Francine has made more people regret buying properties than the GFC. Like a power-tripping succubus, she lurks in the depth of her strata complex and draws her energy from getting up in all the other resident’s shit.
See, Francine has lived at the complex the longest and by the laws of miserable apartment hags, that means she’s in charge. Is her authority recognised?
Well not technically. In fact, she really turned up the dial on the cuntometer when her application to be a strata committee member was voted down at the AGM.
This was mostly on account of the other committee members finding her company to be as pleasant as a dickcheese at a lactose intolerant swinger’s party. Alas, this was her villain origin story.
Since then, she has taken it upon herself to be the law in this land. Enforcing strata bylaws as rigidly and as often as possible. She was the Kommandantin in the owner-occupier Gestapo and believed informing on others to be imperative to order.
Last night, during her patrol to see if all cars had parked properly between the lines, she heard the faint sound of a young group of renters having the audacity to be enjoying life.
She followed the sounds of laughter to the pool area where she saw a resident accompanied by no less than 5 non-residents drinking beer and diving into the pool. At 7 pm. She storms over.
“The rules are very clear! Plus this is the 4th day this month that you have had your friends over, I will be taking this to the strata body!”
Having successfully pissed on that parade she hovers in the general vicinity for 45 more minutes to make a notation of exactly when they left and which bins they used to discard their beer bottles.
After returning home the following day, Francine notices a resident putting out some items on the verge. She immediately pulls out her phone and starts snapping photos and in her diplomatic fashion, she charges at the man.
“You better not be thinking of dumping that rubbish! We don’t have a hard waste scheduled, have you arranged for a pick-up? Show me the email!!”
The stunned man politely explains that it’s not rubbish, it’s furniture and he’s taking them out as he’s recently sold them and a buyer was due any minute to pick them up. Francine storms off, how DARE he speak to her like that.
She sits on her balcony watching the items and after 20 minutes decides to call the ranger. She must expose this resident’s blatant deceit. She storms down to the apartment to let him know the ranger is on his way and he should expect a fine for dumping.
Before the ranger arrives, the items are collected and order is restored to the universe. Francine, of course, is not satisfied and busts out her trusty printer and laminator combo to write a very stern note about the consequences of dumping on her watch.
Does she go easy on the capitalisation and exclamation points? God, no. Anyway, mission completed, back to working on whether she can get her neighbour’s dog put down for barking at her cats.