Crackhouse Blues
Taylor is moving out at the end of the week, as W and I have decided to remain in the apartment. He's coming in tomorrow to start packing up his shit. We knew that it was going to be bad. But man, we had no idea how bad.
He has DESTROYED the carpet in that room. The largest burn hole is from a cardboard box that apparently CAUGHT ON FUCKING FIRE and very likely could have killed us all in our sleep. He apparently never even realized it. The box was leaning against the wall and a piece of burning incense fell and set it alight on one corner (the one that happened to be sitting on the floor). We don't know at what point this past year Taylor removed his smoke alarm, but now it's gone and we can't find it.
There are oil paints stamped into the carpet.
There is a huge grey stain on the floor that can be one of two things: a combination of turpentine and paint, or charcoal dust. Neither of which will be possible to remove.
Since Taylor has been burning incense on every available surface in his room, a rash of small-ish burns in the carpet extends over all parts of the floor that aren't completely covered with furniture.
There is paint on the walls.
There are enormous mounds of incense dust FUCKING EVERYWHERE.
He has been using a power strip with TWO GODDAMN CORDS PLUGGED INTO THE WALL to hold bits of BURNING INCENSE. These bits have melted hundreds of small holes in the electrical wires. We're lucky the whole house hasn't gone up. Even W had to admit that it was "the stupidest thing he'd ever seen."
We're going to have the landlord come over and look at Taylor's room before he gets his name off the lease (in September) so that the damages can be assessed. That way at the very least we won't get stuck paying to replace the entire fucking carpet ourselves whenever we move out. Taylor having conveniently skipped town to go destroy some house in NE. I hope that Bianca chick knows what the fuck she's getting into. Because there is NO WAY that Dave (our landlord) is going to let this slide. That room has been completely trashed. Everything that Dave tells us about damages and costs is going to be written down and signed. Then we're going to make copies and keep very careful track of them. Taylor should pay all of the damages, but I'm sure he won't.
The burn from that boxfire could actually get us evicted. I still can't believe my fucking eyes. That was so dangerous.
Since this is a non-smoking building, ALL of those burns are grounds for eviction.
The only thing we can hope is that Dave will see that all damages to the apartment are in one room, and that W and I are trying to take responsibility. W and Taylor's names are on the lease. If we consult the landlord now, maybe the costs can be divided equally between W and Taylor. God only knows what would happen if we waited to deal with this until we wanted to move out. Maybe Dave will be reasonable since W and I are planning to stay on. In any event, whatever agreement is made will have to be in writing. Assuming that he doesn't immediately give us our notice, and put an eviction on W's record.
Then we may never have a nice apartment again.
I am so incredibly angry I can't see straight. And now W and I are fighting, about Taylor. Which seems almost inevitable, now that I think of it. Taylor's been consistently shitty as long as I've known him, and we've never had it out before. Not that we haven't come very close. If I had seen what he'd done to that room months ago...GodDAMN him! What a lazy, good-for-nothing, smelly, disgusting, pathological fucking LOSER. That bastard.
Anyone thinking of calling me, be warned: I am going to bitch. I may scream and yell. I could even jump up and down. Just know that I love you guys, and that I really appreciate the opportunity to vent.
Also: before ANYONE tells me to chill out, please come see this room. I am not kidding. Every negative feeling I've ever had about Taylor has been completely justified. Andrew, I'm talking to you, dear. (Do comment though if you read this...I miss your ire =). I swear you'll understand if you see it.
I'm going to go ignore my fiance now. CHRIST-almighty.
4 comments:
yes, but see, months ago you couldn't have seen the damage to the apartment due to every inch of his room being covered in incense or furniture or paintings.
that fire sounds crazy scary. and you're going to have to replace the carpet and get the walls repainted (or primed) at the very least and taylor had better pay for that. send him here if he won't. i'll give him a TALKING-TO with EXTRA GUILT. that's how we play it in atl.
Go to the drugstore, buy a disposable camera (or two), take pictures of each; have them developed, keep them with your papers regarding this. I just hope your landlord did collect a damage deposit from each tennant separately.
Normally, a damage deposit is the landlord's good estimate of what it would cost to replace all of the carpet & paint all of the walls & give the bathroom(s) a thorough cleaning. Your landlord will undoubtedly keep the whole security deposit, since he probably won't be able to just replace the carpet in T's room.
What you need most to do, at this juncture is to convince your landlord that you & W are responsible adults and that you are veryveryverysorry.
And look at it from the landlord's standpoint-- if you stay, he doesn't have to do anything until you move out over a year from now (and can therefore defer the costs of cleaning up the mess) and he doesn't have to try to lease the place (cost of ads) as well as his risk of once again, renting to people that look decent on paper and in the flesh but turn out to not respect other people's property. So, your landlord may have some incentive to work with you, if you engage his businessman side as opposed to his "I-worked-so-hard-to-fix-this-place-up-and-now-look-what-you've-done-to-it" side.
As for you & W: the (you cannot underestimate) importance of focusing on the options and solutions when faced with a problem (ANY PROBLEM) instead of fault.
When the milk is spilled all over the floor, and you have a good relationship, you say, "I'll get the mop" and he says, "I'll get the bucket & fill it with water." PERIOD.
Remember the the story I told you ?
After backpacking all day in the pouring rain six miles over the crest of a mountain and down a ravine next to a swollen stream, deciding to pitch camp several miles short of our original destination, pitching the tent, tearing out one of the corner stays (in a tent that would not stay upright without it), sewing it together in the rain with dental floss, getting exhausted, soaking wet and covered with grit into wet sleeping bags, and sleeping with the rain hitting the tent and turing into a fine mist as it came right through the tent, getting up in the morning, completely fed up, (and so damnned disappointed I could cry, because I so wanted to have a beautiful hike, etc. in the woods), and both of us realizing that the weather was not going to clear up, we were not going to dry out, and so deciding to leave our gear, take the water & hike the six miles back up over the mountain to get the car & then drive fifty miles by road to where the gear was... and then hiking three miles back up the trail in wet boots... he asked, "Do you have the car keys?"
And my stomach turned over because I now remembered that I had secured them in the outside top pocket of my pack, which was three miles back.
Being good at math, my brain went something like F@#$@#$ SH$%^# G@#$ D@#%@# TWELVE MILES! TWELVE MILES! NOT 6 HOURS BACK TO THE CAR!! TWELVE HOURS!! OW! FEET!! F$#@%@ SH@#%@#% G@#% D@#%$#@ But my mouth only went "Oh.... no....."
And he walked over and gave me a hug and said, "Well, I guess we need to walk back and get them."
Other people we know, would have never, ever let me forget how stupid and dangerous that was, since someone could have found the gear we left behind and taken off with it-- in which case not only would we have been out our gear, we would have had to hike to the nearest town and gone through who-only-knows what gyrations to get another key, (since I didn't have the Vin # memorized).
I suppose we could have smashed a window & hot-wired the engine, but we didn't have a srewdriver between us at that point, and the nearest town was at least 25 miles away.
The point is, instead of my having a twelve-mile misery walk of shame, ignorance, stupidity and irresponsibility, we had a twelve mile walk of enjoying the flame azaelas and the realization that this relationship was going to be able to make it through the hard times as well as the good times.
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