letter to a landlord. may 2nd.

dear passive aggressive landlord:

see, the thing is, i kinda liked that ashtray.

i was miffed when i saw that you put it in the trash.

didn't read the no smoking on the stoop clause in our landlord tenant agreement.

what with the state of this building, i really didn't see anything tacky about it.

i went to clean it out and pull it out of the trash. and it was gone. thank you for that.

maybe it only cost eight bucks. but it was my eight bucks. and if you didn't like it, you could have said so. i would have put it back at my-your apartment. they were fine with it there. kept all my cigarette butts off the street and sidewalk.

see? i'm passive aggressive too. i want to be heavy footed and tromp around above your apartment all day and all night. bang into your door on my way up the crooked stairs. slam the front door outside of your bedroom every single time i go in and out.

because what can you say about it? keep it down? that wouldn't be appropriate, now would it?

but i'm also pleasant most of the time.

i think that we might have some words. in the not too distant future.

because the walls in here? they aren't even white. i understand that you had people paint the walls lavender and mauve and orange and fucking royal blue. and that they are the reason why i'm not allowed to paint. despite offering to let you approve the colors first.

i wouldn't paint it any of those colors. i like creamy greens and blues. not pastels. just creamy.

your cheap white primer is ugly. and i know the walls were those colors because of the shit cover up job you did when they left.

and i'm going to build wall sized panels to cover what you call spackling. that is really a pathetic attempt at a patch job.

have you ever heard of a sander? this is not what people are talking about when they say that they like texture on the walls. not in the least.

and about the ants that live in the bathroom? how is that even possible? there's no food in there. where are they coming from?

they don't pay rent. they are not invited. i'd appreciate it if you did something about that.

but i bought spray today, because i know that you will not.

i knew when you lit into me about the dog. i knew that i should not give you my money. but i was in a bind.

and apparently, you were, too. only i acted on mine.

and after being here all of a few hours, in and out, in the last few days, i'm going to guess that yours was entirely made up. i can't think of anyone else desperate enough to try to take this apartment. i'd try to sublet in a few months after i get over the initial shock of being here. but i don't know that i could find anyone crazy enough to take the place.

i bet i was the only sucker biting the line. i know that trick, by the way. the 'people are lined up waiting' trick. i've used it once. it totally worked. this must be my paybacks. nine years later...

and it's far too late now. but the rent is too much for what you get.

you should have seen the place that i fell in love with. same price. really really nice place. two blocks from here. same street. awesome wood floors without holes cut around the radiators. a beautiful white bathroom. big tub. tiled walls. thresholds covering the lips that will probably break all of my toes throughout the next year that i'll be stuck here.

the trick about not telling your renter that you live there was also a good one.

how could you bitch about all the work you had to do to show the apartment when i was digesting your words? you live below it! since when is being a landlord such hard work? i doubt you've lifted a finger on the place in the last five years.

i didn't care for the carpet. but it was better than your shit tile job.

i can already tell. you're an asshole. and the worst thing is? you're an asshole who thinks he's a nice guy. a 'cool' guy.

yeah. i saw your shoes. that you made by hand. if only you cared so much about your building.

and just so you know? i'd KILL for access to the back yard. i'd love to have a grill out there. and a lawnchair and my kiddie pool from last summer.

i'd even be willing to dress in head to toe cloth to deal with what is growing back there. i'd clear out the whole thing. to the tens.

and all i'd ask in return is to be able to use it. but i think i already know that it could never happen. so the jungle will stay intact. and neither of us will use it.

maybe someday i'll tell you all of these things.

or maybe you'll hear my dad bitching about it during his stay. loudly. right outside your door.

but until that happens? i'll just write mean blog posts about you.

because i'm more passive aggressive than you.

you'll get yours, sir.

i just don't know what i'm going to do yet.

it'll come to me in about two days.



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