First, I’d like to say hats off to the realtor who facilitated the lease of this fine abode. They must be of supreme skill in the art of real estate! With this close under their belt, (close? is that the right term?) they could go on to rent Donald Trump a modest cardboard box, and maybe even reconcile Axl Rose and Slash.
But I digress, I would not be able to move forward in this never-ending game of apartment musical chairs without at least sharing a few helpful hints, from one concerned eskimo-lessee to another:
1. There are a lot of spiders. The people who built the house may have offended God in some way.
2. You will never meet the landlord. Ever. I’ve brainstormed some possible explanations: he works out of state, he is undergoing inpatient therapy, he is the Wizard of Oz.
3. You didn’t ask if it was oil heat. You didn’t, did you? That’s okay, we didn’t ask either! Then we paid $800 a month for heat this winter. Luckily, it didn’t do a great job heating the house and I was so cold that I was able to hallucinate a nicer living situation. I also lost a toe to frostbite but I feel like it gives me the allure of Gwyneth Paltrow in The Royal Tenenbaums.
4. The kitchen sink doesn’t work. Well, it does, but you have to turn the faucet very, very slowly. You don’t want to scare it. Remember being that awkward fifth grade boy touching a boob for the first time during a game of truth or dare? You don’t just go in and recklessly start grabbing and squeezing, right? Riiiight.
5. The downstairs toilet will run, well, forever. You can flush the toilet right now and come back later, your grandkids in tow, and it will still be running. Hopefully by that point you will have developed dementia and forget that you ever had to live in a place like this. To remedy the situation (of the running toilet, not the dementia) flush the toilet upstairs and it will stop because, science. If that doesn’t work you must perform a tribal dance to the African God Obatala. It’s worked for me twice.
6. The basement door doesn’t lock. Actually, it doesn’t really shut. We haven’t had any intruders that a little bear mace couldn’t scare away.
7. The neighbors hate all parties, loud noises, and movement. What happened was, everyone from Footloose got together and decided to move to this particular neighborhood. They called the cops on us five times one night, but in our defense, it was a crazy game of Yahtzee.