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Let's talk about rent hikes, shall we? It's like my landlord is playing a twisted game of Monopoly with my wallet. Every year, I brace myself for the inevitable call where he says, "Hey, buddy, it's that time of the year again. Time for your rent to do some cardio." And it's never a modest increase; it's like my landlord is getting his financial advice from Scrooge McDuck. I imagine him sitting in a dimly lit room, rubbing his hands together, thinking, "How can I make my tenants question every life choice they've ever made?"
I tried negotiating once, like, "Can we compromise? I'll water your plants if you knock 50 bucks off." Spoiler alert: he wasn't interested. So now, I'm stuck between the choice of paying more rent or living in a cardboard box under the freeway.
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You ever notice how landlords announce inspections like they're secret agents infiltrating enemy territory? I get this notice on my door: "Inspection on the 15th. Be prepared." Be prepared for what, a surprise pop quiz on how clean my oven is? I go into full panic mode, cleaning every nook and cranny like I'm preparing for an episode of "Landlord Cribs." I can just picture him walking in with a white glove, ready to find the tiniest speck of dust and charge me a cleaning fee equivalent to the GDP of a small country.
But here's the kicker - the inspection lasts for about five minutes. They walk in, glance around like they're judging a pie-baking contest, and then they're out. It's like they just wanted to make sure I wasn't running a zoo in my living room or harboring a family of raccoons in the closet.
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You ever notice how dealing with your landlord is like having a part-time job you never applied for? I mean, they're practically the gatekeepers to our sanity. My landlord thinks he's the CEO of a real estate empire, but I'm convinced he just stumbled upon a "Become a Landlord for Dummies" book. The other day, I had a leak in my apartment. I called him, and he shows up with a toolbox that looked like it came straight out of a museum. I swear there was a wrench in there that had witnessed both World Wars.
So, he's examining the leak, mumbling to himself like he's performing surgery, and I'm just standing there, hoping he doesn't accidentally flood the entire building. He looks up and says, "Well, I'm not a plumber, but I'll give it a shot." Oh, great, because nothing says "professionalism" like a landlord playing DIY plumber.
I'm pretty sure my landlord's idea of a maintenance emergency is running out of caviar at his monthly yacht party. But hey, at least he knows how to cash those rent checks promptly.
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Have you ever tried communicating with your landlord through technology? It's like sending messages to a black hole. I swear, my landlord's inbox is a graveyard of ignored pleas for maintenance and questions about mysterious fees. I once sent him an email about a leak, and a week later, he replied with, "Did you try turning it off and on again?" I'm pretty sure he thinks my apartment is powered by Windows 95.
And don't get me started on the landlord's website. It's like navigating through a maze designed by a sadistic game developer. I tried paying my rent online once, and I ended up accidentally signing up for a timeshare in the Bahamas. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if my landlord's tech support was just a parrot that squawks, "Have you tried pressing Ctrl + Alt + Delete?
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