Feel Good Super of the Year: 223 Devoe Street
I read this post on Curbed last week and was mystified. The “ostensible” S(t)uperintendent of my apartment building rarely leaves notes in my apartment building. Unless of course he is faced with a visit from the Department of Buildings at the behest of Marty Markowitz and a building full of very angry tenants. In which case his usual apathy turns to sanguine (and illiterate) written apology.
Gawker found the above missive amusing. One year (numerous HOT baths) later I do as well. Though I would have liked getting credit for this photographic memento of my misery.
As of the writing of this post I have heat and hot water— but no intercom. The brain trust who saw fit to install a HVAC exhaust unit in the space above the foyer of my apartment building severed the cables. They did a pretty bad job. I am not an expert on such matters, but when the ceiling gracing the aforementioned foyer collapses due to being deluged with condensation I think it is safe to assume incompetence was at play.
As Strother Martin wisely said in Cool Hand Luke:
What we’ve got here is… failure to communicate.
My apartment building is the benchmark for failed communication. By design. We have no on-site Super. He, his old lady, cousins, aunts and nieces flew the coop a long time ago. They knew a dump when they saw one and left.
As a consequence my fellow tenants and I are refugees on a rent-stabilized life boat floating in a sea of condo-fying land sharks. Our domicile/raft lists in accordance to the caprice of our “Superintendent”. Occasionally one of his hired “help” will endeavor to punch a hole in it— and that’s usually when we call the 311. Or 911. But I digress.
Yesterday afternoon I found an attempt at superintendent/tenant communication that made me feel so good I simply had to pass it along.
Who is the Super of this building?
More importantly, what are his (or her) salary requirements and is he (or she) willing to move to Greenpoint?