Sit back, my children, for the story I’m about to tell you is an important life lesson that everyone should adhere to: don’t try to be something you aren’t.
A few months back I wrote column detailing why I shouldn’t be living in the building where I currently rest my head at night. It’s full of elderly douchebags, regular douchebags (like myself), and young couples who won’t talk to me in the elevator for fear of catching some imaginary airborne immaturity disease.
The pool, which was supposed to be open in mid-July, wasn’t even ready until a few weeks ago. Valet trash doesn’t show up on the weekends, which means I have to take my garbage to the end of the hall where a trash chute is situated like some kind of commoner on Saturdays and Sundays. One of the three elevators on my floor has been out of service for close to a week now and the stairwells aren’t even air conditioned. I know it sounds like I’m basically living in a prison, but I assure you it’s far worse than any correctional facility you have in mind. One of these things? Fine. I can deal with not having a pool until September. I can even deal with taking my own trash out. But I’m at my wit’s end after getting this e-mail from the leasing office yesterday:
Right now, you’re probably saying “But John, you signed a lease. That landlord can do whatever they damn well please.” And you’d be correct. I signed a binding agreement with a leasing office who enforces more rules on my roommate and I than I had in my freshman dormitory. I have a very large flag flying over my balcony of my alma mater because they have a pretty decent football team this year. That flag wasn’t hurting anyone. But the leasing company called and said I had to take it down because it doesn’t fit with their aesthetic, all under the guise that “hanging fabrics” aren’t allowed.
If someone in the leasing office downstairs had taken the time to come to my apartment and asked me nicely to take my flag down, I probably would have acquiesced. I still would have complained a little bit, but I would have taken it down because if it’s bothering someone that much that they took the time to come talk to me about it, fine. I probably don’t need to be flying that thing every single day. I could stand to put it up on Saturday when my team is playing and then take it down when their game ends. A person-to-person confrontation would have been better than half-assing this thing and sending me some vaguely worded e-mail about keeping “a clean and beautiful community at all times.” That’s bullshit. They were too chicken shit to take the elevator five floors up to talk to me like an adult. All of this simply means that I have to keep my flag flying out of principal.
I understand that the leasing agents are probably showing available apartments to people of varying ages. I understand that they want this building to look classy. Flying the flag of the college where I went to school probably screams “this place gets a little loud on the weekends.” But how classy is it when you’re allowing me to live there? Answer: not very. A majority of the people living in this place are in their mid-20s and the leasing office is acting like we’re renting space in a Four Seasons or something.
You can put lipstick on a pig and tell me it’s a hot girl but anyone with functioning eyeballs can see that it’s a fucking pig. You can call your apartment complex some stupid name like “555 On The Promenade” if you want, but again, anyone with functioning eyeballs can clearly see that it’s just another apartment complex full of 20-somethings who still drink cheap domestic beer and get a little too loud Thursday through Saturday night. Don’t try to be something you aren’t. .
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