Ages ago, before the Internet and cell phones, I shared an apartment with three of my buddies near the university we attended. When we first looked at the place, there were some obvious issues with the building itself and with the particular apartment we were looking at. We were assured that everything would be taken care of. Yes, we were naive.

The building supposedly was “secure” in that it had a lobby separated from the interior of the building by a locked door that could be opened by key or by a button in each apartment. There was a phone in the lobby that would ring the phone in an apartment if you entered the apartment number. The door worked as advertised except there was a missing glass panel in the lobby where, by ducking through the opening, you could get into the secured area. The phone also worked, but the phone numbers it rang were never updated, so entering our apartment number rang some poor folks who happened to have the number of whoever lived there years ago.

The first winter, we discovered that the fans on two of the three electric heaters didn’t work. We reported it to the superintendent (who lived across the hall from us) but it was never fixed. Eventually, we got them to work ourselves, but they were really noisy.  

The toilet tank leaked into the bowl which would then eventually flush after about an hour and repeat. Yeah, reported and not fixed, so I figured out how to replace the seal on my own.  

There was some damage to the walls and inside doors; one area looked like the previous tenants had a dartboard and were very bad at darts. That also was reported and then never fixed. There was cracked glass in some windows, there were doors that didn’t close properly, etc., etc. Always the same thing: reported and never fixed.

After about a year, the building was sold to a different company. This had no effect on any repairs.

Oh, remember that superintendent? One day, I came home from class and there was a big lock over their door handle and an eviction notice stapled to their door. I happened to have parked in front of the main window into their apartment, and the next morning I noticed it was broken and their stuff was all gone from their apartment. I guess they did a “midnight move”. This led to some confusion for a while as that is where we were supposed to drop off the rent.

Eventually, we all graduated and moved out. A while went by, and we were informed that we were not getting our security deposit back “because of the damage you did to the apartment”. Fortunately, we had documented everything, and the one guy who was still living nearby managed to get them to issue checks to each of us for our part of the security deposit.

And — drum roll — the checks were returned when we deposited them because the checking account had been closed — for quite some time as it turned out. Oh, well, they would issue new ones… if we stopped by their offices in person. They were open Monday through Friday, eight to five. As the individual amount was only just over $100, it was not worth it to take time off from work and drive there from my current living location, which I would guess was their plan all along.

A few years later, I read about the companies that had owned the building while I lived there. They had a scheme where they would sell their buildings to each other every so often which “reset the clock” on repairs that the city housing inspectors had ordered. From talking with other people who had lived in their other buildings, apparently ours was better than most, which is hard to believe. At least the city eventually caught on and changed things so their scheme didn’t work.

The last time I was in that neighborhood, the building was still there, and I was tempted to peek in the lobby and see if that glass panel was ever replaced.

I’m the author of Soothing The Skittish Cat. The cat in that story passed away at eighteen years old, not nearly as skittish as she was when I met her. One day, our downstairs neighbor knocks on our door, and my wife answers.

Neighbor: “Hey, is your wife home?”

Wife: “Yeah, what’s up?”

Neighbor: “My cat’s limping and he won’t let me near him, so I think he’s hurt. He likes her. Do you think she’d come take a look?”

I go downstairs and the cat limps right up to me. I immediately notice what looks like a bite mark on his hind leg.

Me: “Ah, okay. You need to get him to the vet. It looks like something bit him and it’s infected.”

I scoop the cat up into my arms and deposit him into the carrier the neighbor has, the cat purring the entire time.

Neighbor: “Thank you. I knew you could get him to behave.”

Me: “You’re welcome but… why me? He is your cat. Sure, he likes me, but…”

Neighbor: “Oh, he only lets you pick him up. Sort of like how [Neighbor #2]’s dog only lets you walk up to her porch without barking his head off. I’ve lived here for ten years and he still barks at me. You moved in last year and he’ll walk right up to you.”

Wife: “And my mom’s dog will literally only listen to you. You literally trained her because she wouldn’t listen to Mom at first. And that horse we saw at the state fair that apparently doesn’t let people touch him but wouldn’t let you stop scratching him, then he put his head on your shoulder and went to sleep — even the owner was amazed.”

Neighbor: *To my wife* “I’m pretty sure your wife is a witch.”

Wife: “She has a lot of familiars. You should have seen [Skittish Cat] when she first moved in with me; she got right in [My Name]’s lap on day one.”

The cat was fine after a round of antibiotics but I had to coax him out of the carrier when the neighbor brought him home. Apparently, I’ve been designated the friendly neighborhood witch!

Related:
Soothing The Skittish Cat

My wife and I move into our new place in 2005. We reach out to a local phone company to get a landline set up. The technician shows up on schedule, gets things set up, and sets out on his way. We don’t use the landline much, but it is nice to have it just in case of an emergency. We mostly use it for ordering pizza once or twice a month.

About three months later, we’re in the works with a well-known ISP to get a cable modem set up. The technician shows up and gets things configured, and we now have Internet going.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary since we don’t use the landline much and we haven’t ordered pizza for a few months since the Internet was set up. I pick up the phone one day and there is no dial tone. Odd. I make sure the phone is plugged in, but there’s still no dial tone. I go upstairs to our other phone that’s on the landline and there’s no dial tone. Okay, something isn’t right.

I call the phone company on my cell phone and explain.

Phone Company: “We’ll set up a technician to come out to your place in a couple of days. The technician will call you with a more specific time, but right now he’s scheduled to show up between 2:00 pm and 5:00 pm. If the technician does not enter your home, there will be no charge for the visit.”

A couple of days go by, and I’m at work when I receive a call from the phone company’s technician at 11:00 am — three hours before he was supposed to be at my house.

Technician: “I was done early with my other jobs and I was in the area, so I stopped by. I noticed that you weren’t home, but I checked all the connections outside the house and everything for the landline works, so the problem is inside the house.”

Me: “Since you’re so early, I can’t leave work to meet you.”

Technician: “We’ll need to reschedule a tech visit, then, so we can check inside the house. You’ll be billed at that time for a tech visit. My visit today will be at no charge since I never went inside.”

Fast forward about a week. My stepdad and mom are visiting from out of state. My stepdad is Mr. Fixit; he used to be a certified plumber, electrician, car mechanic, and so on, for years. If something breaks, he has the tools to fix it 99% of the time. I tell him about the landline not working and I mention that I haven’t called for a tech to visit yet since I’m not in any rush.

My stepdad takes a look at the wiring inside the house and finds that when the Internet company came through, they must have disconnected the phone line while working and forgot to reconnect it inside when they were done working, or they knocked things loose and didn’t notice. My stepdad fixes the issue and the landline starts working.

A couple of weeks later, I get the phone bill for the landline and there is a $75 technician service fee on my bill. I was told no service fee would be charged if the technician never set foot in my house, so I call the phone company.

Lady: “[Greeting spiel]. How can I help?”

Me: “I have a $75 technician fee on my bill that is incorrect and I need to get it removed. I was told that if a technician had to come into my residence I would be billed, but the technician never came inside my house. He only checked connections outside.”

Lady: “I see. We dispatched a technician to troubleshoot a phone problem, which is where the charge came from.”

Me: “And I was told by the technician when I spoke to him on the phone and the customer service person when I set things up that if the technician didn’t enter my home, there would be no charge. The technician never came into my house because he showed up three hours early and no one was home to let him in. He only checked the connections outside and determined there was no problem outside of my home.”

Lady: “Okay. I can’t help you with this, but let me transfer you to the technician department and they’ll be able to help you out.”

I’m transferred and sit on hold for a good ten minutes. I speak to someone in that department and tell them the same. I’m told they can’t help and I should have been sent to customer service. 

I’m transferred and hold for about five minutes. I speak to a third person and give them my story. I’m again told that they can’t help me and that I should have been transferred to billing to correct the issue.

Again, I’m transferred. I hold for a bit and speak to a fourth person. I tell them the situation, and for a fourth time, I’m told they can’t help me and I will have to talk to someone else……

Yep, transferred again. I’m on hold for a few minutes and the first lady I spoke with answers the phone. Now I’m pissed. I’ve been passed around to multiple departments, told my issue to different people, and no one can help me.

Lady: “[Greeting spiel]. How can I help?”

Me: “I spoke to you a little bit ago about my problem, you passed me off to another department, and I got passed off again and again. I’ve told my issue to multiple people in different departments and I’m getting tired of the runaround.”

Lady: “I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do for you. Because a technician came out to your residence, there is a technician charge.”

Me: “I was f****** told no service charge would be applied if the technician never came inside my residence. The technician never f****** came inside my house. I was not home. No one was home to let him in. What part about this don’t you f****** understand? I want this service charge removed right f****** now.”

Lady: “Uh! I don’t appreciate you speaking like that to—”

Me: “I don’t give a s*** what you like. I don’t like being tossed around like a f****** piece of meat, and no one is willing to help. Do your f****** job and remove this incorrect charge.”

Lady: “Hold, please.”

I sit on hold for about ten minutes and the lady comes back.

Lady: “The $75 technician charge has been reversed on your account; you will see this reflected on your next bill. You do not need to pay the $75 service fee.”

Me: “Thank you. I appreciate the help. I shouldn’t have to resort to talking to people like crap just to get help.”

The lady said nothing else and hung up on me.

I kept the landline for about another six months and then got rid of it. We started getting too many cold calls and spam calls to justify keeping a landline for the handful of calls we’d make on it.

It’s a Thursday, which for us usually means we’re finishing moving seasonal items from the stock room to the sales floor so that it’s clean for Friday’s truck. Two of my teenage coworkers are working on opening the last few boxes of freight, which include bubble wrap.

Coworker #1: “Hey, [My Name]! You should come pop this!”

I’ve been having a weird day, doing something I’m not usually in charge of, and I’m covered in glitter from the stock I’m moving. I walk over and join them.

Coworker #2: “It’s so satisfying.”

They’re both just standing/stomping on the bubble wrap to flatten it before they throw it away. That’s not how I like to pop bubble wrap, so I pick up a piece and twist it with my hands.

Coworker #1: *Looking surprised* “Ohhhh, I like it.”

Me: “Stress relief!”

It seemed like my coworker had never seen bubble wrap popped that way before. It’s much more satisfying to me to physically twist it than to just stomp on it.

I work in a relatively small community bank that is only in a specific area, which, due to the location of my city, does include part of the neighboring state. Other than the locations in this area, however, we have none in any other states. That said, the number of people that call in wanting to deposit money from out of state is kind of baffling.

An example that just happened recently was a call our personal banker handled.

Personal Banker: “[Bank], this is [Personal Banker]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I want to do a remote deposit. Can you help me?”

Personal Banker: “You can do that if you have online banking and have previously set it up.”

Customer: “Oh. Well, this isn’t a check. Isn’t there any way to remote deposit cash? We’re two states over and there are none of your branches here.”

Personal Banker: “Uh… No. We can’t remote deposit cash for you.”