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.