The cause of my instant frustration is that I have recently been engaged in the challenge of finding an apartment on a salary that feeds multiple children in Africa, but feeds no child in Manhattan, or lack thereof, in my case. I have faith that no good gripe goes unknown and that most of my readership is well aware of the suicidal ideations that an apartment search in Manhattan can engender. I would have willed myself to stop breathing, but that was made impossible when one is faced with the need to breath, quite heavily, in fact, in order to discover their dream shithole that is the size of a kitty litter box on a ninth floor walk up.
Upon discovering my apartment, however, I was very upset to stumble upon some lurking issues with my current management company due to my refusal to pay rent, on time, ever. My position with respect to paying rent on time was as follows: “a management company deserves rent in accordance with the terms of their lease, when a tenant lives in accordance with the standards of the rest of the human race.” I, for one, have been living underground for four years with a bit of sunlight and thus believe my vampire position is the sympathetic one. I also know that I have not lived in accordance with the standards of the human race as anyone has ever made the mistake of visiting me in my apartment has made my apartment the brunt of their jokes, I presume, for their rest of their lives.
Nonetheless, I have taken it upon myself to purposefully obstruct my coffin in an effort to preclude the management company from re-letting this space to some other dumb 20 something year old who thinks that they cannot possibly live in any other location, besides this one, despite the inhabitability of their 203042402394234k a month cubicle. These efforts have involved not so subtle hints that dirty sex has taken place on the counter top, periods have been had in the refrigerator and cockroaches are really just like dogs.
M&M have been the greatest help however and have not only agreed to put up their lovely daughter for the month of July before the commencement of her new lease, but have also come up with some grand ideas to obstruct the management company’s ability to make a profit. One of those brilliant ideas came from M who suggested that I leave my fake AIDS medication on the counter top. When I explained to M that getting AIDS medication is not that easy without having AIDS, and I simply am not sure I have the wherewithal to make fake labels, M suggested that I do in fact make these labels because after all no one is going to want to live somewhere where the previous tenant had AIDS.
I thought about it and decided that M was absolutely four hundred percent right. However, just to be sure I did not seriously offend anyone’s sensibilities, I checked the etiquette on faking AIDS. It turns out no one has fully addressed this issue. Not even the Countess from Real Housewives of New York has addressed this issue, and I thought she was the stamp of approval on class. In any event, I did not go through with this plan.
What I did do, however, was not go through with any other plans either. My only plan now is to just sit it out, wait, and hope that the management company understands that any tenant who takes this apartment has something severely wrong with them. No, for real, it means that you have some serious personality disorders to sign up for such a deal. I never questioned the depth of my personality disorders, but I trust the management company does now on a daily basis:
