when you play with fire...expect to be burned
I have finally moved on from what became a nightmarish living situation. I am trying to forget, but some images just stay burned on the retinas for a while. And I don't have my deposit check in hand yet, but I am planning on crashing the open house next Sunday, and causing a scene if I dont have it by then.
Wait, what have I learned about playing with fire?
A couple of weeks ago, I thought I would be really clever and leave some pieces of cat poop on the ledge I know was being painted the next day (IN my apartment BEFORE I moved out). A little irritation in return for my own, you know, but nothing that could be traced to me. And I giggled all day to myself, and I giggled when I got home and saw the ledge painted, and then I went up to my room, and I stopped giggling.
There was a huge pile of dog poop in the middle of my bedroom floor.
Bigger than my own.
BTW This dog is groos, dumb, weighs about 80lbs, and looks like it has scabies.
I cleaned it up, and then went downstairs to see Mr Landlord. He laughed, and told me it was impossible it was his dog. I then had to have the conversation I never thought I would ever have to have, explaining various animal sizes and the comparison to the waste they produce. I told him it could not have been my cat, I knew it wasn't me, I really doubted it was my roommate, so if he was really saying that it wasn't his dog, then was it him?
He joked that if his dog was in my room, it was probably only because he was trying to eat my cat! GRRRR!
I mumbled something about only two weeks left, can we just make this as easy as it can be and respect each other's space, and started back up to my apartment defeated.
He yelled after me that I should pick up the toxic caulk mixture he left on the living room floor in case my cat accidentally drank it and died.
The one silver lining in the conversation was that he didn't call me Moonchild for probably the first time in six months.
Wait, what have I learned about playing with fire?
A couple of weeks ago, I thought I would be really clever and leave some pieces of cat poop on the ledge I know was being painted the next day (IN my apartment BEFORE I moved out). A little irritation in return for my own, you know, but nothing that could be traced to me. And I giggled all day to myself, and I giggled when I got home and saw the ledge painted, and then I went up to my room, and I stopped giggling.
There was a huge pile of dog poop in the middle of my bedroom floor.
Bigger than my own.
BTW This dog is groos, dumb, weighs about 80lbs, and looks like it has scabies.
I cleaned it up, and then went downstairs to see Mr Landlord. He laughed, and told me it was impossible it was his dog. I then had to have the conversation I never thought I would ever have to have, explaining various animal sizes and the comparison to the waste they produce. I told him it could not have been my cat, I knew it wasn't me, I really doubted it was my roommate, so if he was really saying that it wasn't his dog, then was it him?
He joked that if his dog was in my room, it was probably only because he was trying to eat my cat! GRRRR!
I mumbled something about only two weeks left, can we just make this as easy as it can be and respect each other's space, and started back up to my apartment defeated.
He yelled after me that I should pick up the toxic caulk mixture he left on the living room floor in case my cat accidentally drank it and died.
The one silver lining in the conversation was that he didn't call me Moonchild for probably the first time in six months.
posted by reilly at 6:31 PM
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