Great Moments in Greenpoint Real Estate Rhetoric

Some of you may not be know it, but a brave new concept in real estate is being explored at 231 Norman Avenue. The development in question is called the Greenpoint Lofts and their shtick is selling condominiums for commercial use. I have walked by this complex a number of times and aside from the annex in the back looking like a Motel 6 it struck me as decent quality work.

Perhaps their attention to construction will explain the lack of advertising savvy for this facility? I say this because I found the below advert for their “business ready condos” on Manhattan Avenue today and something immediately struck me as being amiss.

Now I do not know much about the German language, but then again I do not really need to. My issue with this ad is very simple: why is a(n incorrect) piece German punctuation being utilized in an advertisement for a development in “Little Poland”? While scarcely an old timer, I have lived in this neighborhood long enough to learn a few things about the local Polish population. They are as follows:

1. They are very proud to be Polish. Rightfully so.
2. Many of the older residents are not too keen on Germans (or Russians for that matter). Although I have never bothered to ask why, I suspect World War II informs this distaste.

I am certain the team of wizards who came up with this logo thought nothing about the linguistic ramifications of this jaunty piece of punctuation and quite frankly I wouldn’t expect them to. If such folk were interested in the vagaries of history, pogroms and poverty, they would have majored in them. This also explains why using the slogan “Make It Yours” did not strike them as being the least bit ironic: Adolf Hitler once made Poland his.

Miss Heather

McCarren Park Crapper Gets That “Just Like Home” Feel

Please treat this (insert appliance here) like you would in your own home.

Speaking as a former Office Manager I can assert with 100% certainty that underlying logic for the above piece of rhetoric is among the most flawed I have ever encountered. The presumption being made by the people who pen the above sentiment is simple enough: entreating someone to care for say, the office kitchenette, with the same vigilance as one’s own kitchen will result in a better-kempt place to prepare food. My personal experience, however, says otherwise. The real issue at hand is people treat public facilities like the ones in their own home, that’s why they are so disgusting. Human beings are filthy creatures and any (Biblical) rumors of being us being the better-abled the stewards of this world are greatly exaggerated.

Let me tell you about “Stewie”. My place of employment at the time pandered managed office space and he was one of our “clients”. I’m not too sure how much he and his compatriots paid in the way of rent, but it must have been draconian. This is the only reason I can muster as to why he would steal my lunch. Repeatedly. First I noticed a quarter of my sandwich missing. A week later it had progressed to half my foodstuffs going MIA. A month later I went to the kitchen only to find an empty container in the trash. Going, going… gone!

I was none too happy about this, so I took it up with my boss. I kept my food in his personal refrigerator (which was located inside his LOCKED OFFICE) from then on. Stewie (being the ever-adaptive hominid he was) took this development in stride and began “sampling” the sack lunches of my co-workers. One time my co-worker Mickey opened her Tupperware sandwich container to find a sandwich with a rather large bite taken out of it. I guess her culinary prowess didn’t meet up to his exacting standards— and given that Stewie worked in the catering industry (and would often bring lunch to the receptionists)— I guess it would be safe to say he knew good vittles when he saw ate them. Within a month everyone stopped using the office refrigerator.

Stewie made himself feel right at home. His activities were not limited to the kitchen either, as I learned from a co-worker; he was also prone to giving colored commentary while going to the bathroom. He was a veritable Howard Cosell of crap. Towards the end of my tenure, the powers that be hired a man we’ll call Mike. Mike didn’t last very long, I presume this was due to him coming to work hopped up one form of medication or another. Some days I would look over from my desk to see him so tweaked he could barely hold a pencil. It should also be noted that Mike had some issues regarding germs. To this end he kept hand sanitizer and disinfectant wipes at his desk. He used these with alarming frequency, often to the point of chapping his hands.

One day Mike came back from the bathroom in a more agitated state than usual. Sweat was literally dripping off his forehead. He beckoned for me to keep quiet and promptly closed the office door.

Mike: You know that guy Stewie?
Me: Yes. He’s the guy who was stealing my lunch.
Mike: I just used the bathroom and he was in there…
Me: AND?
Mike: He was breathing really heavily, I mean he was pushing really hard…
Me: (laughing)
Mike: I heard this turd hit the water and he said:

That was a good one.

I waited until Mike left for an appointment to laugh my ass off.

What do the previous anecdotes have to do with the McCarren Park bathroom, you ask? Well, quite frankly: not very much. It is simply a preface for the below sign I found posted in a stall of the women’s bathroom there last weekend.

And, true to my previous prognostication, someone treated it “like their own.”

Piss-a-licious!

Here’s a close up. Judging from the sheer amount of toilet paper, it must have been “a good one”.

Miss Heather