Thursday, August 23, 2007

Correspondence Enclosed

To: The owners of Briarcrest Apartment Complex
(where I unfortunately now reside)

I had already finished up my final paperwork with your landlady and was on my way out the door when she called out, "stop by on Friday night, the day before you check in - what's that - the seventeenth? Perfect. Stop by that night and pick up your key. You can start moving in that night, get a little bit of a leg up."

I bring this pointless little tidbit up because I want to make it known that at least somebody at your establishment knew that I was moving into my new apartment. I didn't just show up, break down the door of the nearest empty space, and start moving armchairs and dishes in. There was, at some point, a plan to all of this. In fact, after signing paperwork, one of your employees even handed me a key for this apartment (the fact that the key didn't end up fitting in the lock is unimportant). Clearly, there was an indication from your staff that I should move into this apartment.

Of course, there was almost no other effort made on the apartment outside of this one gesture. When we opened the door to the apartment (it was unlocked, thank you, this is just the sort of security effort that we're looking for) we discovered that the previous tenant had exited the apartment after a 15 year stay, and hadn't bothered to pick up after himself on the way out. And neither had you.

No A/C, no stove, no fridge, toilet broken, showers broken, lights broken, trash left everywhere. A disaster area. So we show back up and demand help, explaining that we can't move in until this happens, and explaining that we won't pay rent until everything is fixed. And still, nothing happens. Three days later the A/C gets fixed, 5 days later we get a fridge, we got a stove yesterday. We're over a week into this little adventure and our light fixtures and toilets still look like props from Seven.

I've threatened, cajoled, begged, harassed, and come damn near close to weeping and gnashing my teeth outside the office doors. Please, please, please come fix the rest of the apartment. All will be forgiven.

In the meantime, you can know that I truly, deeply, ardently hate you.

Yours,
Ben Wyman
Resident

4 Comments:

At August 26, 2007 3:46 AM, Blogger bs king said...

Ben, in all seriousness....find a lawyer in your church who will be willing to write a basic letter on some official looking letterhead. Things will start coming together nicely.

And how did you rent an apartment without seeing it?

 
At August 27, 2007 3:31 PM, Blogger Dubbahdee said...

How do you know the recipients of the letter watch movies and know what the set of "Seven" looks like?

Well...no matter. I really do empathize with you. I say teach the bastards a lesson. Smash the toilet. Break the light fixtures. Sell the stove and the refigerator on ebay and use the money to buy spray paint to redecorate the place. And don't forget to pee on the carpet. That'll teach 'em. If you string things out like this long enough, you might not have to pay rent for a whole year.

 
At August 27, 2007 11:39 PM, Blogger Wyman said...

Dubbahdee, I didn't actually send the letter. This is just the letter I would have sent if I had an ounce of bravery.

Bethany, I may take your suggestion. I toured an exact match of my apartment three weeks before I moved in, it was their show apartment. I knew my apartment was being vacated the week before, so I figured it would end up looking exactly the same.

Even so, I was supposed to tour the apartment the night before to make everything was shipshape, but the employee working that shift turned out to be blissfully incompetent, and so couldn't figure out if he had permission to let me in or not.

 
At August 28, 2007 6:16 PM, Blogger Erin said...

Ya, never sign a lease until you've seen the place. I made my place walk from the office all the way across the complex with me so I could inspect the apt (I hadn't seen my actual apt yet) before I'd sign the lease night before I moved in. Of course, they go through and replace carpets and paint walls and inspect appliances before they even consider letting you move in... Chalk it up to life lessons.

By the way, considering all the comic, tragic, and otherwise just plain unfortunate incidents that happen to you, I think you have more than enough fodder for a book about an amusing good-natured guy with an uncommonly long streak of bad luck.

 

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