I've mentioned the issues with my super in relationship to building security before but as my time here lengthens, the issues are getting more intense.

A few weeks ago a friend was in the neighborhood after having had a steak dinner. He had the restaurant pack up the bones and he dropped them off at my building, leaving them with my super for the gnawing pleasure of my dachshund Mini, making it clear they were for me.

He left my name and apartment number and got verbal confirmation the super understood, and would get them to me. 

My friend just assumed I forgot to say thank you, but then when he mentioned it two weeks later, we both realized I never got them.

I didn't say anything to my super because, well, they were just a bag of bones. I assumed he forgot to leave them for me and because they looked like garbage, he treated them as such.

I also conjured up the rather comical image in my mind of my super gnawing at them himself. 

Subsequently, something more infuriating happened. I had ordered a case of a special type of soda that I love but can only find through an online beverage delivery service. 

The delivery arrived while I had stepped out for about 15 minutes to go the laundromat. Upon returning to my apartment, I noticed the unboxed 24-bottle case of soda outside my door--with one bottle missing. 

Sounds like a case for a demented Nancy Drew, no?

I looked around to see if maybe one of the bottles had broken, to no avail.

I called the beverage service and I spoke with the delivery guy who said my super let him in and followed him up. He made it clear that he had delivered a full case of 24 bottles and that they were intact when he left. He also said no one else was in the building.

So I raced down to ask my super about this; while I never accused him of taking the bottle, it was clear by his nervousness and response that he simply "couldn't help me," that something was rotten in Hell's Kitchen.

Clearly someone helped themselves to a soda from a case left outside my apartment door, but I couldn't prove it was my super. However, it occurred to me that this was a great time to confront him about propping open my two front doors with rocks such that any miscreant from the street could walk on in.

I told him firmly that I wanted the two doors left locked--no rocks--for security reasons. I explained that whenever I come home late at night, I remove the rocks so no one can get in or push their way in. Doors have locks for a reason. I simply don't understand the rationale for propping them open.

I debated heading over to my landlord to complain, about the rocks AND the soda.

For now, I've decided not to complain to my landlord about the missing soda. As for my front door, the rocks are still there. Stay tuned.


Kelly Kreth, recently returned to Hell’s Kitchen, chronicles her misadventures in her tenement-style walk-up in this bi-weekly BrickUnderground column, Hell’s Bitchen

See all Hell's Bitchen. 

Also by Kelly Kreth:

Hell's Bitchen: I vow never to move again

Hell's Bitchen: Meet my super, Aquavelva

15 things I've learned from 'Million Dollar Listing NY' so far

The 20 deadly sins NYC rental agents should never commit (but do)

Escape from the UES: Goodbye douchebaggery, hello Hell's Kitchen

Dear Neighbor: I am your worst nightmare

Living next to a bridge & tunnel club: KY Jelly wrestling, all-night noise, no regrets


 

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Hell's Bitchen' columnist Kelly Kreth muses about life as a modern-day tenement dweller in Hell's Kitchen