9. Mazikeen
Some Time Later
Here We Go Again . . .
Mrs. Carter had officially made my list of people I wanted to move out.
She was the kind of old lady that no one liked, including her husband.
I wasn’t saying that just to say it either.
The man literally told me that he couldn’t stand her, but she made a mean pot roast and left him alone during football season.
Pot roast and a quiet football season held their marriage together.
Today, tired was my middle name, and I didn’t feel like this bullshit. I had dialysis this morning, and it took more than usual out of me. Instead of following my first mind to go home, I came into the office. Now, I had to deal with this old hag about some stupid shit.
Her other complaint was about a missing package.
The package was not missing. The delivery person dropped it off in the office, and I sent the corresponding email that told her that.
The third complaint was about the smell of the neighbor’s food.
Yep, she sent a damn complaint about the smell of Indian food.
Let me call her so I can go home. I picked up my office phone and called her number on file. She answered on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Carter, this is Mazikeen. I wanted to call to settle the complaints that you sent in.” My tone was pleasant, but my attitude was shitty.
She sucked her teeth. “It’s about damn time. It took y’all long enough.” She literally dropped these complaints off yesterday.
We didn’t get too many complaints. Unless it was something serious, we handled complaints within three business days. God, keep me calm.
“I know you may be busy, so I’m going to go over them with you. First, your missing package is here in the office. It was delivered here and—”
She didn’t let me finish. “Well, why didn’t someone tell me? There was something in that package that was time damn sensitive. Now I don’t have enough time to get it done.”
“Mrs. Carter, the package was delivered two days ago, and I sent you an email telling you that it was received. You can pick the package up whenever you’re ready.” I didn’t give a fuck about whatever was in the package that was time sensitive. She would be alright.
Her laugh sounded like a hyena, which was fitting because that was how she looked. “You should have called me to tell me that you had my damn package. What the hell do you people do in that office all day?”
If it wasn’t for her sweetheart husband, I would have found a reason to evict them a long time ago. Technically, I didn’t have to renew their lease, but I did. She had been a pain in the ass for six years now.
I took a calming voice. “That is not our process. All our processes are listed out in the lease you sign every year when you renew your lease. Let’s move to the next complaint, .
. . the food smell. There is nothing that we can do about that.
Residents have the right to cook whatever they want if it is legal. ”
I knew she wouldn’t like that even more than the resolve of her first stupid-ass complaint. This lady groaned or growled. I wasn’t sure what it was. What sound do hyenas make?
“Markakeen, that is unacceptable. The shit stinks and they need to be more considerate or go back to where they came from. I’m sure everything smells like that over there,” she quipped.
Yeah, I didn’t have the patience for this. “Mrs. Carson, I understand your feeling. As I said, they have a right to cook whatever they like as long as it is legal.”
I always suspected that she had a little bit of racism in her, but I was never sure. Her little comment about how everything smells over there gave me a glimpse. She needed to tread lightly on this call. If she went too far left, then her husband wouldn’t be able to save her from an eviction.
“Um, my name is Mrs. Carter not Mrs. Carson. You don’t know the names of your residents?” Her attitude was on high alert.
I giggled. “Oh, I thought we were playing a game. You know, the ‘who can mess up the other person’s name the most.’ My name is Mazikeen, as it has been since you moved in seven years ago. Let’s move on to your trash, Mrs. Carter.
I was not going to play with her today because I’d been nauseous all damn day.
“For your trash complaint, I reviewed the cameras from your floor. It’s not that they are not taking your trash.
As it states in the addendum, your trash should be out no later than eight p.m. Based on the multiple videos that I watched, they come to your floor a little after nine p.m. You put your trash out closer to ten p.m. You missed trash pickup. ”
“You niggers always have any excuse as to why you don’t do your jobs. They know that people might put their trash out late, so they should do a second damn sweep. That makes no fucking sense,” she ranted.
I sat there silently with a wide smile on my face. Yep, she did exactly what I wanted her to do. “Mrs. Carter, I’m sure you are aware that these calls are recorded.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything that I said? Are you an idiot? It sure seems like you are. I need to knock some sense into you and those trash bums.” Her tone was smug.
I tittered because I loved when a bitch really dug herself into the grave that she created for herself.
“Well, I will take this recorded call to the property managers as justification as to why you will be served with an eviction notice. We here at Queen Luxury Property Management do not tolerate threats of any kind. Expect that notice in the next few days.”
She yelled on the other end, but it didn’t matter because I hung up. Over the years, I told Seth, Cory, and Shannon about Mrs. Carter. They wouldn’t care that I wanted to evict her. One thing that I was proud of and appreciated was that they trusted my judgment.
When my desk phone rang, I rolled my eyes. If this was her, I would curse her ugly ass out. I sighed, then picked up the phone. “Queen Luxury Property. This is Mazikeen.”
“Ms. Phillips, this is Janice, the transplant coordinator with Queen City Medical Center. How are you feeling today?” There was a cheeriness in her voice that I didn’t experience the last time we talked.
My hand tightened around the receiver so tight that I thought it might snap in half. These people didn’t call to check in on how you were feeling. “I feel good,” I lied. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, everything is great. I need to verify you before we begin.” She went through all the verification questions, then continued. “We have a deceased-donor kidney for you,” she said. I could tell from her tone that there was a smile on her face.
Everything around me turned white. My vision blurred, and my ears popped. She couldn’t have said what I thought she did. “Wait, what? You don’t have to evaluate it and have me on standby like last time?”
“We have already done the preliminary evaluation, and everything is favorable. Ms. Phillips, let me say it plainly. This is your kidney. The transplant team needs you to get to the hospital right away,” Janice instructed.
She said they had a kidney for me. Not a possible, a maybe, but a kidney that was for me. Oh my God!
“Ms. Phillips, when was the last time you ate or drank?” she asked.
My eyelids rapidly blinked. “I haven’t eaten since six a.m., and I had a few sips of water about an hour ago.”
“Alright, that is fine. Please don’t eat anything else. You know to bring your medication and ID. You need someone to drive you here, okay?” Her tone was stern. She must have known that I would pull up to the hospital on my own.
“Yes, ma’am. I will. My fiancé will drive me. I’m at work, but I will be there soon,” I told her.
After she told me that she would see me there, she hung up.
My arm was still too frozen to hang up. I heard what she said .
. . The kidney was mine. It was a simple proclamation but complexed all the same.
This process had given me trust issues. What if I got to the hospital and they changed their minds?
Finally, I hung up the phone and grabbed my cell phone. I long pressed the one on the screen and waited.
“What’s up, love? Have you eaten yet?” he asked immediately. I wasn’t a fan of eating, so he stayed on my ass about it.
I swallowed hard. “They called. They have a kidney for me.”
There was silence between us. It was a loud silence. I’d heard him at night when he thought I was asleep. He would pray over me and ask God for my healing and a kidney. It seemed like his prayers had been answered.
“Janice, the transplant coordinator, said that I need to have someone bring me. I need to get there as soon as possible. My bag is at the house.” Worry seeped out. I wasn’t ready.
“Okay, baby. I am on the way to you right now. While I’m on the way, you call your HR to let them know. I will call Lula Ann and have her get our things from the house. I’m gonna have her call everyone else.” The authority in his voice was sexy.
“Falcon, what if something goes—” He cut me off.
“That is not what we are going to do, Mazikeen. You have a call to make. I will be there in less than fifteen minutes. I’m not too far away at a property finalizing some repair orders,” he informed me.
We said our goodbyes then hung up. I dialed HR from my office phone. “Hey, Mazikeen,” Shannon greeted.
Shannon was head of HR. “Hey, Shannon. Um, the transplant center called. They have a kidney for me. I need to leave like now.”
“Oh my God, Mazikeen! Get your ass out of there. We will handle everything on our end. Congratulations! I’m so happy for you.” She gleamed.
I smiled at her excitement. “Thank you, Shannon. Oh, I need to send you an email about Mrs. Carter. It’s going to have a recorded call where she made a racial slur and threatened me.”
“Girl, get your ass out of there. I’ll get her eviction ready. I don’t need to hear a tape. I got her name written down on my to-do pad. What apartment is she in?”