Thank You Bitter Old Man

I received a 5 page letter from a resident at one of my buildings.  It was filled with hate, vitriol and made a general reference to the fact that the world was going to hell due to "women in charge and ruining everything."

It is my job to address the concerns of those who reside with us in a completely professional manner.  I rattled off a polite, perfunctory letter to Bitter Old Man - trying to address the maybe one or two legitimate concerns he had mixed in with the fifty problem diatribe on why he hates his life at our building.

I am the midst of grief due to loss and have been feeling not so great, I've gotta say.  And on Friday, I was so DONE.  Then B.O.M. calls.  I take the call.  He launches his spew right at me, and I listen for a full five minutes.  I can't even summon the will to respond.  Then something kicks in.  Ahhh, a true feeling- not the numb, out of it, wrapped up in suffocating gauze funk I've been in, but an honest to goodness feeling.  And it's freaking POWERFUL -UNLEASHED!  I politely tell B.O.M. that I have addressed his legitimate concerns and that, quite frankly, there is nothing else I can do for him.  He returns serve by lobbing the good old "I am calling my attorney" rap.  I wish him well and hang up on him.  Yeah, I went there!  Fuck it and fuck him!

Dear Bitter Old Man,

 You live in a building built for seniors.  Some of your neighbors will be infirm, require a wheelchair or walker and will need to flush their toilet past 9 p.m. at night.

 I have a vagina.  I also have a clit, hormones, a period and boobs (Ok, well, A cup, little girl boobs, but I rock AWESOME nippage).  Most of the people at your building seem to be happy and love their life.  Not quite sure what the correlation is, but if you insist on going there, then I'm gonna assume my vaginal awesomeness has everything to do with that.

Any questions?

Xo,
Susie.