Strategic Planning

I like strategic planning. It is, in fact, a big portion of what I do on a regular basis for work. Often these skill sets bleed into my everyday life and I find myself constantly evaluating efficiencies. Thus, it makes sense I would select an apartment unit as close to the elevator as possible. This seemed logical for many reasons, the top reason being that I am usually carrying three bags of random crap at any given time and the ability to sprint 10 feet from elevator to apartment was a critical selling point.

Turns out this was a bad decision--there is a whole lotta action that takes place next to the elevator. There are Woodner “Block Parties” (which I will address at a later date) and epic fights, but what truly makes living next to the elevator an adventure is the alarm.

The first time I heard the elevator alarm I was really confused. It wasn’t a fire alarm…it was a loud buzzing: REALLY loud, and really constant, and completely immune to earplugs. After a half hour of relentless blaring a girl gets curious as to what all the fuss is about. The fuss apparently was a drunken fool with impeccable timing. This man managed to pass out in the elevator right before he was able to make his exit. All I could see of him (while remaining safely within my doorway) was a dirty yellow boot and an elevator door squashing his foot at evenly timed intervals. If there had been blood it would have looked exactly like an opening sequence for Law and Order SVU.

Eventually he must have woken up or perhaps someone with more balls and one of these decided to drag his sorry ass out of the lift—and no doubt position him in such a way that he didn’t suffocate on his own vomit. After all, the residents of Chateau Woodner are nothing if not well versed in accidental overdose protocol.

It's Not Just Me

So I was perusing the blogosphere to see if anyone else out there had something to offer up about the Woodner and I came across the Prince of Petworth’s blog. He does not live in Woodner but his guest poster does or did. Since the post was dated from back in 2010 I certainly hope this guy has escaped. If not, I am extending an invitation to grab a drink at Café Sangria (for those of you lucky enough to have never set foot in the Woodner, that is our own personal apartment bar)

Anyway, the guest poster, Tony, had some Woodner facts I was previously not privy too…though he definitely has confirmed some suspicions. For example, I ride in the Woodner elevator every day, multiple times a day and generally have a super creepy feeling come over me. I thought this was due to the puddles of piss I see on Saturday morning, the heavy breathers that stand just a bit tooclose, or the affection-starved tweens that ask me for hugs. Actually though, I think this Tony fella sums it up best,

It’s common to come home and see multiple police cars parked in front of the building. We never find out why, except under the most grave of circumstances, like when Nori Amaya, co-owner of Coppi’s Organic Restaurant was strangled to death last November. Management informed everyone with a flyer near the elevator banks on each floor. The crime is still unsolved. It’s a bizarre thought, to think that you could be sharing an elevator with a murderer.

Well, gee, isn’t that a fuzzy notion? Is it legal to carry a Taser?

But, Tony seems to be a glass half full kind of guy and he definitely had some nicer things to say about Chateau W,

Everything, the hall of pictures, the cracked marble, the spiral staircases, the swirls of spackle on the ceiling, it all imparts a sense of deep history to the place. Makes you wonder about your surroundings. Who stayed in my apartment? Was it ever anybody famous? What were their lives like? Did they have kids? What were their hopes and dreams and fears as they slept under the same roof that I sleep now?

Um…and let’s not forget “were they the Woodner Strangler?” I mean, that is my primary wonder along with:

• Is that nick in my door jamb a remnant from when S.W.A.T. kicked down the prior tenant's door? (this is not outside the realm of possibility either…I will have an actual S.W.A.T. story for a later date)
• Is that a really violent movie on high volume or is someone getting the crap kicked out of them?
• Why are there ALWAYS chicken bones in the hallway?

Okay, so maybe I view the Woodner through a slightly tainted lens. If you are all about a fair and balanced interpretation then check out the blog post. Heck, check out Prince of Petworth anyway! It’s a fun blog…and he is probably nicer than me.  

Woodner Swap Meets

Someone was evicted yesterday. Not from the Woodner. Death or an epic pay raise are the only two ways in which a person is likely to leave the Chateau. But there is this lovely little sh** hole next to the Woodner that is kicking its residents out at regular intervals and every time this occurs the curb is littered with the contents of some poor soul’s entire apartment. And let me tell ya, there is nothing like an eviction to bring the neighborhood together. Word gets out that there is junk to be had and every hoarder in a 500 yard radius is sprinting to get first dibs. I call this the Woodner swap meet and I am pretty certain this occurrence is largely responsible for proliferation of bed bugs and other delightful vermin that the block has to offer.

Surprisingly, the most depressing part about these “yard sales” is not that infested crap most likely ends up in my neighbor’s living room. Nope. It’s the pictures. Once things have been thoroughly picked through, all that remains are family photos of kids…ripped from their frames by the vultures, naturally. Of course, those don’t last long either. Some total creeper with a social disorder snatches those school portraits up quick. To loosely gauge how many of these photos end up in the Woodner would require me to check the sex offender’s registry…but sometimes there are boxes better left unopened.

If this post has depressed you, might I suggest clicking here.

Notorious.

It. Never. Fails. I get in a cab and politely tell me cab driver to take me to 3636 16^th St. and I am met with a sideways glance and an incredulous, “the Woodner??” like I had just asked him to escort me to the pits of hell. Not that I blame him. If I could I would install a HAZMAT grade decontamination shower in my apartment entryway. At least he can stay in the car. I actually have to sleep there.

I first noticed Woodner’s “notoriety” when I hailed a cab on my way to view available studios in the building. The taxi guy immediately recognized the address. I, of course, felt rather swanky going to a building address that EVERYONE knows…you know, like telling the cabbie to take me to the 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Now I understand that the Woodner is not as famous as the White House but in its defense, it is known for being the largest apartment building in the city. (I received this gem of a fact on my official tour of Chateau Woodner) However, I find this misleading since they never quantify what large is. Is large square footage or amount of residents? Because quite frankly, if we are talking in terms of resident numbers it is fraudulent to boost statistics by including cockroaches in the tally. Definitely just triggered my gag reflex. My apologies if your visceral reaction was similar. I should probably write a disclaimer.   

Go to Hell. Or in my case just go home.

3636 is the address number of my apartment building. Do a little math and you will see that we have 666. That is the mark of the devil. The devil lives in hell. So in case you are wondering where you go when you die, its 3636 16^th St. The end.