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Only Filthy Thing Is The Attitude

| Working | June 3, 2014

(I am moving out of my apartment. I am 24 years old. There is a maintenance worker at the complex who is going to come in and do a quick inspection before I leave. I’m a fairly disorganized guy, but I am able to spend the entire day, from eight am to four pm, cleaning up the apartment and getting it in a good condition before I leave. It isn’t perfect, but it is definitely in a good condition and doesn’t need any major repairs. Finally, at about four pm, the maintenance guy comes in. He walks in clearly already in a huffy, nasty mood, and looks around the apartment with a nasty scowl on his face the entire time. After he is finished, he calls me into the kitchen.)

Me: “How’s the place? It’s not perfect, but I don’t see anything too wrong with it.”

Maintenance Worker: “This place is filthy! Don’t you kids know how to clean? This is pitiful.”

(I look around. Not to toot my own horn, but it was pretty darned clean. Easily the cleanest I’ve ever seen an apartment that was lived in by a single male in his mid 20s.)

Me: “Uh… it looks okay to me.”

Maintenance Worker: “You clearly didn’t clean at all! I don’t think your security deposit will even begin to cover everything that needs to be done!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but what EXACTLY is wrong with it? I spent eight hours straight cleaning, and even had a friend over earlier helping me out.”

(He doesn’t respond for several moments. He is clearly straining to think of something to say.)

Maintenance Worker: “Well, uh… there’s a stain on the carpet! That’s going to eat up your entire security deposit alone!”

(I look. There is an ever-so-slight stain on the carpet that is so faint, I hadn’t even noticed it.)

Me: “I can’t tell if it is a stain, or if it is just a damp-spot because I cleaned the carpet earlier.”

Maintenance Worker: *becoming huffy* “I also saw [Breakfast Cereal] on the floor of the kitchen here! You didn’t sweep! THERE IS [Breakfast Cereal] EVERYWHERE!”

(I look around, because I had indeed swept and the floor was spotless. There is no Breakfast Cereal on the floor. I sigh, realizing that he is having a bad day and is just trying to come up with an excuse to not give me back my deposit.)

Maintenance Worker: “Do you KNOW how much it costs us to clean up [Breakfast Cereal] off the floor?!”

Me: “Yeah… it doesn’t cost anything.”

(He huffs and puffs and continues to come up with completely fabricated examples of how ‘filthy’ the apartment is. He also tries to blame me for plumbing problems with the complex that clearly aren’t my fault, since they existed before I moved in and I had even complained about them previously. He finally leaves without so much as a good-bye, muttering to himself about how I was a ‘sloppy little kid.’ Frustrated, I go to the office to return my key, because I want to get out as soon as possible, and don’t want to deal with him any more. The secretary glares at me as I return my key.)

Secretary: “Why are you giving me the key? You’re supposed to be here over the weekend.”

Me: “What?”

Secretary: “The maintenance guy told me you agreed to come in Saturday and Sunday to clean out your apartment more, because he said it was filthy. Of course, this means that you’re going to have to pay us for the extra time you’re here, since you’ll technically have to rent out the apartment an extra few days. So you’re going to need to bring us a check for $25 to cover the weekend.”

Me: “I NEVER agreed to come in over the weekend, and my apartment is not ‘filthy.’ You won’t be getting any more money because I’m returning the key today. My lease is up today, and I am leaving today.”

Secretary: “Why would you lie to the maintenance worker? He said you told him you’d come in to clean the apartment, and even shook hands over it.”

Me: “I most certainly did not. He was being absolutely mean when he did my inspection, over-exaggerated everything, and blamed me for problems that didn’t exist.”

Secretary: “He wouldn’t lie to me. I know you told him you’d come in this weekend!”

Me: *throwing the key on the desk in front of her* “If this is how you’re going to treat someone who always paid rent on time, and went out of my way to be friendly, then I want nothing to do with this complex. And you better not keep my security deposit, because there’s nothing wrong with the apartment!”

Secretary: “How will you get into your apartment tomorrow to clean then? And remember, we need a check for $25!”

Me: “No, I’m moving out today. You won’t be getting a check! And I won’t be in tomorrow to clean! I can’t make this any clearer! I’m gone today!”

Secretary: “Fine! But if your place is filthy, expect to be contacted by a lawyer, because we’ll expect you to cover the cost of cleaning if your security deposit doesn’t cover the cost entirely!”

(I left. About a month later, I got my security deposit back, almost completely in full, because- surprise, surprise -there wasn’t much of anything wrong with the apartment.)

Mail Order Disorder

| Right | June 3, 2014

(I live in an apartment complex that mainly serves as a home for elderly and handicapped residents. One afternoon, I am expecting a check to come in the mail, and I need to cash it before the bank down the street closes at 4 pm. The mail lady doesn’t arrive until 3:45. There is a crowd of people waiting for their mail, and we are all watching her load the 50-or-so mailboxes in anticipation. As soon as she put my mail into my mailbox, I approached it to grab the check, since it was almost 3:50.)

Mail Lady: “I’m so sorry, but for policy reasons at this complex, you’re going to have to wait until I finish with all of the mail. I’m not allowed to let people grab their mail until it’s all in.”

Me: “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had to wait for everyone’s mail to be put into their individual mailboxes. I just really need to get my check, but I’ll wait.”

Mail Lady: *very friendly and understanding* “No worries. It’s all right. Most people at this complex make that mistake at least once, and try to get their mail before I’m finished. I’ll try to finish up as quick as I can so you can get your check.”

Me: “Okay. Thanks!”

(I walked back to the group of waiting people. Suddenly, one of the old ladies behind me tapped me hard on the shoulder. Very hard. I turned around to look at her.)

Old Lady: *angry tone* “Hey! She said you can’t have your mail yet!”

Me: “Oh, I understand. I didn’t realize I had to wait until it was all in. That’s why I came back to the group here to wait.”

Old Lady: *becoming even more angry* “Don’t you talk back to me! You need to wait your turn!”

Me: “But… I AM waiting. I’m standing right here with everyone else, waiting.”

Old Lady: *almost screaming at me* “A brat is what you are! You NEED to WAIT YOUR TURN!”

Me: “Oh, for the love of god, I AM WAITING! I just made a small mistake. But I’m waiting now. Leave me alone.”

(At this point, I turned and looked away from her, figuring I’d ignore her.)

Old Lady: *almost going into a panic* “You shouldn’t get your mail because you won’t wait your turn! JUST WAIT WITH THE REST OF US!”

(She continues ranting about how I ‘don’t deserve’ my mail, how ‘rude’ and ‘thoughtless’ I am, etc. Finally, the mail-lady turned and looked at her.)

Mail Lady: “Ma’am. Shut your d*** mouth and leave the poor guy alone! He didn’t do anything wrong, and he’s already CLEARLY waiting! If you don’t stop, I won’t give you your mail! You’re just a rude old bat, aren’t you?!”

(The lady finally took the hint and left me alone. Thanks for dealing with her for me, mail lady!)

Take Her To An Animal Expert, I Noah Guy

, | Friendly | April 2, 2014

(From the ages of three to seven, I like to walk on my hands and feet everywhere I go, pretending I am an animal. At the local pool, I climb up onto a table a woman is sitting at, make some animal noises, and then jump down, running off. My mother turns to the woman apologetically.)

Mother: “I’m sorry. She thinks she’s an animal sometimes.”

Woman: *taken aback and in a very serious tone* “Well, has she seen a doctor?”

All Fired Up

| Friendly | February 28, 2014

(I have just moved into my apartment within the last week, so I am still new to the neighborhood. Unfortunately, disaster strikes and the unit directly connected to mine catches fire one morning. I am woken up by the sirens. My fiancé and I have just enough time to grab our dogs before the firefighter kicks the door in. We run out of the apartment with them and over to a clearing, where we watched in fear as they try to put out the fire. My dogs, slightly freaking out, start using the bathroom in the grass. A woman among the spectators approaches us.)

Woman: “Ugh, gross! I hope you plan on picking that s*** up!”

Me: “Honestly, I think there’s something a little more important going on right now.”

Woman: “That ain’t no excuse not to pick up your dog crap! There’s kids that play out here!”

Me: “Look, I understand where you’re coming from, and if you bring me a bag I’ll pick it up, but otherwise no.”

Woman: “No, you go and get your own d**n bag! It ain’t my fault you’re lazy.”

Me: “I can’t, and I think it’s pretty obvious why.”

Woman: “Yeah right. Go back to your apartment and—”

Me: “MY BUILDING IS THE ONE THAT’S ON FIRE!”

Woman: “Well, doesn’t matter! When they put out that fire I expect you to come out and pick it up!”

Un-Lease Hell

, , , , | Working | January 15, 2014

(I manage a small apartment building. A tenant sends me an email hypothetically asking what the penalty for early termination of the lease is. As we have done different things for different people in the past, I decide to call the owners to ask what they want to do.)

Me: “Hypothetically speaking, what is the penalty for a loft tenant breaking their lease? [Tenant] was inquiring because his job has the potential to take him away from here, so he would like to know just in case.”

Owner: “I don’t have a lease in front of me, but I think the penalty is a $10,000 fine and 20 years in a supermax prison.”

Me: “Haha! So I guess the plan is to have [Different Tenant who is breaking her lease next week] arrested once she hands over the keys? Thanks for telling me so I won’t be surprised when the FBI comes rushing in from all directions.”

Owner: “No problem. Just don’t forget to wear your body armor, and remember the secret password. It’s ‘bull-s***.’”