A few months back my decrepit, century-old apartment building was sold for $16 million. The old landlord managed only a handful of buildings, didn't mind if your rent was a week or two late, and skimped mercilessly on every facet of building upkeep. The new landlord presides over hundreds of buildings throughout the tri-state area, sends your name to its in-house legal department if rent is not received by the fifth of the month, and skimps unbelievably on every facet of building upkeep. If you want something done, you need to be an inexorable force of nature, calling every day without fail on a land line while you sit with the DHCR on speed-dial on your cell phone. After several weeks, the new landlord will set a tentative date on which it will consider meeting to form an exploratory committee as the first step toward deciding whether to hash out an informal action plan. And you will spend those weeks rocking back and forth on your toilet and assuring your children that no, this is not a "cool ride."
Two days ago, we found a leak in one of the gas lines that serves the burners on the left side of the stove. Two hours ago I came home to find that our elevator doesn't work, for the umpfuckingteenth time. And 20 minutes ago, I took a not-brief-enough hot-water-less shower. On top of all that, I'm sitting here in the coffee shop typing this because the wireless connection that I usually poach from my neighbor has suddenly vanished, robbing me of the unique pleasure of Recumbent Blogging.
I'd try lying down in this place, but it's too crowded with other people from the building who also want to know whatever happened to "06BDKEIF45MDKJED." And we are all in high dudgeon. Just how are we supposed to notpay for wireless access if the so-called payer is notpaying?