Okay, so, as noted in a previous journal, I'd wanted a scorpion for a while now. But you need permission to have a pet here at my apartment complex. So a year or so ago, in preparation for obtaining the animal, I did what the office said I needed to do and got written permission from my family doctor that I required the scorpion for therapeutic purposes (i.e. something to talk to and care for). This is how, for example, I was able to have my rabbit Scooter here until he passed away. But after Scooter died and I wanted the scorpion, the manager's office said I needed new written permission from the doctor for every animal, and so I obtained it and gave it to them.
One thing led to another, however, and I didn't get the scorpion. Money issues and the like. But finally I obtained it a few days ago. Then during an apartment re-inspection (I'd failed my last inspection due to a variety of minor issues that added up, and management has its collective butthole all a-pucker over upcoming yearly state inspections where they'll randomly be selecting apartments. Upon seeing the 10-gallon tank I got for the scorpion sitting on the kitchen counter (as yet unoccupied), they asked me what it was for, and I said it was for my pet scorpion.
To quote A Christmas Story, they looked at my like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears, and, as thought she were stunned, the manager or inspector or whoever (I have no idea what her job is, to be honest, and I'll say why momentarily) seemed to struggle to speak for a moment, then said I couldn't have a pet. I was taken aback and explained that I written permission from my doctor. "For this animal?" she asked. I said yes. She asked when I'd submitted it and I said when, and apparently, either they don't have the permission slip on file or I've got to renew it every year or maybe I waited too long and it expired or some shit, but, either way, she told me I needed to get a new letter from my doctor giving me permission to have the dang scorpion. The one I'd already applied for and been given permission to fucking get.
This was on a Friday. So I had to wait until today to call Garner Internal Medicine to make an appointment. Before doing so, I called the management office, asking for a brushup on the pet-permission procedure. Did I need just a letter from the doctor, or was there a form, or what? A different woman answered my questions, saying there was no form, I just needed the doctor's letter. When she asked what it was and I replied that it was a scorpion, she cried, "A what?" I repeated myself. "You can't have that!" she told me.
I almost exploded. I was already angry because I thought this had all been settled over a year ago, and now suddenly I'm being told I can't have the animal I originally applied for and was given permission to get. The problem, as I see it, is that since my first year or so here, Cleveland Green II has undergone some kind of management restructuring process they didn't tell the tenants about (not that I'm aware of, anyway). When I first moved in, there was a full-time manager. But then her son died and she moved back home, and since then, Cleveland Green has eschewed having full-time managers in favor of a rotating series of managers and staffers, with the end result that none of them seem to know what the fuck is going on on-site (and with the really lovely added effect of preventing tenants from getting to know and develop good working relationships with the site manager(s); there's nobody you can just call the landlord or landlady if they keep rotating them out and replacing them).
I pressed the issue, explaining that at the time of the original filing of the permission letter, everyone - the manager at the time, my doctor, etc. - everyone knew the animal was going to be a Goddamn scorpion and that didn't faze anyone. Now suddenly it's a big issue. Fortunately, this story has a happy ending. My mother, who knows who to talk to pencil-pushing types, called the office and was able to persuade the manager that the scorpion was like a goldfish; it was never going to leave its tank. The manager relented and said as long as I had signed permission from my doctor for the thing by Wednesday, then everything would be fine. Phew.
