We recently bought our first house and moved there from an apartment in a large complex in a neighboring city. Before moving out, we cleaned and scrubbed the apartment, but as we hadn’t had time to shampoo the carpets like the complex wanted everyone to do on moving out, we figured we wouldn’t get the full damage deposit back. Oh, well; we got all of our things out and left no trash or messes. Plus, we were happy to be done with the nickel-and-diming the apartment complex did at the slightest opportunity.

Two and a half weeks passed with no word about the deposit. In my state, the law says that a landlord must give former tenants an itemized receipt and any remaining damage deposit no later than three weeks after the tenant moves out. After three weeks, the landlord forfeits any right to the deposit; it all goes to the former tenant, regardless of what state the rental was left in. Furthermore, if the landlord attempts to recover a damage deposit at this point, the courts will award up to twice the damage deposit to the former tenant (except in extraordinary cases, of course).

Knowing this, I called the apartment office and confirmed that they had our new address. I didn’t tell them why I curious. They did. A month after we moved out (that is, one week late), we got an envelope from the apartment complex with no itemized receipt, just a check for a third of our damage deposit. The postmark was after the three-week mark, as well.

Next, I called my dad, an attorney who handles non-criminal law and has experience with property law. I told him what was going on. His advice?

Dad: “Don’t cash the check, at least not yet. Write a letter citing the law and the apartment complex’s violation of it — and go ahead and include that you’ve talked to your lawyer about it.”

That’s not a lie; in the instances when I’ve needed a lawyer, like writing up my will, Dad’s the one I go to.

I happily typed up a short letter along the lines of:

Me: “We received your check on [date] after moving out on [date four weeks prior]. According to [state code] — which you have violated — and on the advice of my lawyer, I must insist that we are refunded the full deposit in accordance with state law.”

A day or two later, I got a phone call from the apartment complex. A very tense-sounding person on the other end told me in very stiff, formal terms that they’d received my note and a check for the remaining balance was on its way. Once I got that, I took both to the bank and deposited them.

The moral of the story: know your rights and follow the rules. We would have been fine with the smaller amount had they just followed state law, but once they tried to pull a fast one on us, probably assuming that we didn’t know what they were doing? Pay up!

I was in need of lodging for just a few months while working on a project a day’s travel from home. Because the town was booming, empty apartments were unheard of and most people had a couple of roomies in each bedroom plus a couple in the living room. I was thrilled to find a sole tenant looking to fill his second bedroom. It was a nice building, nice location, AND fair rent, so I jumped on the opportunity.

When I arrived with my stuff, there was an eviction notice on the door. My new roomie told me it was nothing to worry about. He said he had been a couple of days late with the rent and the building manager overreacted. That sounded okay.

As I settled in over the next few days, I got to know [Roomie] a bit and learned he was on his first-ever job, making more than double minimum wage for doing almost nothing. Lucky? No, his dad had pulled strings to get him the job. Good for him.

I also noticed that [Roomie] seemed to take every opportunity to waste money. He had the nicest leather couch I’d ever seen. Several designer sunglasses boxes lay around, each sporting a price tag of about $300. He said he just kept scratching them and needing new ones. He had a huge, artistic blown glass bong that he proudly said cost $750. The fridge was full of rotting takeout, yet every night he ordered more because he found leftovers unappetizing. He’d order enough for several people and stuff the extra in the fridge, never to be touched again until I threw it out for being too moldy.

Between his easy work, with not just great pay but many chances to work overtime shifts at double rate, and his constant squandering, he certainly didn’t seem like someone on the brink of homelessness.

But a week after I moved in, there was another eviction notice. And a week later, another.

I went to speak with the building manager myself to find out what was really going on. Turns out [Roomie] hadn’t paid a cent in months! She told me not to be afraid; if he got kicked out, I could keep staying, as she didn’t want the fuss of looking too hard for a new tenant. So, relieved of the anxiety that my own fate was at stake, I continued watching as merely a curious observer and slight friend.

I tried to gently encourage frugal choices. I suggested to [Roomie] that he might do the same when I was cooking up a big pot of stew and putting it in Tupperware for my week’s meals. When he’d announce he was ordering pizza, I’d suggest he eat last night’s. I even asked him directly if he wanted help planning a budget. But he just waved it all off, insisting that he would be fine.

The eviction notices kept coming about weekly. They stopped demanding that he pay back rent OR move out and started demanding that he be gone by a deadline. Starting a month before the deadline, the notices began to include threats that if he was not gone by then, his belongings would be moved out for him.

He kept telling me it was fine, he had a plan, he had things under control, and she didn’t mean any of it.

One day, I had just gotten to bed after a long shift when I heard a pitiful gasping, sniffling sound from the kitchen and then my name whimpered meekly. I ran out to find [Roomie] white as a sheet, doubled over as if gut-shot, holding himself up by clutching the counter. I could tell his denial had cracked and he finally was facing what a mess he’d made of his finances.

Hyperventilating, he gasped my name twice more, and then, right before he began to cry, he said, “She’s kicking me out! I never saw it coming!”

Never. Saw. It. Coming.

I am a landlady, renting out multiple rooms in different shared apartments to students, young professionals, and/or tourists. For the last few months, I’ve had a tenant that just doesn’t understand the concept of people living together. Maybe he lived under a rock for the first few decades of his life?

Cleaning up the kitchen, oven, or stove after cooking? Why bother? Someone else will surely deal with the mess and do it for me. Flooding the bathroom after each use, and leaving different coloured stains on (and around) the toilet? Some other tenant (or the landlady) will be there to clean that up!

But the “highlight” is when he is finally supposed to move out. He asks multiple times about his deposit. I assure him that he will get it in cash when he turns in his keys and everything is in the same condition as he got it when he moved in. I even send a list of what he needs to do before moving out, e.g. “wash bed linens,” “clean fridge,” “remove all personal property,” and so on.

I arrive a few minutes early. He is shuffling around, but there is so much stuff still around, the fridge is dirty and full of his food, lots of his things (bike, boxes, food, bathroom items) are still all over the apartment, and I think, “This is just impossible to do in fifteen minutes.”

Five minutes before the arranged time, he says:

Tenant: “Okay, you can check the room now.”

Me: “I am not here to check the room. I am here to check everything, take your keys, and return the deposit, when you leave the apartment.”

Tenant: “But you never said that! I need another four hours for that!”

He knows I have no more time today.

Me: “I can’t check the room if all your stuff is still here, and I won’t return any deposit if you don’t return the keys.”

Technically, he has until tomorrow, until the month is over; it was his decision to return the keys today.

This went on for several minutes, and he did not understand why I just wouldn’t check the room, return the deposit, and then leave him with the keys and all his things in my apartment, as if that was the most normal thing to expect.

I gave up after several minutes of explaining the same thing over and over, and then I turned around and walked out.

I told him to put the keys in the postbox when he had cleared out, and I would check everything then and would return the deposit via bank transfer. Let’s see what happens next.

I worked in the leasing office of an apartment complex. A man came in and spoke with my coworker.

Man: “I’ll give you $100 if you can get me into an apartment today.”

Coworker: “Sir, I can’t do that. There’s a waiting list several names long.”

When he didn’t get what he wanted, the man called the realty company which owned the place and accused us of discrimination.

I recently started working for a food delivery service. I make a delivery to some apartments. They have elevators to get to the top floor. I go in, press a button, and the door closes… almost all the way.

I am now stuck. I message the customer.

Me: “Hi, this is [My Name] with your [Delivery Service] order. I’m stuck in the elevator in your apartment building.”

He came down and tried to help. All in all, I was stuck for about forty-five minutes before we were able to pry the door open and I was free.

The customer tipped me an extra $60 for the hassle. I’m not a claustrophobic person, but it definitely ticked all the right boxes that day.