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Late one evening, the letter slips quietly beneath your front door: "Please submit a brief biography to the nominating committee if you are interested in serving on the board." It sits on your desk for days, begging to be acted upon or thrown out. You write the bio, but will the nominating committee read between the lines?
- "Mr. Patel is thrilled to be a new member of the Princess Alexandra Cooperative community." Translation: "Mrs. Patel is planning to renovate the master bath and wants an exception made to the 'no whirlpool baths' rule."
- "Ms. Kwong, a long time resident of this cooperative, is committed to its community and fiscal health." Translation: "Dictators the world over are being taken down. Randall Berkofsky--it's your turn!"
- "Miss O'Leary has lived in the building for thirty years and has seen it evolve from a rell-regarded rental building to a family-friendly cooperative." Translation: "Miss O'Leary plans to turn down any family with young children applying to the coop board."
- "Mr. Sanders is a recently retired real estate lawyer who can bring his extensive experience and knowledge to the board." Translation: "Mrs. Sanders wants Mr. Sanders to get the hell off the Internet and out of the apartment for change."
- "Mrs. Woodward is a professional florist who has previously served on the house committee, decorating the lobby for holidays and the like." Translation: "If Mrs. Woodward has to look that those old dusty Christmas ornaments and hideous menorah for one more holiday season she will scream. Time to up the budget folks!"
Veronica X. is a Canadian by birth, an Upper West Sider by nature, and an Upper East Sider by choice and circumstance. She has finally found an apartment big enough for her family, books, and shoes and is now in the process of renovating it.