My closest friend Jenna and I discovered the ideal retro apartment, and Mr. Whitaker, the landlord, seemed like a really kind guy. But when his daily “inspections” and unwanted counsel veered into the unsettling realm, things took a strange turn.
Hi there! My name is Andrea, and my tale will resonate with everyone who has ever dealt with an insane landlord. Now let’s get started.
My closest friend Jenna and I discovered this cute two-bedroom apartment a few months ago. Brick walls, somewhat squeaky hardwood floors, and this incredible cottage-core potential in the center of the metropolis all contributed to its historical appeal.
Mr. Whitaker, the landlord, also gave off the impression of being a pleasant elderly man, with gray hair and a gentle smile. He had the appearance of the grandfather from “Up,” minus the grumpiness.
We immediately took possession of it and signed the lease since I felt it was ideal. It was paradise for the first several months.
We created a little rainforest on every windowsill by decorating with oddball items we found at charity stores. In order to add extra decorations, we also made a number of DIY crafts and shared our trip on Instagram. But then something strange happened.
It began rather innocently, so before things could get out of control, they blew up. Allow me to clarify a bit.
One day, Mr. Whitaker arrived with a toolbox. “I’m just checking the plumbing,” he grinned. You do agree that that was incredible?
Having a proactive landlord was great since it saved us from having to call them every day for small repairs. However, the next week, he returned. and the subsequent week.
It was every soon. Just one day. And his justifications became increasingly absurd:
“I need to check that wiring!”
“Those smoke detectors aren’t self-checking!”
“We must assess the quality of the air!”
He stated this, and no, I’m not kidding. I had to check on Google to see if that was true. It seems that it was, so Jenna and I were at a loss for words.
We tried to play it cool at first. We thought, “Perhaps he’s just being thorough? or simply bored? or truly, truly interested in maintaining your property?
But nope, things really did get worse.
Another day, he dropped by with no explanation, simply glancing around. All of a sudden, he was criticizing our housekeeping.
“You know, that stain would come right off the counter with a little vinegar,” he remarked, gesturing to a place we were unaware even existed.
He also mentioned our way of life in these passive-aggressive remarks. He whispered to me, “Young ladies dressed much better back in my day with pretty sundresses, not sad, tight pants.”
I was dressed just as I was for work.
At times, he would just sit there. within our dwelling area. observing us as though we were a reality television program.
While he wasn’t very spooky just yet, Jenna and I felt uneasy. Had I wanted an elderly, sour guy to berate me for my decisions and way of life, I would have stayed home to be with my parents.
We had to begin moving carefully within our own flat. Even on the rare occasions when he was absent, it seemed as though he was always present.
In fact, Jenna and I started to question whether he was allowing himself in while we weren’t there. That was a scary notion, just now. However, we lacked evidence.
He once interrupted Jenna when she was taking a shower and insisted on inspecting the bathroom sink immediately.
I had to stand outside the restroom door like bodyguard. However, Jenna finished and left promptly, and Mr. Whitaker resumed his work as if everything had returned to normal.
Our feelings were mortifying, to put it mildly, and I was on the verge of losing it.
A few days later, he attempted to move our couch personally and almost broke his back because he believed our furniture arrangement was “damaging the floor.”
We had to fetch him some water and help him sit down. We eventually began recording his visits in a log.
It was our own peculiar journal:
Checked lightbulbs on Monday. made a comment about dust.
Tuesday: Windows were inspected. criticized the curtains we chose.
Wednesday: A door that wasn’t broken was “fixed.” I left it squeaking.
You understand. We were completely crazy, but we were also hesitant to face him. What if he expelled us?
We really enjoyed this property (when he wasn’t there), but the rental market was terrible.
The Day finally arrived.
On a bright Saturday morning, it was. While enjoying our Saturday coffee, Jenna and I discussed our plans for a day of brunch and thrift shopping.
My cup was overturned by my elbow as I grabbed for the sugar. Our adorable small IKEA table was covered in coffee that spilled over the floor.
That was not a huge concern, but there was a jingling sound of keys before we could even reach for a paper towel.
Mr. Whitaker was standing there when the door swung open. I swear he could have stopped traffic with the speed at which his countenance altered upon witnessing the mess and became crimson.
“What’s happening here?” His eyes nearly bulged like a cartoon as he demanded. “YOU ARE DAMAGEDING MY LAND!”
I attempted to soothe him. “Mr. Whitaker, I just spilled my coffee. Don’t worry, we’ll clean it up!
“MEANT ONLY COFFEE?” he said. I think I saw steam escaping from his ears. “AREN’T YOU AWARENESSED OF THE DAMAGE THAT COULD CAUSE? IT WILL PERMEATE THE FLOORBOARDS.
I exchanged a glance with Jenna that indicated, “This is it.” We are at our limit. “Miss Nice Tenant, no more.”
We began to reflect as soon as Mr. Whitaker rushed away, not before lecturing us for twenty minutes on the “proper way” to consume coffee.
How do we put an end to this?
We studied our lease agreement cover to cover, researched our rights as tenants, and devised a strategy for the remainder of the day.
We also chose to employ a security system as a covert weapon. (Yes, tenants are often allowed to install their own security cameras.)
As soon as the system was delivered, we had it installed. It had cameras, motion sensors, and a loud alarm. It had an internet connection as well.
After installing the app, Jenna and I were set to go. Considering our overall style and design, it was distinctly out of place, but Mr. Whitaker had forced our hand.
We turned everything on the next day and headed out for our different occupations.
Suddenly, at around 11 a.m., my phone began to vibrate excessively. Something had set off the alarm. Upon examining the cameras, I saw that Mr. Whitaker had, predictably, allowed himself in.
We agreed to contact the police jointly after I phoned Jenna, even though we only used the non-emergency line. After that, we all quit our jobs early.
Upon arriving at our flat, we found Mr. Whitaker engaged in a furious dispute with two quite disinterested-looking police officers.
With a tomato-colored face, he said, “This is MY apartment!” “I am perfectly entitled to be here! This building is mine!
We went over to the younger officer and introduced ourselves because he seemed so polished.
“You may own this place, Sir, but you have tenants,” he answered gently. You are not allowed to enter at any time. This isn’t how it operates. They are entitled to their privacy.
I produced the lease agreement and pointed to the section regarding the 24-hour notice for non-emergency entrance when Mr. Whitaker started to falter.
The senior police officer gave me a nod, as though he had anticipated that provision. Jenna and I felt that this was a wonderful opportunity to draw attention to the fact that Mr. Whitaker frequently barged in, didn’t accept no for an answer, and made us feel uneasy.
The longer we spoke, the more furrowed the officer’s brow went.
He sighed deeply and turned to face Mr. Whitaker. “Sir, you are not abiding by the conditions of the lease. These young ladies are entitled to pursue this further.
I thought the old landlord would whine some more, but instead he burst like a sad balloon. Most likely, he felt cornered.
I chose to put everything out for him after he muttered something about only attempting to take care of his property.
We are grateful that you are concerned about the building, Mr. Whitaker. However, there are different levels of compassion and this… We are obliging renters. We will notify you if any repairs are necessary. But this is no way to continue swarming in. It’s not acceptable.
Mr. Whitaker looked away from me.
Jenna threw in her two pennies. Respectful landlording does not include violating our privacy. All we want is to be at ease in our own house. Is it not a reasonable request to make?
The police issued a formal warning to the elderly grump after he nodded, but I could see it was a begrudging consent. They clarified that he may have legal repercussions if it occurred once more.
Mr. Whitaker gave another nod, this time with more gravity even though he still had the expression of a child who has been told Santa isn’t real.
I was sorry for the depressed elderly man. Although he may have felt alone, I don’t regret it since the silence has been beautiful ever since.
He has adhered to the conditions of the lease as though they were adhesive. Not only that, but he waits for us to invite him in, keeps his visits short, and plans them in advance.
So this is what I discovered: Recognize your rights as a renter. Keep a record of everything. Never be reluctant to defend your own interests. Furthermore, a strong security system is priceless!