It looks our dysfunctional condo corp is at it again.
Based on a unspecified number of requests the corp is cutting the party room in half in order to expand the building's gym facilities. This means they're getting rid of the party room pool table, which is the only aspect of the party room I actually used. So the party room will now be the size of a small walk-in closet and only hold a single Foosball table on top of a mini bar fridge stolen from your kid brothers dorm room. I know I can't wait to try it out.
Of course this new construction project, beginning in two weeks, is likely to be a somewhat costly venture. So look to see yet another small increase to your condo fees the next time they come up to renewal.
Actually, when you consider the building wide wall painting, carpet replacement, new tile floor, underground parking light fixture upgrades and keyless entry retrofits this small increase could actually be quite substantial.
So. To recap. Condo corporation, under the guise of good governance, spends residents condo fees like drunken sailors just back from sea, on a multitude of make-work construction projects. Then, bass-ackwards corporation proceeds to raise condo fees to pay for aforementioned unneeded renovations all while rubbing five dollar bills over their naked and bloated bodies.
What really bugs me about this whole process is how they've completely overlooked what the building's tenants think. They've gone and decided on a course of a action, along with a timetable to implement said course of action, but they haven't bothered to seriously poll the building to see how much support there is for this endeavour. And because this thing is already in the works it, and assumed to be going forward, it makes it harder for me, or anyone who agrees with me, to stop it or at least have an open conversation about whether this is what the majority of tenants want.
It's a lot harder to effect a program that's already in motion than it is one that's still in the planning stages. Which is what I suspect the corporation wants, it's just smart politics. If you open up the whole consultation process to the building as a whole, who knows what we might agree to? We could decide that we don't want the gym at all and that the space could be better used as a library. What then?
Better to just commit ourselves to a course of action and deal with any problems as they arise. It's easier than the much more messy and less easily controlled group consultation.
If the majority of the building's tenants want a bigger gym than I'm content to go along with that majority. I don't use the party room enough to really care. But don't tell me an unspecified number of people want a more gym facilities. Is that number 2 or 200?
If you're going to embark on a significant construction project that may have real implications on my condo fees. The absolute least you can do is be open, honest and transparent about what you are doing and why. And that includes giving me an opportunity to disagree with your decision.
Showing posts with label batshit insane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label batshit insane. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Vehicular Homicide
What a weekend.
After a quick round of early morning golf with the boys on Saturday, in temperatures approaching records not even seen on the planet Mercury, I raced home to pick up S so we could knock off a couple wedding related errands, such as getting our international driver’s licenses and meeting with the DJ to iron out our all important ‘Do Not Play’ list.
(Macarena, YMCA, the chicken dance and the entire works of John Denver)
We weren’t in the car five minutes when the radio starts to cut out on us and S notices that the power windows were really sluggish. At this point a strange tone starts to creep into her voice and she starts giving me ‘the look’.
We bought a new used car about 9 months ago. It wasn’t even five years old at the time, didn’t have a ridiculous amount of mileage on it and was thoroughly vetted by S’s Cuz, who just happens to be a mechanic. Despite all of these elements working in the car’s favour, S has a nasty habit of hearing phantom noises and thinking that the car is on the verge of some sort of massive mechanical failure. An idea that I’ve done my level best to assure her could never happen.
Except now it’s actually happening and all bets are off.
“What did you do the car?” says S, instantly discarding my weak and feeble protestations of “nothing”.
“You were the last person to drive it,” she reminds me. “You must have noticed something.”
At this point in time the radio dies on us completely and on the advice of her cousin, hastily reached via his cell, we decide to get off the road and take ourselves to the nearest Crappy Tire before the car calls it a day. Cuz tells us the alternator is most likely shot, but the upside is it’s an easy fix and most likely we can be back on the road the same day.
The Canadian Tire mechanic is thoroughly unimpressed with the fact that Cuz is quarterbacking us through the entire process. As some mechanics are wont to do they try to hit us up for unnecessary parts and excessive labour costs and seem a little peeved that we have a better-than-average understanding of what is going on.
Rule number one. You don’t screw with S. She deals with blood and death and hysterics for a living so it takes a lot to throw her off her game. Trying to bulldoze her into thinking a one hour job takes twice as long as Cuz says it will is only going to guarantee your very public and very humiliating verbal disembowelment.
My job in this little comedy of errors is to preach moderation and to remind S that if we dig our heels in too much, we may get the alternator fixed but they might also take three weeks to do it and when they finally do give the car back to us we’ll end up dead in a ditch somewhere because they’ve cut our brake lines.
Yes I know its inherently wrong to suggest rolling over like this. But we’ve got less than a month before we get married and in that time we need to be mobile. So we can’t afford to be without wheels for an hour, much less a couple days. If we had an infinite amount of time and money I’d be standing right next to S, handing her the sharpened knife as she slowly filets the mechanic for his condescending attitude. But we don’t. So I try to be a moderating influence, settle for only being screwed a little bit (just the tip) and ensure that no one leaves this little transaction happy.
In the end, we missed our appointment with the DJ, somehow managed to get our international driver’s license, depleted our wedding fund to pay for the repairs and then collapsed at home on the couch in an impromptu nap session, thoroughly exhausted by the trials of the day.
And all this before bachelorette party began.
More on that later.
After a quick round of early morning golf with the boys on Saturday, in temperatures approaching records not even seen on the planet Mercury, I raced home to pick up S so we could knock off a couple wedding related errands, such as getting our international driver’s licenses and meeting with the DJ to iron out our all important ‘Do Not Play’ list.
(Macarena, YMCA, the chicken dance and the entire works of John Denver)
We weren’t in the car five minutes when the radio starts to cut out on us and S notices that the power windows were really sluggish. At this point a strange tone starts to creep into her voice and she starts giving me ‘the look’.
We bought a new used car about 9 months ago. It wasn’t even five years old at the time, didn’t have a ridiculous amount of mileage on it and was thoroughly vetted by S’s Cuz, who just happens to be a mechanic. Despite all of these elements working in the car’s favour, S has a nasty habit of hearing phantom noises and thinking that the car is on the verge of some sort of massive mechanical failure. An idea that I’ve done my level best to assure her could never happen.
Except now it’s actually happening and all bets are off.
“What did you do the car?” says S, instantly discarding my weak and feeble protestations of “nothing”.
“You were the last person to drive it,” she reminds me. “You must have noticed something.”
At this point in time the radio dies on us completely and on the advice of her cousin, hastily reached via his cell, we decide to get off the road and take ourselves to the nearest Crappy Tire before the car calls it a day. Cuz tells us the alternator is most likely shot, but the upside is it’s an easy fix and most likely we can be back on the road the same day.
The Canadian Tire mechanic is thoroughly unimpressed with the fact that Cuz is quarterbacking us through the entire process. As some mechanics are wont to do they try to hit us up for unnecessary parts and excessive labour costs and seem a little peeved that we have a better-than-average understanding of what is going on.
Rule number one. You don’t screw with S. She deals with blood and death and hysterics for a living so it takes a lot to throw her off her game. Trying to bulldoze her into thinking a one hour job takes twice as long as Cuz says it will is only going to guarantee your very public and very humiliating verbal disembowelment.
My job in this little comedy of errors is to preach moderation and to remind S that if we dig our heels in too much, we may get the alternator fixed but they might also take three weeks to do it and when they finally do give the car back to us we’ll end up dead in a ditch somewhere because they’ve cut our brake lines.
Yes I know its inherently wrong to suggest rolling over like this. But we’ve got less than a month before we get married and in that time we need to be mobile. So we can’t afford to be without wheels for an hour, much less a couple days. If we had an infinite amount of time and money I’d be standing right next to S, handing her the sharpened knife as she slowly filets the mechanic for his condescending attitude. But we don’t. So I try to be a moderating influence, settle for only being screwed a little bit (just the tip) and ensure that no one leaves this little transaction happy.
In the end, we missed our appointment with the DJ, somehow managed to get our international driver’s license, depleted our wedding fund to pay for the repairs and then collapsed at home on the couch in an impromptu nap session, thoroughly exhausted by the trials of the day.
And all this before bachelorette party began.
More on that later.
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