The 12 Step Program: In which the steps slowly part ways from the house

Moving in to a duplex in which I live on the second and third floor of a house seemed a minor problem to me, originally.

I think I believed that the 15 steps to my back door (which is my main entrance) and the additional dozen steps to my bedroom would be a great "get-in-shape" tool. Note to anyone in this situation: don't do too much shopping at Costco.

On move-in day, most of the people helping me pointed out something I'd already noticed - the exterior back steps had a 1 inch gap between the landing and the house, with the nails (supposedly holding the wood to the house) exposed. More than a few people were concerned about their safely.

I told them what the landlady had told me - she said they were safe. (I didn't know she was crazy then, though.) My friend the house-builder took a look and said that they weren't going to fall down, but that they really needed attention and repair.

I passed that on to the CL. It was a year before she finally had someone look at the steps. That person immediately advised them be blocked off and not used until repairs could be made. I was informed that repairs would be done "when she got financial aid from a program that could help". My stairs were tied shut, wound around multiple times with orange flag tape, blocked off by a wooden shelf, and had a sign posted with large letters saying that the stairs were off limit (in case nobody could figure out the other subtle clues). My back door - that could now only be accessed from the inside anyway - also had a large sign taped to it.

Two months later... Still using the front steps, which is a royal pain. Park in back, enter the back gate, interior yard gate, porch steps, front door, interior door - which opens the same direction as the exterior, making it impossible to open both at the same time, but instead execute an air-lock maneuver, one person at a time, to enter and exit. Up  2 steps, turn, up 5 steps, turn, up 8 steps, arrive in the middle of the living room. (Imagine this journey on garbage day. What fun.)

Finally, someone who is eventually identified as the CL's stepfather (and is easily in his 70s) is "fixing" the steps. Interestingly enough, he's the one who built them shoddily in the first place. They are not removed and rebuilt; instead, it appears that the landing is re-fastened to the wall of the house. No further evidence of repair is seen. This takes a couple of weekends to complete.

And it's done! We may now use our back door again! But wait, there's an epilogue...

Now that I'm in the process of moving out (thank god), I've been informed that "anything that needs to be carried by 2 people MUST be taken down the front steps only". Apparently, the back stairs (which she calls the "fire escape") aren't meant to support any excess weight. So nice to know this, after a year of believing that I wasn't in mortal danger just climbing the steps with  my groceries.

Guess she didn't see me carrying up all the jumbo-size Costco shopping items.

The Time Has Come, the Walrus Said

It has been a blissfully quiet couple of weeks.

I've only heard from the CL (Crazy Landlady) twice. Once - 10:30 PM - when she stomped up the back stairs to demand that I make less noise above her room. My daughter's room is above her room. No one was in that room. I guess my dishwashing in the kitchen and my boyfriend's packing up of my music books was highly disturbing.

Wait - you say - "packing"?? YES. I'm MOVING. Moving  moving moving... (Insert happy dance here.)

The other time she complained was at 9:30 pm a couple of nights later. I got a voice mail saying that she was going to bed and that we needed to "tread more softly" after that time. Note: in 2 years of living there, she has not once complained about "heavy treading". I was immediately tempted to take up Irish dancing. And tap.

But the main reason it's been quiet is the big one - the move. She hasn't willingly spoken to me since I slid my written notice underneath her front door 2 weeks ago.

Now, it's no thanks to her that I'm able to get away from... well, her. You would think, if she disliked me and my horrible ways that much, that she'd be happy to see the back of me. After all, I'm a pretty nasty tenant. I pay my rent on the first of each month (gasp!), I put out my trash and recycling (horror!) and make every effort to be clean and quiet (the humanity!).

I did give her a heads-up - left a voice mail saying that I had a line on a potential rental that was quite close to my daughter's school. Mentioned that he might be calling for a reference. Noted that the place was available for June 1, and that I knew that I would be obligated to pay for June at her place TOO, but was willing to vacate earlier (if approved at the new place) so she could rent it out sooner.

Well, I guess I wasn't clear. Because when the potential landlord phoned her, she decided to hack my rep to pieces. Or try to, anyway. Thankfully, I had told the potential new landloard that CL was a bit "odd", and a little "difficult to please". I'd asked him to give me the benefit of the doubt and to call both references. I also offered him proof that I had paid my rent on time each month.

I must be too stupid to read a calendar.

Good thing too. Because the CL told the new (not-C)L that I "NEVER PAID MY RENT ON TIME" and that I was "trying to get out of paying rent for June".

Never? Never paid my rent on time? In 2 years I paid my rent on time each month, with ONE exception - and that exception was an honest mistake in finance juggling, duly apologized for and never repeated. Each and every month I lived there, the CL would call me on the last day of the month to "remind" me to pay the rent the next day.

She also insisted that I always pay with a certified cheque, after the one error (18 months ago). These cost me $10 each, and need to be done in person, at my bank, during banking hours. You know - when I WORK. So I started paying her in cash on the months I couldn't get to a bank during banking hours.

I will eternally be grateful to my new, non-crazy landlord. Because not only did he decide that she was "a bitter lady", he even told me what she'd said. AFTER he told me that he was going to rent his place to me.

And to top it off? The CL called him back after I gave written notice. She had the nerve to tell him that I'd given notice, and asked if he had rented to me! Here's where my confidence in the new L grew infinitely. He called to tell me about her call - and to let me know that he figured it was "none of her business" and that he had told her no, he had rented to someone else. (I'd already signed the lease.)

The sound of me slamming the door as I leave...

"You won't have to worry about any of that with me," the new L assured me.

Pretty sure this guy is my new hero.

Floor Wars Saga, Episode 4 – The Phantom Menacing

In which the kitchen is finished, but the drama isn’t

For a week the unglued flooring sat untouched. My appliances and furniture remained in the living room. My entire food supply remained on the counter tops. The only silver lining in this situation is that I’m rarely home to do more than sleep and shower. My food budget is shot to pieces from all the take-out.

But I stood up to her – I said that I wasn’t prepared to wait 2 additional weeks. The floor needed to be completed, I said. It was unreasonable to expect me to exist under these circumstances. (I paid for this effrontery later. Come back for the next few blogs and you’ll read how.)

With much heaving and sighing and lengthy explanations about her “so busy” schedule, studying for her exam (something about arborists) she said she’d “try”. But it would definitely have to wait for the weekend.

And it sat… and sat… and finally… Sunday night. The floor is glued now! Amazing! I had the pleasure of listening to the same list of instructions – don’t walk, don’t touch, don’t put anything on it. Monday night, she said, she would come up and move the appliances back into the kitchen. I offered to help move them. I was ignored. (Not rebuffed, not declined – ignored. Definitely some hearing loss. Selective hearing loss.)

Perhaps I should just learn to levitate.
(Daniel Dunglas Home levitates ...1852.
Illustration first published in 1887 in Mystères de la science)

Monday night, she calls – they are coming up to move the appliances and add a ‘bit’ of caulking. All right, says I. It’s nearly 7 pm and we are eating supper – a glamorous feast of peanut butter and honey sandwiches; all I could manage in my 6 inches of counter space. TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER they leave. After I’m told to sweep immediately, I point out that I only have a broken broom and haven’t had time to purchase a new one since she broke mine. “You’ll have to buy one. Tomorrow. I won’t tolerate this floor not being swept every day.”

I was also left with a stack of note cards: “Don’t wash the floor with anything other than water and baking soda.” “Don’t use rubber backed mats unless approved by the manufacturer of the flooring.” (Side note: I still haven’t received the manufacturer’s name or contact information.) “Any cleaning product that isn’t baking soda and water must be manufacturer approved, through her.” “Don’t spill water on the floor directly. Only wipe with a damp cloth. Don’t drip.” “Don’t track debris in.” “Vacuum and sweep DAILY.” “Don’t wear shoes on it.” 

And the final straw – no more portable dishwasher. She’d already replaced the base of my kitchen chairs with new, wider (uglier) ones. Now, if I wanted to use my portable dishwasher, I would have to buy several large plastic floor protectors. The kind you see in offices underneath rolling chairs.

 

And those mats – she helpfully priced out the only ones she would ‘allow’ me to buy: $75 dollars each, or more. I would need at least 2, probably 3.

So, I’ve put up with a crumbling floor for over 8 months. I’ve put up with her delays. I've put up with a kitchen in shambles for nearly 3 weeks. All so I could have the privilege of purchasing $200 of ‘protection’ for the end product.

And finally, I’m left with a 4 minute voice mail 3 days later, telling me in no uncertain terms that she had put “four days of research” into that floor, and a “lot of time and money”, and that she “expected it to be treated with respect”. (Apparently it’s her preference to respect floors, not people.)

It’s not that I resent the loss of the dishwasher so much as her insistence that I would absolutely concede to her every demand without a whimper. I’m too stubborn – if you tell me not to, I immediately want to. If you tell me I can’t, I will almost certainly ask you why not. And if you are a close-minded bureaucratic bitch, insisting that your way is the only way… 

In a contest for Most Annoying Person to Live Over, Jar-Jar Binks takes a backseat to this woman.

The Floor Wars Saga: Episode Three - Return of the Insanity

After three days of living in tetris-style hell, the CL (Crazy Landlady) finally decides to get something done on the floor. But before she does...

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"This flooring has a 10-year warranty, you know." Mm-hmm. That's nice. "It needs special treatment to preserve the warranty." Oh, great. Here it comes. "I have a print-out from the manufacturer. You'll have to follow all of the instructions exactly."

I have actually paraphrased the above slightly. The CL did indeed say all of that, but she took much longer and inserted many more words.

Also, she announces, the floor will need to be glued down and I'm not allowed to set ONE FOOT on it until it has set for 24 hours. Meaning, when I leave Sunday morning, I will need prepared meals for the day, plus plans for supper, plus have packed the next day's breakfast and lunch. The only advantage here being that the fridge is currently in the living room as well.

This conversation is also peppered with the warnings, instructions, and caveats of owning such an esteemed piece of flooring. I'm starting to wonder why the manufacturer of this linoleum markets it for kitchen use. Clearly it would be better suited to a museum as a wall hanging, with stand-away ropes and stanchions guarding its majesty.

Upon arriving home Sunday night, exhausted, I am told that the floor is installed but not yet glued down. I may walk upon it. (Oh, may I? I bow to the floor in gratitude.)

CL comes upstairs to give me further instructions. I find that I need to buy a new broom, as she has broken mine. "It must have been cracked," she explains. "It snapped right apart." Interesting. I have been given orders to sweep the floor DAILY. And vacuum the floor next to the kitchen. DAILY. "You can't allow any dirt or gravel to be tracked across it," she warns. Since my back door/main entrance opens directly to the kitchen, I'm finding it pretty unlikely that the floor will remain perfectly clear of debris.

And I wish this was the end of the saga. I really do. But, like Star Wars itself, the franchise keeps growing. The last thing she says to me, as I stand on my empty (museum-quality) kitchen floor with appliances surrounding my loveseat:

"I'm pretty busy for the next little while. I don't think I'll be finishing this until April 27."

Sure. It seems perfectly reasonable to expect your tenant to live in that condition for another 3 weeks. Absolutely.

Give me a light sabre. Somebody. ANYBODY.

The Floor Wars Saga, Episode 2: The Linoleum Strikes Back

It's unfortunate that it took a number of months for the CL (Crazy Landlady) to finally get around to replacing the crumbling kitchen tile on my level of the house.

It's doubly unfortunate that she decided to do it, nearly 2 weeks later than planned, just as I started the busiest 5 weeks of my life.

In early April, she finally announced that she would be starting to rip up the old floor. I was told to move everything out of the kitchen. I told her I wasn't moving the appliances. After a long pause, she said she guessed that she and her assistant could do that. This left me with a kitchen table, 2 chairs, a stand-along pantry and all of the contents, a 3-drawer bin with cat food, a 3 bin garbage and recycling can, and a portable dishwasher - all of which had to be moved into the postage-stamp-sized living room.

I spent a couple of hours moving things one evening - after putting in a 13-hour day between 2 jobs. Parked things in the living room, my daughter's bedroom - every corner that something would fit and still make it possible to escape should there be a fire. The contents of the pantry landed on the kitchen countertops, but I figured it would only be for a couple of days. A few dishes remained in the sink, but again, I can put up with that until the floor is in, right? I mean, how long could it take? The space is only 8 feet by about 13 feet.

The next day CL comes up to do some measurements. "Oh," says she, "You'll have to move everything out of the living room too."

Pardon?

"We have to cut a template for the floor. So I'll need a space larger than the kitchen floor to lay it out."

PARDON?

Where, I asked politely, did she think I was going to be able to move everything?

"You'll just have to move it."

I pointed out that there really wasn't any place that it could move. I wasn't prepared to haul a portable dishwasher up a flight of stairs, and I wasn't going to sacrifice my safety, and my daughter's, by blocking exit points.

So she stood there for 20 minutes, verbally telling me how I should rearrange everything Tetris-style, so she could cut out a paper template. To her, I smiled and nodded. To myself, I thought - fat bloody chance.

Perhaps I can blast the floor out and save her some time.

Now, after rearranging my living spaces, she announced that she would be up on Friday to lift the old floor. Friday night I arrived home - to a room completely untouched. Saturday - same thing. Nothing had been done. I can't cook, I can't clean, I can't eat, and I can barely sit down.

She calls Saturday evening - she'll be up Sunday to do everything and what time could she come up? Thankfully I'm leaving for work by 9:30 AM, and tell her so. "Oh. Is that the earliest I can get in?"

Does anyone have a tie-fighter I can use?

The Floor Wars Saga, Episode 1

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... wait, sorry - just last year, in my kitchen.

Any likeness to 'CL' is purely coincidence

Now, wear and tear is normal in any household. And one of the (very) few advantages of renting over owning is that when repairs are needed, the landlord is responsible. That would make me happier if my landlady weren't some kind of evil force bent on ruling the Empire with an iron fist. The Empire being my levels of the house.

When the kitchen tiles started crumbling, I pointed it out to her - politely. (I am always polite to this woman's face. I just keep telling myself - I can't afford to move right now.) When they worsened and cracked and started sticking to my feet in chunks, I pointed it out once again. Tile after tile was lifting and shifting and leaving bare wood behind.

I was told that a little area rug would cover it nicely until she could take a look at it.

That was last summer.

So, after months of tripping on two rugs in front of my fridge, and seeing even more tiles crumble underfoot, the CL (Crazy Landlady) finally called (in January) and said that she'd be replacing the floor. During spring break. The one in March.

OK, I thought, that's good enough for now.

The next couple of months were peppered with occasional comments and warnings about what was to come.

"You'll have to move everything out of the kitchen before I come up."
"You'll have to sweep and mop before I pull up the old floor." (Really? Because it's important to throw away clean crappy floor?)
"I might have to have the back door open for a while. You should probably lock the cats in the bedroom." (For what - the day? The week?)

Spring break comes... and is almost over when I finally decide to call her and find out what's going on.

"Oh... yeah... right. I guess I'll have to go pick up the flooring on Friday." Did she mean Good Friday, I asked? "Friday is Good Friday? Do you think anything will be open?" No, I believed everything would be closed. "Well... (long pause)... I guess I could try to get it Thursday after work."

The next day I got a call, telling me that the work would be postponed until the following weekend.

To be continued... and continued... and continued...

A FLAWgical Fallacy

The cum hoc ergo propter hoc logical fallacy can be expressed as follows:

1. A occurs in correlation with B.

1. Therefore, A causes B.

In slightly less dramatic language, "correlation does not imply causation".

And in plain language, my landlady is nuts.

A few months after moving in, she told me that she had "cleaned up the front porch". I smiled and nodded (generally the best way to avoid a conversation) and began to climb my steps. I spend little to no time on the front porch, nor does my child.

"I cleaned up all the gum that was there," she said to my retreating back. That's when I should have waved and kept climbing. I had less experience at that point, though, and I politely summoned a look of neighborly concern.

"Gum?"

"Yes. You and your daughter can't throw gum on the porch."

Now, we rarely chew gum. But when we do, we never sit on the front porch and gleefully toss the rubbery remnants thither and yon just to decorate.

To her: "I'm sorry you had to clean up gum, but I can assure you that neither I or my daughter put any gum on the front porch. We don't usually chew it; we don't usually sit on the porch, and we would certainly never discard gum there if we did either of those things."

"Well, I never found gum there before you moved in."

Of course. Then clearly it follows that we must be Pastafarians.

I also believe that fewer pirates = more global warming.