THE APARTMENTS AT GUANTANAMO

Since moving here 18 months ago, I’ve renamed my apartment community several times. The original name (and still the legal one) is ArborView. It is an apartment building for “active adults” over age 62. The term “active” is a bit of a misnomer in that more than a few residents live most of their entire lives within the building, with an equal number who never venture outside their apartments. I digress, though.

My first name change for the building was the “Geezer Apartments.” I’ve written about the comings and goings of this place ever since I arrived. Mostly, I attempted to find humor in what others view as horrible happenings with the building, management, and other residents.

This summer, a resident noticed bricks loosening on the façade of the building. (He was a bona fide “active adult” who ventured outside the complex frequently and recently moved into a house with his wife.) Of course, the bricks about to fall were above my patio and small yard, where I always exited and entered my apartment. Fortunately, I was out of town at the time. When I returned, the bricks had been cemented back in place, but a “do not enter” tape was strung across all the yards on my side of the building. (They’ve since been replaced by bright yellow rope around the exterior, but everyone steps over it anyway.) The builder of the apartment complex and the owners have been in litigation over who is responsible for the repairs after it was determined by an independent engineer that ALL the bricks must be removed and replaced correctly. The building is only 40 months old.

Due to the brick situation, my second name change for the complex became “Fallingbrick Apartments,” in a nod to Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater house. Amazingly, people still sign new leases here despite the bright yellow rope and scaffolding surrounding the exterior of the building. My new next-door neighbor recently asked me about the rope. I was initially shocked that she was never told about the potential of falling bricks. My frequent companion cynicism kicked in, and I remembered that management wouldn’t divulge that information because making money is most important. I also had to fill her in on the seven apartments that flooded last December, including mine. To my credit, I did not tell her about the previous occupant of her apartment dying or the massive mold that was discovered behind the refrigerator shortly before her death.

There are also issues with the elevators not working periodically and exterior doors not opening with the fob. Due to electrical problems, the pool and hot tub were unusable for part of the summer. Some of the apartments have been without air conditioning. The list goes on, but you get the picture. The complex was built during the pandemic as quickly and cheaply as possible. The original owners needed revenue flowing and accomplished it by luring unsuspecting potential tenants with good deals and perks, then selling the building a year later to some sucker (Carlyle Group). Despite the numerous issues, most residents renew their leases, including me. I need my head examined.

Last winter, the fire alarm sounded frequently at night and on Sundays. Since staff is only here during the weekdays and a few hours on Saturday, no one is here to disable it, so we had to wait until the Fire Department arrived to turn it off after ensuring there wasn’t a fire. The frequency has lessened over the past year, but the fire alarm has sounded twice this month already in what might be another winter of unending fire alarms. Most residents are entirely desensitized to the alarm now and do not leave their apartment. No one knows why or what makes it sound, but it’s now a safety issue due to the number of residents who have dementia and may forget to turn off their oven or stove, coupled with people ignoring the alarm. Some physically disabled residents live on the upper floors and cannot take the stairs. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

When the alarm sounded early yesterday morning, I continued getting ready for what was going to be a full day spent away. The alarm stopped after what seemed like hours but was only 20 minutes or so.

Later that afternoon, my new neighbor asked about the alarm. I responded, “How do you like living in Guantanamo?” She had a look of horror on her face, and I knew at that moment she realized what a mistake she had made. She’s not alone in that conclusion.

Thus, my latest name is “Guantanamo Apartments.” Where else can you get tortured for approximately $2000+ per month?