bullyboy

His belly is bigger than mine. His moustache bristles all over his top lip. Mine is clipped back every fourth day to 3mm. He’s already in mid-sentence as he steps out of his swish car in my driveway, making his point loud and clear.

He’s Jim, the owner of Unit 3 and the only owner not living on the property. Our body corporate is now an owner’s corporation. Three of us want to self-manage but Jim doesn’t. How many times has he said it in the past twelve hours?

He’s hopping mad. He usually is.

Early every Wednesday Dan lugs the bins up the driveway to the street for collection on Thursday morning. And all day Wednesday Joyce makes trip after trip with more rubbish from her kitchen up to the bin on the road shoulder. Jim spies her on her way home from one of her bin trips. He summarily calls her over, says maybe he’ll get more sense out of her than Dan.

He’s explaining to us what he believes is an anomaly in the lot entitlements of our owners corporation. Neither Joyce nor I can see his point. He bellows; no doubt he thinks that talking louder will enhance his logic. Joyce starts getting feisty. Jim makes threats. I placate.

I stand my ground when Jim bullies me about my entitlement to vote on issues concerning our owners corporation. I pull him up when he exaggerates his claims. He waves a sheath of photocopied documents that prove his claim that I’m not paying my right whack, or paying too much. Joyce and I still can’t grasp what he’s on about.

I confront him about his aggressive manner. He agrees; says it’s his nature. Somehow I manage to get him out of my drive with a smile on his face after a handshake. His hand and fingers, like him, are a blunt instrument.

He’s going to VCAT with his gripe, his claim that our owners corporation was wrongly constituted from day one, and that he’s hard done by.

   

Rock on.