Kicked Out

So for those of you who haven’t heard, our place finally sold. Two out of the three bidders were investors, so statistically speaking, we had a good chance of getting another investor. Of course, the winning bid came from the non-investor, once again proving that statistics have nothing to do with real life and Murphy’s Law has everything to do with it. We have to be out by the beginning of next month, so we are frantically looking for places.

Meanwhile, we have not received notice from our rental agent that we’re getting kicked out, because he is awesome. And by awesome, I mean awesome at being a jackass. Fortunately, his name rhymes with a rude term you would use to describe someone of his intellectual capability, so Ethan and I have been referring to him by that name.

G.H. (I’m going to obscure his name because there’s no guarantee we’re rid of him; also he’s supposed to provide a reference. Can you hear me rolling my eyes?) makes it painfully obvious that he doesn’t give a crap. I had to call and e-mail him three or four times to get him to schedule the agreed-upon carpet cleaning when I moved in. Even though I specifically stated in my final e-mail that I was very disappointed in his company’s service, he did not address it when he responded. He never got us the key to the garage, even though the block manager told us that it had been sent to him, and he didn’t want to add Ethan as a cosigner on the lease because he would have to draw up a new lease. (I didn’t pursue it). But the kicker came last week, when I received a letter asking us to check our smoke detectors: it was addressed “Dear ,”. Now I’m not being coy about having my name on the internet – he really couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to mail merge names onto a freaking form letter. Microsoft Word is made for that shit! Nothing says “I don’t care” like a letter without an opening address. (Seriously, even “Dear Tenant” or “Dear Resident” would have been preferable).

To show my disdain, I have refused to fill out G.H.’s silly survey, because I am a rebel like that. Is that a boat you feel rocking? Oh yes it is! I might even throw his letter away. I know, I’m uncontrollable. Feel my white middle class rage! And if we do manage to be rid of him, I’m going to flip him off as we go by his office. In slow motion, because we don’t have a car and have to ride the bus. He’ll know it’s us, because we’ll be bedraggled from the box we’re sleeping in. It might even be worth the $3.50.