The Shower
The building that Z and I live in has gone condo. The building that Z and I live in that has sketchy elevators, frequent fire alarms, odd smells, and that one creepy girl who talks to coats has gone condo to the tune of $550,000 for our two-bedroom, two-bathroom unit.
That's a lot of dollars.
Z heard about the building going condo first from Bebe the Track Suit Walker who accosted him on the treadmill to demand his age. Turns out, when a rental building goes condo, something like 20%* of the senior citizens can't be forced out of their units. They get to stay, rent-controlled, 'til they die. Bebe wanted to make sure Z wasn't part of the competition.
That was late spring. By mid-summer -- mid-summer of one of the hotter summers in the D.C. area -- our building had cut an 8-foot tall hole in our living room wall, effectively disabling our air conditioning. "This is part of our scheduled maintenance per our sell agreement," the notice slipped under our door read. "This could take up to 10 weeks." After consulting a calculator, I said to Z: "That's too many weeks."
Three weeks ago, they fucked with the water pressure. What had once been a satisfyingly strong shower in the main bathroom was now little more than a mist. To get any kind of water accumulation, one had to stand very still and hope for enough condensation. Which never really happens.
So there I am. Naked. Covered in soap. Shivering in a shower with little hot water. And this is an apartment they want to sell to us for $550,000. Or rather, they know we won't buy this apartment because hi: have you met me, my zero dollars, and my non-existent/not-so-great credit? So now, they're playing all Gaslight-y on us, hoping to drive us from this apartment and this building and the weird girl who talks to coats.
Which, of course, they did.
____________________
* Statistic entirely pulled from my ass. Enjoy!
That's a lot of dollars.
Z heard about the building going condo first from Bebe the Track Suit Walker who accosted him on the treadmill to demand his age. Turns out, when a rental building goes condo, something like 20%* of the senior citizens can't be forced out of their units. They get to stay, rent-controlled, 'til they die. Bebe wanted to make sure Z wasn't part of the competition.
That was late spring. By mid-summer -- mid-summer of one of the hotter summers in the D.C. area -- our building had cut an 8-foot tall hole in our living room wall, effectively disabling our air conditioning. "This is part of our scheduled maintenance per our sell agreement," the notice slipped under our door read. "This could take up to 10 weeks." After consulting a calculator, I said to Z: "That's too many weeks."
Three weeks ago, they fucked with the water pressure. What had once been a satisfyingly strong shower in the main bathroom was now little more than a mist. To get any kind of water accumulation, one had to stand very still and hope for enough condensation. Which never really happens.
So there I am. Naked. Covered in soap. Shivering in a shower with little hot water. And this is an apartment they want to sell to us for $550,000. Or rather, they know we won't buy this apartment because hi: have you met me, my zero dollars, and my non-existent/not-so-great credit? So now, they're playing all Gaslight-y on us, hoping to drive us from this apartment and this building and the weird girl who talks to coats.
Which, of course, they did.
____________________
* Statistic entirely pulled from my ass. Enjoy!
posted by Mike at 4:54 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home