Now is the Weekend of my Discontent
Feb. 3rd, 2013 05:22 pmMy weekend has sucked ass. Try though I might to get stuff done, I only did the bare minimum of reviews, couple of articles, wrestling with the website for the new marketing gig I picked up. Was up until after 6am Saturday morning before I finally got it together to go to bed.
FF to 9:15 Saturday morning. My CPAP suddenly shuts off after a long nightmare about zombies crashing through the window. I rip the mask off (it strangles you if you wear it turned off) wake up just enough to realize there IS crazy banging inside the apartment. I consider calling the police, but then I hear the fire alarm. Fuck! I'm being robbed and they set the place on fire! Wait...I don't smell any smoke.
Then I hear someone say something about caulk.
I put on a robe and walk out to see that my entire hallway is full of stuff that was in my bathroom when I went to bed. There's at least one person in there banging all around. This is when I realize the maintenance visit we were expecting weeks ago during the business week--was happening now. To verify, I approach a third guy in my kitchen and ask him who the hell he is and why the hell he's in my apartment. Apparently, if they say the word "Maintenance" as they key in, that counts as informed consent or some such bullshit.
My nerves are completely jangled by this point. Panic attack is coming, PTSD in full swing. Plus I really, really have to go to the bathroom--which they tell me will be "just a minute." This "maintenance minute" was 45 times a regular human minute.
Finally, H gets home. I tell him, thinking of![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flemco, that these guys are lucky we're not gun owners, because we could totally have shot them legally. One of the guys in the bathroom yells out, "We don't want to be here either" as if having to work on a Saturday is somehow analogous to being awaked by suffocation, fire alarm, and strangers trashing the place. Trying to calm down, I drink some tea and complain loudly...until I remember that tea and having to go to the bathroom don't mix.
Finally, they leave, but not before reminding me that they "don't want to be here either" as if it was my idea to save up a year's worth of maintenance for a couple of weeks. I go into my bathroom--and you would not fucking believe what I saw.
They took everything off my counter and piled it on the floor--partly on the soiled cat pads Pentelope peed on. I'd like to be clear in saying that at no time were we informed as to when they were coming, nor were we asked to clear off any countertops. Did I say "everything?" I mean, everything except my toothbrush. My toothbrush, this jackass swiped across the area between the toilet seat and the toilet tank, and then left the brush there.
My gods, I thought my head was going to fucking explode. I called the office and left a furious message that they were buying me a new Braun Oral B. I mean, just leaving the brush there would have been terrible enough, but actually swiping it in dirt and cat hair? Fuck you, Buddy. I'm so very sorry you had to work on a Saturday, but Fuck. You.
I swear, I've never even contemplated trying to get someone fired before--but this asshole should not have the freedom to go in and out of occupied apartments. But I could just be choking on my own rage.
Went into the kitchen and saw that they did basically the same things. They put my food processor blades on the bottom of a pile of dishes--on TOP of a cookie sheet from baking bacon last night. Then, they piled cleaning products on top of food--contaminating a sack of potatoes, a sack of onions, a bunch of bananas, garlic, scallions, and some apples.
I called back to the office to tell them they were also buying us some groceries. This time the phone was picked up by a nice young woman I'm afraid I was rather unpleasant to. I relayed this story while she kept apologizing. I thanked her for apologizing, and reiterated that I expect them to pay for everything they ruined. I was told that I'd get a call from the manager on Monday. She and I go way back to the time I told them if they didn't fix my stove and kitchen lights, I was going to spend my days sitting in the leasing office warning people not to rent here. I gave up though, to this day my stove only has 2 working burners. The back two catch on fire if you turn them on.
If they do not apologize profusely, and replace every goddamn thing they messed up with their careless dicketry, this story is going to Yahoo News (Associated Content, which has plenty of partners). Not only that, but I'll repost it, sponsored, during the summer moving season. Happily, when I was complaining about this on FB, a few people approached me about adding their stories in as well. So this is not an idle "threat." In fact, it's not a threat at all, just me being tired of being treated like ass because I'm poor.
Updates to follow...as events develop.
FF to 9:15 Saturday morning. My CPAP suddenly shuts off after a long nightmare about zombies crashing through the window. I rip the mask off (it strangles you if you wear it turned off) wake up just enough to realize there IS crazy banging inside the apartment. I consider calling the police, but then I hear the fire alarm. Fuck! I'm being robbed and they set the place on fire! Wait...I don't smell any smoke.
Then I hear someone say something about caulk.
I put on a robe and walk out to see that my entire hallway is full of stuff that was in my bathroom when I went to bed. There's at least one person in there banging all around. This is when I realize the maintenance visit we were expecting weeks ago during the business week--was happening now. To verify, I approach a third guy in my kitchen and ask him who the hell he is and why the hell he's in my apartment. Apparently, if they say the word "Maintenance" as they key in, that counts as informed consent or some such bullshit.
My nerves are completely jangled by this point. Panic attack is coming, PTSD in full swing. Plus I really, really have to go to the bathroom--which they tell me will be "just a minute." This "maintenance minute" was 45 times a regular human minute.
Finally, H gets home. I tell him, thinking of
flemco, that these guys are lucky we're not gun owners, because we could totally have shot them legally. One of the guys in the bathroom yells out, "We don't want to be here either" as if having to work on a Saturday is somehow analogous to being awaked by suffocation, fire alarm, and strangers trashing the place. Trying to calm down, I drink some tea and complain loudly...until I remember that tea and having to go to the bathroom don't mix.Finally, they leave, but not before reminding me that they "don't want to be here either" as if it was my idea to save up a year's worth of maintenance for a couple of weeks. I go into my bathroom--and you would not fucking believe what I saw.
They took everything off my counter and piled it on the floor--partly on the soiled cat pads Pentelope peed on. I'd like to be clear in saying that at no time were we informed as to when they were coming, nor were we asked to clear off any countertops. Did I say "everything?" I mean, everything except my toothbrush. My toothbrush, this jackass swiped across the area between the toilet seat and the toilet tank, and then left the brush there.
My gods, I thought my head was going to fucking explode. I called the office and left a furious message that they were buying me a new Braun Oral B. I mean, just leaving the brush there would have been terrible enough, but actually swiping it in dirt and cat hair? Fuck you, Buddy. I'm so very sorry you had to work on a Saturday, but Fuck. You.
I swear, I've never even contemplated trying to get someone fired before--but this asshole should not have the freedom to go in and out of occupied apartments. But I could just be choking on my own rage.
Went into the kitchen and saw that they did basically the same things. They put my food processor blades on the bottom of a pile of dishes--on TOP of a cookie sheet from baking bacon last night. Then, they piled cleaning products on top of food--contaminating a sack of potatoes, a sack of onions, a bunch of bananas, garlic, scallions, and some apples.
I called back to the office to tell them they were also buying us some groceries. This time the phone was picked up by a nice young woman I'm afraid I was rather unpleasant to. I relayed this story while she kept apologizing. I thanked her for apologizing, and reiterated that I expect them to pay for everything they ruined. I was told that I'd get a call from the manager on Monday. She and I go way back to the time I told them if they didn't fix my stove and kitchen lights, I was going to spend my days sitting in the leasing office warning people not to rent here. I gave up though, to this day my stove only has 2 working burners. The back two catch on fire if you turn them on.
If they do not apologize profusely, and replace every goddamn thing they messed up with their careless dicketry, this story is going to Yahoo News (Associated Content, which has plenty of partners). Not only that, but I'll repost it, sponsored, during the summer moving season. Happily, when I was complaining about this on FB, a few people approached me about adding their stories in as well. So this is not an idle "threat." In fact, it's not a threat at all, just me being tired of being treated like ass because I'm poor.
Updates to follow...as events develop.
