It’s been interesting here at our new house. As you might remember, when we moved in the first day, we were welcomed by a host of plumbing problems. I guess I should have questioned why both the electric and the gas were still on, but the water was not. It simply raised no red flags. The minute the water was turned on though, water went everywhere in the garage from a broken pipe. I immediately called the landlord, and for three complete days, I got no response.
I’ve mentioned before, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’m getting pretty proficient handling certain kinds of landlords. I set about gathering my proof, calling plumbers, adjusting budgets, and all the other things one must do when renting from questionable homeowners. And then I struck gold. I contacted a plumbing company that was the one my landlords used regularly for all 11 of their rent houses. They were more than happy to come fix my problem, and bill the landlord.
The next morning, Mike the Plumber fixed the burst pipe, and tried to fix a leak in our water heater. He assured me the water heater isn’t going to be with us much longer, but it was bravely trying not to completely die. The warning didn’t faze me. I was ecstatic to have water going to the bathroom now. We’d been travelling to the local corner store for all of our bathroom needs except bathing. It sucked, especially since none our bladders run on the same schedules, and mine is the size of a hummingbird’s.
My joy was short-lived… We could only get water into our kitchen. The sludge that oozed from the bathtub was frightening, and the toilet flushed once….directly into our bathtub. As it would turn out, the pipes under the house had burst too, and needed to be replaced. The magnitude of the project kept our awesome plumber from agreeing to fix them without the landlord’s approval. That’s fair, but I was pretty sure we’d be hanging in the wind for at least a few more days while she figured something out that wouldn’t cost so much. I just wasn’t going to keep going like this, and I told the roommates and my kids that we were going to be moving, and not to settle in.
At this point, the house was not habitable, and I talked to the landlord about getting a full refund or giving us a suitable home to live in until all of this was cleared up. I had my receipts, my Move-In checklist, and notes, outlining my many fruitless attempts to contact her, and the amount of money she needed to now return to me.
I’m not an easy person to charm, and we quickly cut through the nonsense. She promised to send someone to fix the pipes the next day, calling them her Team of Experts, and I agreed to give her yet another day to fix this problem.
Her Team of Experts turned out to be two odd guys. They ripped up floors and walls, leaving a swathe of destruction in their wake.
But at last, my bathroom was once again functional. ……………..Oh the Joy!!!
….For about a day and a half.
Remember how I said the toilet was backing up into the bathtub? Well, it started doing that again. At one point, I just wanted to scream with frustration. ALL of these problems had to have been evident before I came along, which means I was rented a house that wasn’t ready to be lived in safely by people who didn’t bother to disclose any of this to me before I handed them the money. Who does that??? Did they think I wouldn’t notice?
My landlord, her shoulders slumped in defeat at my refusal to see this all as a bunch of random coincidences, finally agreed to call a real plumber, and yesterday morning, roots were removed from the pipes affecting the tub and toilet, and the entire system was snaked. Gallons of bleach, a little therapy, and some alcoholic beverages were all it took to lure the first person into the tainted tub. We’ve had smooth sailing ever since….
Except, one or both of those weirdos my landlord sent over to replace my pipes stole all of my daughter’s underwear.
I.Kid.You.Not. Every last one of them!
I have no idea what to do with that information, but I just feel like someone should know. It’s just so bizarre and disturbing.
What kind of person does this? I’m at a loss to understand what is so attractive about stealing a girl’s clean underwear.
Do you think he wears them? Or something even more disgusting, sniffs them or hides them in a collection the police will find someday when he finally loses his marbles altogether? Do you think he is on the road to locking up a teenager in his mother’s basement? Could stealing panties be the first step down the long, evil road to kidnapping and imprisonment?
I’m creep-ed out, and they weren’t even my panties. Can you imagine what Rebekkah must be thinking? It must be pretty bad, because she won’t talk about it. We’re pretending this isn’t as freaky as we know it really is.