Saturday, April 29, 2006
File Under Exits, Graceful
Today I went back to our old apartment to pick up some things. My lease runs until April 30, so I planned to spend the next few days cleaning the moldy pickles out of the fridge and collecting lost treasures from under the couch. The problem was, when I arrived, all of our belongings had already been removed. Yes, like a petulant ex-girlfriend who has discovered her man has a bit of a waitress-fucking habit, our landlord put all of our things out on the lawn. Or in the "laundry room" (which is actually a tool shed with some coin-ops in it), to be exact.
Now, my landlord was never exactly the greatest. He didn't so much care for fixing things and I probably saw him in person four times the whole three years I lived in his building. For the last year, in fact, he didn't even bother to write up a lease; I just sent him checks and he looked the other way when people vomited off my roof. But I never expected I'd have to explain to him that vandalizing and/or stealing a tenant's property isn't exactly a model way of doing business. And yet now I find myself in full-on nasty voicemail and sternly worded letter mode. I mean, did he just think the microwave and coffee table were gifts? Did he think the enormous dust ball in the corner was my way of saying thank you? And, most importantly, did he think it was May 1?
The worst part in all of this is that they junked Roommate Liz's rocking chair, which has been in her family for ages. It's sitting in pieces on the floor of our new living room right now. That's right, today Roommate Liz was digging through a dumpster. The downward spiral continues.
Today I went back to our old apartment to pick up some things. My lease runs until April 30, so I planned to spend the next few days cleaning the moldy pickles out of the fridge and collecting lost treasures from under the couch. The problem was, when I arrived, all of our belongings had already been removed. Yes, like a petulant ex-girlfriend who has discovered her man has a bit of a waitress-fucking habit, our landlord put all of our things out on the lawn. Or in the "laundry room" (which is actually a tool shed with some coin-ops in it), to be exact.
Now, my landlord was never exactly the greatest. He didn't so much care for fixing things and I probably saw him in person four times the whole three years I lived in his building. For the last year, in fact, he didn't even bother to write up a lease; I just sent him checks and he looked the other way when people vomited off my roof. But I never expected I'd have to explain to him that vandalizing and/or stealing a tenant's property isn't exactly a model way of doing business. And yet now I find myself in full-on nasty voicemail and sternly worded letter mode. I mean, did he just think the microwave and coffee table were gifts? Did he think the enormous dust ball in the corner was my way of saying thank you? And, most importantly, did he think it was May 1?
The worst part in all of this is that they junked Roommate Liz's rocking chair, which has been in her family for ages. It's sitting in pieces on the floor of our new living room right now. That's right, today Roommate Liz was digging through a dumpster. The downward spiral continues.
