Sterling Green, rechristened Bexley at Preston upon the complex's purchase by Weinstein Properties of Richmond, VA, is another example of an apartment community that just doesn't give a damn, like all too many these days.

The initial impression of the place is conflicted: a scenic golf hole runs parallel behind the buildings on the one side, and a very busy railroad track (night and day about 100 yards away on the other. Stand more than a few minutes in the parking lot (which is very crowded, especially on weekend nights) and you'll notice that you're underneath a flight path for Raleigh-Durham International, located about six miles away.

The conflict continues inside the units. The floor plans are innovative, with design angles in the living room, a computer nook, and high ceilings. But look at those ceilings again. There are fire extinguisher nozzles everywhere, and, in the event of malfunction, will cause serious damage to personal belongings. And while the height of the rooms is nice in the summer, helping to trap some of the oppressive Carolina heat merely pushed around by the ineffective heat pumps, the winter chill laughs at the unit's failed effort at insulation and runs your gas bill (that's right, expensive, highly fluctuating priced gas) as high as the, er, ceiling.

But, at the end of the day, there's no conflict about one thing: the management. Hopes ran high when Weinstein took over, only to be cruelly smashed. Meet the new boss -- same as the old boss, and worse. The "rental consultants", never a stable commodity anywhere, seem to be on 90-day rotational tours. On one unhappy instance, when this writer was informed (incorrectly) that he had an outstanding balance on his rent, the on-site property manager repeated the error, insulting both him and his wife until a call to Richmond the following day verified the error on Weinstein's part. The happy ending to the story' A concession on the rent' A bouquet of flowers' Some pizza delivery coupons' An apology' The silence was deafening.

The only positive office person, the friendly, efficient, service-oriented maintenance man Bobby, was recently unceremoniously eased out of his job.

The exterior is well maintained by a landscaping crew operating leaf blowers that drown out the noise of the passing trains from about 7:30 AM and then leave their extinguished cigarette butts all over the residence. But there's a doggy-doo bucket!

This complex seems to be in a race to the bottom with its run-down neighbors down the street, Crabtree Crossings. And that street which divides the complex from the railroad, currently a dead-end, is scheduled to be opened and connected to Morrissville-Carpenter Road, thus adding the final piece to the puzzle -- cars.

Planes, trains, and automobiles, and a rude, nonresponsive management. What more can one ask for'

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