My Landlord Is Such a Tool

I started writing this post at 1:14 PM today:

About a week ago my landlord replaced the front door and the intercom system of the building in which I live. It was really nice of him to do, but also necessary because any hoodlum could open the front door by simply bumping it with their hip. (Handy when you forget your key; really unsafe at any other time.)

In order to do this, a worker had to cut holes in the hallway walls for wiring and tear out two door frames. Now, common sense would tell someone that after completing a project like this, you should probably sweep and mop the hallways and perhaps wipe down the railings because it's going to create a huge f*cking mess. But my landlord doesn't have common sense.

There's been an inch of dust on the railings, floors and in the corners of the staircase for over a week now. The place is filthy. I kept thinking someone was going to come over and clean it, but no one ever did. I called the butcher shop that my landlord owns on Saturday and asked someone to come clean. (In case you're new here, my landlord is a butcher.) My landlord wasn't there but the guy who answered the phone said he would send someone right over. Of course, no one ever showed up.

Today I called again and, this time, talked to my landlord directly. When I asked him if he could send someone over to clean, he said, "Oh, I thought we did that already." Um, no you didn't. Nice try. Then he said, "Well, I would send someone over to clean, but it's going to snow tomorrow..."

Listen, motherf*cker, I don't care if it's going to blizzard—SNOW DOESN'T CLEAN DRYWALL DUST and all the other sh*t that came out of the walls which is god knows what (I have to sign a piece of paper every year disclosing that I know the building could contain lead paint) because this building is over 100 years old. I mean, I feel like I live in the gd ghetto with this sh*t. I can't even put my dog down when I take her for a walk, I have to carry her up and down the stairs—and she needs the exercise.

And you know what kills me the most? For as long as I've lived here, every time I need something fixed, I have to call him three times. Every. Single. Time.

ME: Hi, Mike, the toilet's broken.

DOUCHEY LANDLORD: Okay, I'll send someone up.

No one comes.

ME: Hi, Mike, the toilet's broken.

DOUCHEY LANDLORD: Okay, I'll send someone up.

No one comes.

ME: Hi, Mike, the toilet's broken.

DOUCHEY LANDLORD: Ok, I'll send someone up.

Someone finally comes.

He ended up saying he was going to send someone over, so I expect I'll have to make another call tomorrow.

Surprise, surprise... it's 11:29 PM and NO ONE CAME.

I need to move.