When you’re a resident self-storage manager, maintaining an appropriate boundary between your personal and professional lives can be difficult. Your work is always there, staring you in the face. And there are those tenants (and owners, too!) who think that because you’re on site, you’re at their perpetual beck and call.
The following story was submitted by Gina Six Kudo, a resident manager at Cochrane Self Storage in Morgan Hills, Calif. Sound like an experience you’ve had? Share your own self-storage residence story on the blog!
Ever have one of those days when you’re off duty, the office is closed and you, the resident manager, finally get to take a breather? You can pick up that novel you’ve been meaning to finish, clean out a closet, do some spring cleaning, or (heaven forbid!) veg out to the TV or take a decadent mid-day nap. I recently had such a day, and was well into flitting from task to task, cleaning, doing laundry, baking and doing other things I enjoy.
The next thing you know, someone is tapping on the office window with a car key. Not a polite tap, but the obnoxious “Get your buns out here, I want service now” type of tap. Now, the tenant had just left a message on the phone, which I heard but couldn’t answer due to my hands being covered in the apple I was peeling and slicing. His situation wasn’t an emergency or anything that required immediate attention. Furthermore, I wasn’t dressed appropriately for face-to-face contact.
This gentleman (I use the term loosely) was simply one of those demanding, “I want it now” types. I figured, just this once, I’m not going to scramble, dress and run outside. I deserve one quiet day off. Just one. I don’t ask for much and am normally on call anytime, but this day I wanted to enjoy the mood and, quite frankly, be a bit selfish.
Need I tell you this was not going to happen? The man kept up a barrage of key banging, and then progressed to yelling and whistling. And then he stopped. Whew! OK, the guy got a clue, I thought. Breathe, relax, and re-find the happy place.
“BANG! BANG! BANG!” He starts again with renewed vigor on our home window! By now, my blood pressure is starting to soar. The happy place is gone. Mr. Inconsiderate has trampled it to death! Now he’s really going to get the response he asked for! He has it coming. I’m furious. I run for the coat closet, toss on a blazer, and head for the office intercom.
“MAY I HELP YOU?” My voice booms out of the speaker.
Mr. Inconsiderate: “Yes, the gate isn’t letting me in.”
Me: “But you have keyed in and out several times, AND you are inside right now with your car!”
Mr. Inconsiderate: “Yes, I guess you’re right, I am.”
Me: “So is there something you need that made all that banging necessary?”
Mr. Inconsiderate: “Is there someplace I can leave some cash for you?”
Maniacal, sinister, completely smart-aleck responses flow through my brain at a mind-blowing pace. Yet for some unknown reason, I respond in a kinder manner: “Do you really want to leave cash in the drop slot?”
Mr. Inconsiderate: “Uh, I guess not.”
Me: “Is there anything else?”
Mr. Inconsiderate: “No, I guess not. Thanks.”Ever notice how it’s the customers who think they’re above reproach, who demand everything, who are the biggest pains? Mr. Inconsiderate is very well-to-do; he just neglected his obligation to pay on time and demanded immediate response from me after hours. One of these days, they’ll take me away in a pretty white coat with buckles on the sleeves that hug my body tight. Until then, it’s back to trying to find that happy place ...