landlords

Once upon a time, there was a monster of the most hideous sort. This monster enjoyed owning things, and would buy as many things as he could. Thus, this monster, through pure cleverness and riches, ended up with more things than he could ever use. But Monster was greedy, and couldn’t help but to buy more things whenever possible. Bigger things were best, so Monster was even known to buy little things, knock them down with his powerful strength, and build bigger things in their place. Monster would then admire his big things for a while until he grew bored, then he would topple them with his amazing powers, and build even bigger things.

Among Monster’s belongings included houses and buildings.

Monster learned that he couldn’t possibly use so many things himself, since he was only one Monster. He thought and thought about what to do. He didn’t want to give up his things, of course. But with so many things, how could he even remember what things he owned?

Finally, he had an idea. He would let other people use his things. They would give him money, and he could use that money to buy more things.

And so, Monster became a Landlord.

Most everyone has to deal with a landlord at some time during his or her lifetime. Many people have great experiences with landlords, even becoming friends. Personally, though, I have not had these mythical good experiences with landlords, and so I fall back on my own stereotype of the Monster Landlord.

My first landlord was the trustee of an estate. He was in charge of renting out apartments in a small building, collecting the rent, and passing on that rent to a mysterious entity. He worked at a bank that was less than a half a block away from the apartment, so he was always available for neither repairs (good guess), nor to handle complaints of transients camping out in the garbage area (good guess again, but wrong, oh foolish naïve girl). No, Mr. Landlord was available for snooping in the apartments while the tenants were out. We don’t know what he’d do while he was visiting, but there’d always be something not quite right when we returned. Being an expert in crime scenes (I watched a lot of TV), I started to slip a small bit of paper or thread in my door to prove my suspicions. Sure enough, at least once a week, my thread or paper would have fallen into the hallway. I was living alone for the first time ever, so yes indeed, this was creepy.

I know now that this kind of behavior is illegal, but it seems so low on the creepometer fifteen years later that I only can think fondly of a landlord who cared enough to poke through my refrigerator and visit my underwear drawer. At the time I couldn’t move out quickly enough. I wasn’t letting the door hit me in the back on my way to my next apartment.

The worst Monster Landlords are the ones that pretend to be your friend, only waiting for a moment of weakness to lunge at your throat and tear out your heart while it’s still beating. Dramatic, you think? Not while it’s happening. While landlords in general can be a bit difficult to deal with, commercial landlords are members of an even more special breed.

Want to hear why? OK, then. I'll tell you soon, I promise.

If you happen to be a landlord who isn't Pure Evil, by the way, and you own any apartment buildings in Seattle, please rent me an apartment. I need you in my life. You need me to give you money. I'm quiet and have nice things in my refrigerator.