid, not picking up after himself. Obviously in his haste to be a part of the biggest social event of the year attended by all the debutantes and everybody who’s anybody, he forgot to pack his pooper scooper and plastic bag. It makes me wonder whether people have forgotten all semblance of etiquette or exactly how many Pabst Blue Ribbons this guy drank.

I never rented my unit to anyone. They were simply my guests for an extended visit of three months.

Oh, please. Someone hand me the Maalox.

Here are absolute pearls of wisdom that should be recorded for all of humanity to postulate on for centuries to come. I’m sure somewhere in there are the secrets of establishing world peace or feeding the hungry. Let me get out my journal to capture every single nugget of brilliance, thereby saving all of mankind from disease and pestilence and any other loads of bullshit appearing before me on a daily basis.

I don’t know what bothers me the most: The fact I have to take time out of my day to deal with these idiots or that they think I am a big enough idiot to even accept their stupid excuses for the crappy communications they were pawning off on me.

I’ve never met so many people focused on only themselves and how things can be manipulated to their own benefit.

Life sucks and then you die or become an Association Manager. It’s hell on earth.

CHAPTER TWO

I manage a variety of living arrangements in a very comfortable, gated community. Some are apartments, some are condominiums, and some are individual houses. I’ve been in the business of managing these happy homes for many years and, believe me, I’ve seen it all, although I’m sure there is some asshole out there who’s striving to prove me wrong.

My major Homeowners Association is magnificently referred to as Commons at the Arms, which of course, gives way to the tongue-in-cheek name of Commons at the Armpits. I believe I gave it that name. A portion of the land backs up to a patch of green space referred to as a park, which is named after the city’s only Civil War hero, Colonel William J. Arms, Junior.

The city must have been scraping the bottom of the barrel awfully hard to choose Colonel Arms as its one and only hero. Although the story has been glorified by city historians looking to enhance the image of idiotic Colonel Arms, the lore of this buffoon is hardly worth repeating let alone naming a park after him. But it makes an interesting story, and perhaps it explains some of the odd behaviors of the homeowners in my associations. Maybe they were living too close to this source of human stupidity and it negatively influenced their every thought and deed. Osmosis from the ghost of the Colonel -- what a wonderful thing.

If truth be told, Colonel Arms was able to achieve his mighty Army officer title simply because his Daddy paid for it. William, Senior, was a lumber baron who had no issue with beating the Native Americans out of their land and then stripping bare the timber that grew on it. A few well-placed bags of money with associates just as unscrupulous as Daddy, and the commission of Colonel was bestowed on little William.

After demonstrating his complete lack of common sense in exercise after exercise, the Army brass decided to send him so far north there would be no opportunity for any conflict in which Colonel Arms could display his military ineptitude. The clever move prevented an embarrassing situation for the Colonel and, most importantly, the Army.

Much to his chagrin these plans did not have Colonel William J. Arms, Junior, in a key role with the Army. Even he -- the dullest tool in the shed -- could figure that out. So they sent him back home to manage the local arsenal with Daddy to watch over his every step. Surely, nothing could go wrong, they thought.

You dumbass! Can’t you do anything right? lovingly counseled William, Senior, to his son. You must get your smarts from your mother’s side of the family, and you ought to send them back.

But then I’d have no smarts at all, Daddy, cried William, Junior. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll make you proud of me.

Attempting to negate the fact he was relegated to a totally useless role, Colonel Arms decided his stature of a high and mighty Army officer demanded he offer assistance to his country in any way possible. Of course, the only assistance Colonel Arms could point to at this time was that he was nowhere near any of the action, thereby helping to ensure a victory for the North.

If only the Union military understood the full impact little William could have brought to them, they would have offered Colonel Arms to the Confederates in hopes they would have conscripted him into their ranks. By bringing him into the Southern forces, it would have guaranteed his military miscues would have shortened the length of the bitter conflict by nearly a year. Of course, the Confederates would not have been that stupid.

Undaunted, Colonel Arms decided he would plan a welcome home celebration for the Union soldiers returning to our fair city after defeating the Confederates. With this plan, he would help the Army reach out to the citizens of the community and rebuild the goodwill that had slipped during the war.

The day started out fairly well. The parade and other activities were a show of military support and the mightiness of the Northern forces as the proud ranks marched down Main Street, all the while avoiding the preceding Cavalry’s horse droppings.

The town’s citizens had come out in full numbers to demonstrate their Americanism to everyone else who was watching and attending and even those who were afar. Perhaps they might even be photographed with one of those new-fangled cameras that had been invented and used extensively during the Civil War. Maybe they’d wind up featured in the local newspaper. Either way, the parade and picnic were sure to be the topic of many letters to friends and relatives throughout the country as everyone chatted along the parade route.

The spirit of patriotism was high as young and old proudly waved their brightly colored flags that had been handed out especially for the event. Given that the temperature was well into the 90s for this celebration, the Colonel, mayor, the rest of the city council members and even William, Senior, were extremely pleased with the turnout and heartily congratulated themselves for their astounding brilliance in arranging the day.

Capping off the day would be a wonderful display of fireworks that would wow the crowd and remove the crown of stupidity from the forehead of Colonel Arms. Finally, he would be able to gallantly move down the street without the old men pointing their bony, wrinkled fingers and whispering their displeasure behind his back. The young ladies would stop smirking and giggling as he walked by, and the children would no longer run away from him. Most importantly, the mules, tied up along the street, would no longer appear to be so intellectually superior to him.

All of the city leaders, little William and big William gathered at the town square to begin the festivities and together light the first firework set to go off into the night’s sky.

Unfortunately, Colonel Arms picked his drinking buddy Samuel Tarkington to supervise the evening show, which was the Colonel’s first stupid move for the evening.

Even though he was charged with a very important role, Sam saw no reason to change his daily routine for the ceremony. Therefore, Sam was quite inebriated as he began the process of setting up the fireworks. As a result, he could not fully comprehend the potential miscues that could await him and how they could negatively impact the fine festivities. Unfortunately, Sam’s cognitive skills ranked at the level of the rest of the town’s drunks. Their mantra of Let’s have another round did not refer to any kind of brain cell building activity that would enhance their thinking ability.

But with this duty assigned to him by Colonel Arms, Sam would demonstrate to the entire town that he could outwit those surly mules tied up along the street, appearing to feel quite superior to him and Colonel Arms. (The pair spent many an hour lamenting their less than stellar thinking abilities yet not understanding the whiskey they were drinking was hampering their intellectual growth.) From now on, the phrase dumber than a mule would no longer apply to Samuel D. Tarkington.

Colonel Arms had decided the town leaders should ceremoniously light the first wick together. It would show a spirit of cohesiveness for the lovely city and a fine demonstration of respect for the soldiers and sailors who were coming home.

So that the event went off without a hitch, even if a limp wick refused to cooperate, the Colonel relayed to Sam he should dip the large opening ceremonial torch into some cottonseed oil to ensure it would light on cue. Sam got the dipping part right, only he placed it into a pail of turpentine and then decided he was quite thirsty and paid a visit to the local watering hole. After passing out at Miss June Bug’s for an hour or so, he figured he needed to get back to the job and the extra attention he gave to the soaking would mean this torch was going to light up right nicely.

Won’t William be pleased? He might even buy me a few shots of whiskey and a night with Miss June if everything works out, he thought to himself. Shit. I’ve just gone and out-thunk one of those damn mules.

Then he tripped over his own feet.

First, I’ll learnt me to be smarter than them mules, and then I’ll learnt to walk better than them, he said, picking himself up out of the manure.

At 8:45 that evening the fireworks were set to begin, and the town was giddy with excitement as the momentous opening ceremony officially got underway. About a half dozen town leaders grabbed hold of the torch simultaneously, with Colonel Arms and his Daddy, proudly boasting a smile from one side of their face to the other, so smug in their satisfaction of the event’s success. Yes, this would be the night the town would never forget, they both thought to themselves, and they were so very, very right.

One flick of a match from Sam and that torch went off.

It exploded into a furious ball of fire, sending sparks and chunks of burning rag into the crowd as they ran about in chaos. The veterans thought the Confederates had followed them up from the South and the War Between the States was not yet complete. They panicked and ran for cover since they had none of their weapons with them for the celebration. (At least the city fathers had thought that through and confiscated their guns. That’s all the city would need is a bunch of drunked up returning soldiers and sailors shooting up the town.) Tonight, the town would merely wound their own returning veterans by pummeling them with massive amounts of fireworks.

The sparks set off all of the fireworks so carefully laid out by Sam. The fireworks were going off into the crowd and exploding, sending sparks up the petticoats of some of the town’s spinsters. For most of them, this was the most action these parts of their anatomy had seen in quite a while. (Unless you count the district fair last year in which the blue-ribbon cucumbers mysteriously disappeared from their display case. Yes, size did matter for all in picking the winners of that competition.)

The town square was in absolute chaos with Colonel Arms, Daddy and the town’s leaders running about in the melee, grabbing hold of women and children and using them as cover or pulling them backwards in order to save their own sorry asses from this pyrotechnic upheaval.

The citizenry had gone mad with fright.

Sadly, the title of not as dumb as a mule was once again out of reach for Samuel Tarkington. He sighed, knowing tomorrow he would not walk smugly by those four-legged know-it-alls as he strutted about with all of his new smarts. However, the one brilliant realization for Sam that day was that he should end the day at the same place he began the day: Miss June Bug’s.

But the ending was not to be as nice for Colonel Arms as he made his second and last stupid move of the evening. When it comes to a chaotic situation with fireworks going off haphazardly around you, body placement is key to saving your ass.

Big William was moving about quickly and putting forth more physical effort than ever before as