Vertical Confessions: Chad is Alive!

In the world of high-rise management, where luxury meets the unpredictable, every building has its own cast of characters—each more colorful than the art hanging in their million-dollar condos. But none quite like Chad. He was the plot twist we never saw coming, the kind of resident you couldn’t invent if you tried.

Chad, in his mid 50s, stood at six feet tall with blond hair, blue eyes, and a smile that could charm the most hardened of HOA members. His specialty? Being the happiest and most loving drunk you'd ever meet. Picture him waltzing into a contentious board meeting, completely sloshed, drink in hand, sitting front and center, and immediately lightening the mood. Then when the “resident hecklers”- you know the type, entitled owners shouting, “You work for me!- would attack me, Chad would interrupt and say, “I love you, you look lovely tonight.” Cue laughter. Suddenly, the drama felt a little less dramatic.

For two and a half years, Chad was a mainstay. His tipsy charm was a welcome distraction from the chaos that came with the territory. But then... things started to change.

The Descent: It was a landslide. Chad popped into the HOA office one day, rambling about how his condo was "bugged." His phone, his laptop, even his TVs—everything was compromised, he claimed. He was heading to the Apple Store to "erase" it all. At first, we thought it was just a bad day. But then it happened again. And again. Soon, Chad was erasing his electronics daily, convinced his every move was being tracked.

Then came the trash—trickling down the hallway outside his unit to the elevator. Items were being tossed in a frenzy. But the worst was yet to come.

When Chad invited me into his condo to show me the “secret cameras” he'd found, I could hardly believe my eyes. His once-pristine space looked like a war zone—walls stripped bare, furniture tossed around, personal belongings scattered like a crime scene. He had torn the place apart, convinced he was being watched. It was heartbreaking to witness the transformation of a man who was now consumed by paranoia.

It was clear: The previously charming, happy-go-lucky, mellow Chad was in the midst of an actual mental health crisis.

Operation Save Chad: After heavy contemplation, we decided to call his emergency contact on file, Chad’s sister. Unfortunately, she lived out of state. We devised a plan to get Chad into her care. But Chad’s paranoia was growing by the minute.

The next day Chad called me and the assistant general manager to his unit, convinced that people had broken in and replaced items in his unit that would require both jackhammers and Houdini-level stealth. We knew we had to handle this delicately, so I did what any seasoned manager or desperate parent of a hypochondriac child - would do: I listened intently and placated his paranoia. “You’re right, Chad. You’re not safe here. They’ve found you. The only solution is to leave - immediately and go to your sisters.”

Miraculously, he agreed. Chad packed a bag, and I promised to get him to the airport.

The Plot Twist: Fast forward a few hours. Chad showed me his cash, his driver’s license, his credit cards- clearly, he was on his way to safety. But then, Chad, ever the wildcard, decided his armpits were offensive and urgently needed a shower. “Let’s detour to a motel,” he insisted. A motel, mind you, not a hotel - a place where rooms are rented by the hour.

Reluctantly, I dropped him off at the motel near the airport, scribbled his sister’s contact information on a scrap of paper, and prayed he wouldn’t lose it since he claimed his phone was bugged so he had no phone on him. Driving away, I felt an unsettling sense of dread. I called his sister, filled her in, and did my best to calm my nerves. Chad had promised to head to the airport after his shower. What had I done?

Later that evening, I shared the whole ordeal with a friend and her husband, hoping for reassurance. Instead, her husband lobs this bomb at me: “You lost Chad? You might be the last person to see him alive.”

Cue the panic spiral. Did I just… lose Chad?

The Redemption Arc: For the next 24 hours, I was consumed with guilt, preparing myself for the worst. I imagined filing a missing person report, explaining to his family and the Board how I had "misplaced" him, and dealing with the inevitable fallout. The documentary on this would surely paint me as the villain.

After twenty-four hours of hell, I received a text from Chad’s sister: “He’s here. He made it.”

OMFG. Chad was alive? Chad was alive! I didn’t lose Chad!

Where the hell had he been?

The Aftermath: As it turns out, Chad’s resilience is unmatched. With nothing but his charm and a cat-like ability to land on his feet, he proved once again that you can never count him out. Chad is like a cat with nine lives - except, in this case, he's got at least one more.

Managing a high-rise means navigating the unexpected from multimillion-dollar repairs to the occasional Chad-shaped plot twist. It’s a reminder that, sometimes, our job isn’t just managing buildings, it’s managing the beautifully messy, unpredictable human beings in this world.

I can rest easy knowing that Chad lives to charm another day.

And now, off to therapy.