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Lease This, Motherfucker
by Amelia G
I live in an apartment complex where the maintenance men like to regularly let themselves into my home when I am alone in the apartment. I hate men who try to put a key in my lock without asking. Theoretically, it is a gated community. Yeah, yeah, I know, I was just worried about crime in Atlanta. (My parents clip horrific newspaper articles for me.) Most of the the time, however, the gates are left open. This is a drag as the previous tenant in our apartment was evicted, but apparently his old, uhm, business contacts are unaware of this. And I think he might owe them money or something from the way they holler when I won't let them in. Or something. The only people who get stopped at the gate are our friends. Figures. Plus they are doing pre-Olympic construction so we've had three flat tires since moving in. Last time, the maintenance men saw my car in the lot with a flat, they put a sticker on it saying it would be towed in less than twenty-four hours even though it was in a parking space I pay too much for the right to park in. I am paying way too much rent right now. It might be hard to move to a cheaper and/or nicer place, however, as I don't exactly have a normal job or anything landlord-friendly like that.
I admit it. I miss living in a group house. When you live in a group house, only a quarter of the tenants need actually have the sort of jobs which look good on paper. Like the landlord would let thirteen people sign the lease anyway. Besides, making up ficitious relationships gets difficult after the first six or so. "See he is my fiancee (how respectable) and she is my half-sister and she is my cousin and he is my brother and she is my other cousin and he is my boyfriend and -- oops did I say I was engaged, well, uhm, we have kind of a strange relationship." True story. (The landlord's agent was not amused.) Right up there with, "no, we do not have someone living in the laundry room, who would live in a laundry room!" Anyway, she had it better than the two guys who crashed in the living room on a regular basis.
 What I find mighty peculiar is that landlords don't like group houses. Ever had a potential landlord say, "oh, we don't do that," like you'd just said that his wife would of course have to go down on all of you every Wednesday if you signed a lease. All of eight people are not likely to lose their jobs (or tell their bosses to perform anatomically complex acts) in the same week. With a more "respectable" number, that statistic gets a lot more likely.
Oh well. Landlords. It is a profession people get into so they have an excuse for peering in other people's windows. At least I think that was the landlord . . .
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