Tales from the ghetto, Volume 1

I’ve alluded to my awesome landlord and equally awesome apartment before, but thought I’d take a moment and give you another glimpse into my ghetto fabulous life.

Actually, I don’t live anywhere near the ghetto. I live in a very hip and trendy suburb of Detroit, complete with a walkable downtown and condos that, in a decent housing market, would go for $500K. I live smack in the middle of the walkability, but not in one of the plush condos. You’ve seen Psycho, right? You know the Bates motel? That’s basically my building, except two stories instead of one. And without a proprieter with a deadly mommy complex.

Though my landlord has his own brand of crazy.

Basically, he’s a lazy drunk. He doesn’t fix things, rarely answers his phone, and speaks at about the pace of someone who has severe brain damage — which he probably does from all the alcohol I’ve been told he consumes. But the place is cheap and safe and a mere two blocks from the aforementioned trendy “downtown”. When I got my promotion, I thought maybe I’d move someplace a bit nicer, but, well, I’m kind of too lazy to deal with that. So in the ghetto apartment I sit.

I am, however, rethinking this course of action after the last 24 hours.

Last night around 6:30, I was waiting for my friend so we could walk over to yoga (see? love that walkability!). Anyway, someone knocked on the door and thinking it was her, I opened it, only to find Landlord S standing there with a flashlight and hose. In his usual s-l-o-w voice he asked if he could bother me. Then paused. Didn’t launch immediately into why, just stopped, with his smelly-ass cigarette by his side. He went on to say he needed to get into my hall closet to try to drain the heater (it’s a water-based heater and it has an uncontrollable banging issue because it needs to be drained. Of course this is the first I’ve heard of him trying to actually do that.

I explained that now wasn’t a good time, that I was getting ready to leave, but that he could come back while I was out and do what he needed to do. Truthfully, I didn’t want to be alone with him. It’s not that I fear for my safety, but I do fear for my sanity. I seriously can’t talk to or be in the presence of this man for more than 5 minutes without wanting to throttle him and his lazy speech pattern.

Anyway, after what felt like 10 minutes, but was probably only 2, he went on his way and told me to call him when I was ready. Five minutes later, my friend showed up and I called him and left a message that I’d be gone and that he could get in the apartment. I came back an hour and a half later to find the apartment untouched.

Today, I called again and got his voice mail. From past experience, I know that he doesn’t listen to his messages, so I basically have to call every hour until he actually decides to pick up the phone. I usually wouldn’t care less, but I had cleaned out my hall closet so he could get into it, and now the stuff was sitting everywhere. I really just wanted to know if he was planning on coming so I could plan my day and clean up the apartment. I called a couple more times while I was eating breakfast and watching TV. Nothing.

Finally, I went to work out and called him when I was done. He finally picked up. I asked if he still needed to get into the apartment and he replied that he didn’t and then launched into a 5 minute conversation about the problem. Most of which was incoherent due to his usual unbearable speech pattern.

I was happy that he didn’t need to get into the apartment after all, but then remembered that due to the crazy winter weather we’ve had in Detroit, there are some mean icicles forming in my stairwell. See?

Spears of Death
Spears of Death

Anyway, I’ve seen that Grey’s Anatomy episode when Yang gets impaled with an icicle and you better believe I didn’t want any of that shit. So since I had Landlord S on the phone, I politely asked if he had something tall enough to break them off, because I didn’t.

His reply:
Well. Here’s what we could do. We could become engaged and you could walk down the stairs and the icicle could fall into your eye.
[Pause.]
I’m being flip.
Seriously? Who says that? I don’t even know what that means. If you’re insulting my stupid paranoid worry, well, that’s one thing, but you could at least come up with a good insult. This? This doesn’t even make sense to me.
After that, I didn’t really know how to wrap up the phone call, so I awkwardly backtracked my way out of the Landlord S web of conversation and hung up as quick as I could.
And immediately started thinking that the apartments I’ve been eyeing a few blocks away may deserve a look, even though they’re $300 more a month, probably smaller in size, and have a less convenient parking situation.
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1 Comment

Filed under Landlord S, perils

One response to “Tales from the ghetto, Volume 1

  1. Um … wow. That’s really weird, and not a little bit creepy. What does being engaged have to do with an icicle falling in your eye?

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