My upstairs neighbor was an old, solitary man who died peacefully in his sleep. The problem was that since he was so solitary, nobody knew for a few days. I happened to be the one to find him and call 911. I assumed it was pretty routine, but when I told the story to the police, they told me that I would also have to tell my story to a detective as well. The homicide squad showed up and I told them the story, but after telling my story to the 911 operator, the policeman, and the detective I also had to tell the story to the EMT. I was a little surprised that I had to tell the story to the EMT, but he seemed to think it was important.
“You the landlord?” he asked.
“No. I work here.”
He wrote that down; he had started taking notes as soon as he saw the state of the apartment.
“You’re the super, then?”
I explained that I worked for a university that leased some of the apartments in that building.
“So you only lease to students?”
scribble, scribble, scribble.
“So how did he (referring to the deceased) get into the building if he wasn’t a student?”
“We only lease half the building. The other half is rented by professionals and the like.”
This seemed to satisfy him. He started measuring he body.
“So how’d they get in this building?”
“I assume they contacted the management company.”
No…he wasn’t measuring the body; he was measuring the bed.
“Do you have their contact info?”
“The building manager’s on his way. Are you…are you measuring the apartment?”
He scribbled down the dimensions of the apartment.
“Do you know how much he was paying for this place?”
I shrugged and then turned to go upstairs.
He called after me, “What’s the building manager’s name?”
I know that it’s hard to find a good apartment in this town, but I seriously…can you wait until the body is out the door before making an offer?