Mr. Sax Man, You are a Hero…

When I was in my twenties I lived in Midtown Toronto in a quality apartment building at Yonge and St. Clair. As the demand for rental space increased it seemed that the tenants were not treated half as well as they should have been.

The Apartment building itself was kept in okay shape, but the little things that made a difference were just not there. As an example, the building management team was constantly hiring Supers and Assistant Supers who were cretins of dubious distinction.

There was a woman on the twentieth floor, Rhoda, who used to call me all the time if she had any type of problem. It was somewhat insane as I wasn’t an electrician, plumber, or carpenter. The only tool I was proficient with was the telephone. Generally, I would go up to her apartment, shmooze, turn a couple of screws (that was the one thing I learned, there were always screws to turn) and suggest she call her Father or Brother to come over and check things out.

I dated a woman, Mindy, who lived two floors below me and she was always decrying the fact that there was no security in the underground parking garage. On more than one occasion she had seen sketchy characters slinking around parked cars. Whenever she drove home and it was late she would become extremely nervous and apprehensive. There had been a number of cars broken into, including mine. Nobody was ever…