Landlords: can’t live with them or without them. Here’s how you deal with them.
It was Sunday morning after a long night of bad decisions when I heard a knock on my door. I ignored it at first, but then heard several more knocks. I threw my sheets to the side and stomped out into the living room where I saw my housemates circled around our property manager like a team waiting for a pregame speech.
We received a long lecture with awkwardly intense eye contact throughout its duration about a party we had thrown that week.
Did we fuck shit up? Yes. Make a mess? Yes. But this is my issue:
Our landlord had seen our antics through his outdoor “security” cameras. The next few days he sent way too many overly formal texts to our house group chat about things that had to be picked up and cleaned - like we didn’t know.
Then, he sends his right hand man up to bitch at us again while he sits atop his pile of money on Long Island.