College Apartment Renting Is Not for the Weak of Heart

One never forgets their first trip into the bowels of hell...mine came in the form of a college house, that regretfully King Ralph and I had to pay one year of rent on.  The "Hidden Temple."

The. Hidden. Effing. Temple.

Yes, the "Hidden Temple", as affectionately named by the frat boys that occupied the house prior to the girls, for eight years.  Eight years of being the biggest party house on campus.  That one day, while at one of those legendary parties, the girls heard the temple [of doom] would be up for rent.  Four girls. Four bedrooms. Rented! 

The day we moved M into that house...no the day we pulled up to the house I started on a steady daily regiment of Kaopectate to ease my upset stomach, knowing my child was inside the house of hell.  Week one of that hellish house was me bitching by phone at the rental company that they were raping my pocket book for prime rent for a shit house--that couldn't pass an inspection if it had too. The shit hole had so many safety and city code violations (a good investigator consults the city's on-line handbook)...leaving King Ralph and I questioning why we trusted our child to make sound decisions.  The look of that front yard view of that derelict house had visions of Walter White cooking up a batch of blue meth dancing through our heads.  I cried for three days. Literally! 

Saturday: the day we took a last walk down those steps of shit and said, hasta la vista "Hidden Temple."  Goodbye shitty 2 x 4 pantry.  Farewell American flag of beer boxes in that
nasty barn garage. So long out of plum, walking at a slant dwelling. Smell you later condemned Walter White apartment house.  PEACE OUT HOUSE OF HELL!!  I will not miss you. Not ever!! Promise!!!

And. So. We moved M into a decent apartment across the street from the back side of the college campus.  Easy walk to and from classes.  Except.  It had it headaches.

M and I went to the leasing office on Saturday for our 10:15am appointment to obtain the keys and get a copy of the signed lease.  Appointment?  Yes, appointment Ms. Manager! Lease copy?  Nope!  White board clearly said "move in date, 6/14."  Went to apartment for walk through with Ms. Manager.  Walk through sheet?  Naaaaa Ms. Manager doesn't need that!  New carpet throughout, check. New linoleum, check.  Clean apartment? NOT!  Ms. Manager failed her white board check list.  Ms. Manager was full of excuses.  Ms.Manager called us back to say a cleaning crew would be there on Saturday, just couldn't give an exact time.  Ms. Manager brought over a walk through sheet but didn't do the walk through.  I turned the walk through sheet into a novella.  I noted everything.  I photo documented everything.  By five in the evening it was clear to us no cleaning crew was coming.  So we called the leasing office just wanting to leave a message noting the absence of the said cleaning crew.  What we got was an answering service with a message delivered to a corporate employee...a not very happy with Ms. Manager corporate employee called back within in minutes.  A locksmith was at the apartment in 20 minutes, changed the locks (because Ms. Manager gave M a master key that fit all the apartments. Smart?  Not!).  M informed the corporate employee that we were cleaning and wanted to be compensated that $170 x 3 girls restoration (aka cleaning) fee that they paid prior to move in. That will be resolved today.  The apartment had been occupied for six years by college boys, never having been turned over for a thorough cleaning. There is no doubt that M, King Ralph and I cleaned the apartment better than any cleaning company.  The bathroom was beyond disgusting, the refrigerator was the farthest thing from sanitary.  The counters, we'll leave at the word use of--ick!

Small sample of our cleaning. Before and after...a bottle of Lime-A-Way and a tube of caulk.

 
I'll spare you the rest of the bathroom and the entire kitchen I scrubbed to a condition better than what the cleaning company would have done.

Final out come: after I told Ms. Manager that she was "getting testy and I'm trying to be nice."  Trying to remain nice was a challenge, but I held it together.  I held it together when she told me that a cleaning crew would be out to "clean was I didn't finish."  "I DIDN'T FINISH" I said," because I shouldn't have had to clean anything" I told her.  With her tail between her legs, we got a fare reimbursement to compensate having to spend Father's Day with our hands in someone else's shit. 

Lesson to these college apartment and house rental companies--don't think you can mess with us, cause we won't take you screwing with our young adults!