Dear Maintenance-dodging Douchebag:
Before I outline my latest complaint, I’d like you to review my history with this building:
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I’ve lived here for five years. I’ve never missed a rent payment. Ever. Even when you insist on jacking up the rent the maximum allowable amount every fucking year, you greedy Boss Hogg-esque chiseler.
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I rarely complain about the shit that goes on here. Did I complain when you decided to repaint the hallways in jaundice yellow and the doors in turquoise without asking any of the residents? No. Did I complain when my upstairs neighbor decided to “experiment” with his plumbing and brought 50 gallons of water crashing through the ceiling into my bathroom? No. Did I complain when Con Ed called me to tell me they were turning off the power in the common areas of the building because you hadn’t paid your bill in six months? No.
Okay, maybe I bitched a little bit when the biscuithead exterminator you hired sprayed my wine rack and wine glasses with insect poison, but hey - the guy could have killed me or made me seriously ill had I not noticed his error.
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It’s rare that I ask the super for help. When I first moved in and discovered that my sink trap was a custom-made bit, fashioned out of an old cardboard paper towel roll and several hundred yards of electrical tape, who fixed it? Me. And did I take the cost of parts and labor off the rent that month? No. It was a gesture of good faith. Who put the new sink in the bathroom when the old one decided to start leaking like an octogenarian on muscle relaxants? Me. And did I take anything off the rent? No.
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The reason why I don’t ask the super for help is because he is an incompetent pindick. He was really helpful when the folks from Verizon showed up to give me DSL. Couldn’t even direct them to the place in the basement where the phone lines terminate. Verizon couldn’t find it, so I had to cancel my order and go with cable. (This is probably for the best, but do you get where I’m headed with this, you greedy little dick-tugger?)
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I’ve been more than understanding with your little shenanigans. Remember when the dipshits you hired to install the new intercom system said they would be back to patch the holes in my plaster? Remember when they failed to show up for three appointments they scheduled with me? Or how about that time when the downstairs neighbor complained about squeaky floorboards and you sent some asscrack maintenance guy up to pound six dozen nails into my floor? Remember how that didn’t help a bit and how the guy downstairs moved out as a result? And now I have a floor pockmarked with nail holes that looks like Michael J. Fox’s face circa 1986.
Now that we’ve covered all of the asinine crap leading up to the present, it’s time to talk about the latest developments…
Last year, you sent yet another drooling fuckwad up to my place to check on the air conditioners. Said fuckwad told me that the air conditioner outlet in my living room wasn’t getting the proper voltage to run the air conditioner. I asked you to fix it and you stalled me for several months. Imagine my surprise when I replaced the plug fuses in my kitchen several months later and this ancient, decrepit piece of shit in my living room starts making noise and spewing dusty air all over my computer. So I went the whole of last summer without air conditioning in my living room because your AC repair guy is a total sped.
This year, when the AC guy came back, I administered a gratuitous verbal ass-beating for last year’s misdiagnosis and told him to fix the living room unit. And “fix it” he did. No surprise that 10 minutes after he left, the thing started spewing dusty 90-degree air all over my computer again.
I called your lazy ass again and asked you to replace the unit. You sent Mr. Asshat AC Repair Guy back again. This time, his approach was to unwind the approximately 30 yards of 15-year-old duct tape that was holding the thing together. Now it doesn’t even spew dusty hot air all over the place. It just sits there and mocks me.
Your answer is to “have the tenant replace the unit and take the costs off next month’s rent?” Go fuck yourself. With a post-hole digger.
I’ve laid out enough fucking cash for your management company, you cigar-chomping, OTB-lounging waste product. It would have cost you $400 plus material to put in that bathroom sink, and I didn’t even charge you. It would have cost you another $300 plus material for the kitchen sink trap and again, I didn’t charge you. By the letter of the law, I could make you come in and respackle and repaint the whole fucking apartment because of the damage your maintenance smurfs did when they installed the intercom system, not to mention the water damage that the shithead upstairs was responsible for in my bathroom. Have I yet made a stink about any of this stuff? No.
You fucking owe me. There’s no way I’m going to shell out $1,000 for a through-the-wall unit, lug it up the stairs and install it so that you can save yourself the trouble of ACTUALLY DOING YOUR FUCKING JOB.
You, Mr. Landlord, are cordially invited to take your circa 1965 air conditioning unit and shove it up your cavernous ass without the benefit of K-Y. Be sure to leave the cord trailing out of your rectum so I can plug it in from time to time when I’m in need of a laugh.
Cordially,
THespos
