City Paper is not for tourists
Dear Property Manager:
Yesterday, you bumped into me at the front door of our building. You seemed eager to talk. I had been thinking about you, too. You had been on my mind especially since I called you while you were away on vacation. Remember?
I told you I was moving out. You didn’t seem to care. Which is cool. I like a neutral relationship between renter and property manager. And as far as these relationships go, I think it was pretty awesome.
Yeah, there was the time the AC went down for 10 days and you took to posting memos telling me you were “on it.” And there were the bed bugs that seemed to appear in the apartments around mine. But when there was that chemical spill from inside the hoarder dude’s apartment last summer—you handed me a free water while we waited for the fire department to poke around. That free water hit the spot.
But best of all: You seem really enthusiastic about your role as Property Manager.
Anyway. Glad we caught each other last night. You got to watch me move records into a friend’s car. And then you asked me a funny question: “Are you sleeping in your apartment?”
And then you told me that you couldn’t give me notice before showing my apartment to prospective tenants. Isn’t that like against our lease? I wouldn’t know. I don’t know where my lease is as it is buried in a box somewhere. See—I’m packing.
So this letter is to again give you a little warning. My apartment—the one you will be showing off to prospective tenants—is a total dump right now. There are boxes everywhere. Boxes on the bed. Boxes on the floor. And there are little bits of paper and dust bunnies. And dead bugs!
So good luck renting my place. I’m not officially moving out until Sept. 1. This should give you plenty of time. If you wait three days, the boxes will be gone. And maybe the dust bunnies.