This time last year I Paid my landlord £468, as did each of the other 4 girls I lived with, as the deposit to secure our tenancy of the house we’ve been living in.
Now that we’ve moved out, he intends to give each of us £180 of that back; he’s claiming the rest in expenses for what can only be described as general wear and tear. Things like £60 for lightbulbs, £200 for cleaning, (my mum and I went to great lengths to make sure we left the place spotless) and £220 for garden maintenance.
The garden is tiny. Unless he paid the Queen of England herself to mow the lawn, I fail to comprehend how it can possibly have cost him that much to tidy up. We also asked him before we moved out whether he wanted us to sort it, and he told us not to worry about it.
The boiler wasn’t working when we moved in, He broke our first hoover, and it was the workmen he hired to fix the place up, again before we’d even moved in, who smoked and are thus responsible for the burn on the carpet in the attic and the cigarette butts on the roof.
Despite promising he would, he never showed up to check everything over or discuss anything with us on the day, or in the few days before, we all moved out. We learned of his plans to screw us out of most of our money via an email that he has so far only sent to one of us. (He didn’t pick up the phone when I tried to call him earlier).
Did I ever mention – oh, yeah I did. About how my shelves fell off my bedroom wall that time and I could have been seriously hurt because of his ineptitude at DIY… but that’s not even the point, here. I hate how everyone treats students like they’re not real people. I hate how he apparently thinks he can just talk crap to us and rip us off because we’re a group of girls. I hate how he’s trying to use us to solve his (suspected) debt problem. I hate how next year’s tenants are also a group of girls and he’s pretty much gonna try on the same thing with them next year.
I might have slept fairly well tonight, but the minor injustice of this situation burns. An irrational amount. (Seriously, anyone need a light?…)
I wouldn’t be so cruel as to hope, as my sister suggested, that a piano falls on his head. I do, however, hope he steps on a plug. Twice in one morning.
I hope he develops – if he doesn’t already suffer from it – erectile dysfunction.
I hope his house becomes infested with ants, wasps, bees and mice. And pigeons and squirrels and fleas.