In addition to the falsely entitled twenty-something twats I work with in the course of my average day, I also get stuck working with some difficult/high maintenance property owners. Oh, who am I kidding? I have exactly one difficult AND high maintenance owner, and today, we salute you, Mr. PenisHead von Fuckertwat!
Most property owners who hire a management company do it because they have too much property to handle and/or not enough time and resources to manage it themselves. This guy hires us because he’s been sued so many times by residents, contractors, and commercial lessees that he can’t afford not to let someone else run his show, only he won’t give anyone full control. He loves to micromanage the shit out of people and he’s made every person in my position for the last 7 years cry and/or quit. Not this cast iron bitch. My first encounter with him was a 2 hour meeting wherein he verbally abused me, a scant 2 months on the job, because he hates my company as a whole. I responded calmly but firmly by telling him to shove it in about a dozen different ways, and told him he’d live to regret it if he didn’t back off and let me do my job. Then I charged him an administrative fee for the meeting.
I may have gained his respect, but he also views me as a verbal sparring partner now and we argue about EVERYTHING. The guy thinks his tenants are amazing, mystical unicorn people one day and then hates them like little tenant antichrists the next. Despite a million tenant and consumer protection laws that come with being a landlord in this state, he has no qualms about violating all of them in one fell swoop.
“Put #1 on notice that they can’t park in that space anymore. I’m tired of their gas guzzler creating an eyesore in my parking lot.”
“Dream on, sugar britches. That spot is legally theirs for the next twelve months.”
“I don’t want to renew to *tenant*.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“She yelled at me for coming into her apartment without knocking yesterday and I don’t appreciate being verbally abused by people living in my apartments.”
“Number one, that is HER apartment first, then MINE, and yours LAST. Number two, if you go into any of those apartments without so much as a by-my-leave one more damn time, I will give you a whole lot more to deal with than just yelling.”
“So-and-so did construction work for me this month in return for rent.”
“I’ll credit his ledger.”
*3 months later* “Why didn’t so-and-so pay rent in February?”
“Because you eat babies. You also gave him a credit for his work. Duh.”
This cycle repeats several times a week. He’s so squarely up everyone’s ass that tenants hate his guts and I end up charging him my annual salary every summer to re-rent 8 out of his 10 apartments. I’m pretty much the only one he will deal with and I am the only one in this office who will deal with him.
Unfortunately for him, he wore on my last nerve all month and then the dentist went and obliterated the rest of it. What’s that thing called when a tree branch breaks under your foot? Yeah, my brain did that yesterday.
A contractor attempted to get into the basement to perform routine service on the water softener, but his key didn’t work. Come to find out, neither did mine. And that’s hilarious, because I just got a new key 6 months ago when the basements were rekeyed. So I talked to my friendly locksmith who confirmed that the owner had it rekeyed and told him that no one else is allowed to have a key – including me.
Bitch, say what? I called him from the key shop.
“What in the bleeding blue hell do you mean I am not allowed to have a key to the basement?!?”
“Who is this?”
“You know damn well who this is. I am registered with the city as your building manager and emergency contact, and I am legally required to have access to every serviceable area of that building. You will give me that key.”
“There’s nothing but a water softener down there. No one is getting a key to this basement until I’m done with my work and that’s going to be at least 2 months.”
“There are water heaters, boilers, half the building electrical panels and a water softener down there. If something breaks, bursts, leaks, or sparks, you’re not the one who has to fix it. GIVE ME A COPY OF THAT DAMN KEY.”
“If something happens, they can call me, and–”
“SHUT UP. This is NOT up for debate. Holy hell, I HATE you right now.” *deep breath* “This is what’s going to happen and there will be no compromise- You will give me a copy of your key by the end of the day, or my next phone call will be to tell you that your key doesn’t work anymore because I will rekey that lock myself, so help me god.*”
*You know I’m pissed when I start invoking the name of a god in whom I do not believe.
“That doesn’t work for me.”
“Would it work for you if I stabbed you with this useless basement key I’m holding? That’s where you’re heading.”
*laughing* “Well, can you at least do me a favor and snap your fingers at me while you’re telling me what to do?”
“This is me verbally ordering you to snap-to, buddy. My office, end of the day, or stabbings ensue. Do we have an accord?”
“I will see you before 5:00. Thank you for keeping me on the straight and narrow.”
I swear, it’s like autoerotic asphyxiation, and I’m force choking the shit out of him… Was it professional behavior? Maybe not by some standards, but professionalism is a two way street, and our street is riddled with craters. Our relationship works, we all get paid, and everything stays more or less copacetic. If that’s not professional, well, you need to adjust your definition.
I will be out of town this weekend, and I expect some clever poems when I return! I will draw for fabulous prizes on Monday night when I return!