Only Nola

Deposit Shakedown

I hate apartment rental companies. Hate their guts and livers. The reasons why are legion, but let's pick just one related group for the purposes of discussion today...

DEPOSITS

See, apartment management/owners choke you out of money for a deposit, allegedly to be held against any possible damage you do to the property during your stay. Then when you move out, if everything is in working order, they give you your money back. Right? Sure, and you still believe in Santa, too, don't you? They don't want to give it back, even if you leave the place in a condition fit for the boy in the plastic bubble. I'm dating myself with that reference, aren't I? A landmark film that I'm sure John Travolta would just as soon forget he made... but I digress.

We moved out of our apartment early this month. I cleaned it within an inch of it's pathetic life. I was anticipating the return of the $300 pet deposit I'd had to give the bastards before we moved in. Now, here's the kicker. Part of the 'move-in special' that was in effect when we applied for that apartment was the waiving of the apartment deposit. Sounds great, doesn't it? Sounds like you're really getting a deal. Yes, you still have a pet deposit to pay, but you can live with that. Your cats are declawed, so you know they won't be tearing anything up, therefore not costing you any money. Foolish, foolish mortal. Your logic is not like their logic, since they're Satan's minions and, because of that, a bit more flexible in the ethics department.

I called the apartment management office Thursday to check on when I'd be receiving my money. When chicky finally called me back, she told me the check had been mailed a day or two before and I should be getting it any time. I was justifiably excited. Or so you'd think. My husband checked the mail when he got home. Check was there. How much, you ask? $18. No, that's not a typo. EIGHTEEN DOLLARS. Needless to say, I had my husband call chicky back to ascertain whether or not they were now sending out deposits via an installment plan, because there was NO way this could be all of it. I had him call because me speaking to her right that minute, as I stood staring at a fucking eighteen dollar check, was NOT a good idea. Trust me on this one. She informed my husband that her computer was down, and she'd call us back in the morning first thing to give us the details of our account. I had begun breathing normally again, and upon reflection of the situation, I was confident that justice would prevail and I'd get my money. Foolish, foolish mortal.

She hadn't called me by 11:15 the next day, so I called her. I was sickeningly nice when I requested the reasons for the deductions of my pet deposit. I figured, hey, she just works there, right? She doesn't make policy. Why shoot the messenger? Well, there are REASONS why one shoots the messenger. There's precedent. Check your history books. She starts rattling off this list of things we were charged for, none of which were related to my PETS. Helloooooooo? PET DEPOSIT? REGULAR DEPOSIT WAIVED? RING A BELL? Here's where it gets REALLY fun.

Apparently the waiving of the deposit really doesn't mean jack shit except that you don't pay THEN, you pay LATER. And the pet deposit thing? Well, that's also misleading. You pony up $300 for a pet deposit, under the optimistic impression that it's a deposit for, of all things, PETS. You'd be wrong. What it is is just another deposit, named after your pets but in no way confined to or necessarily pertaining to the aforementioned pets. My pets did no damage. The apartment was clean. Therefore I get my money back. NOT. They just start tallying up all these costs they decide you owe them and then, since you got that lovely move-in special that waived your apartment deposit, they just take the money from your PET deposit. Great little system they have going, isn't it? If they were doing shit like this in Vegas, they'd be closed down. Now, the best part is the shit they charged me for.

1)$10 to clean refrigerator. You're kidding me, right? Part of living in any rental home is normal wear and tear. I cleaned the refrigerator, but apparently they wanted it bleached and approved by the FDA. How are they able to take $10 for cleaning something that, in normal use, WILL BECOME DIRTY? It's NOT damage, for fuck's sake. Isn't a deposit supposed to be for things outside the norm, like, oh, say, a television sized hole in the wall?

2)$5 to clean sink. Okay, are you STILL not joking here? They're charging me five bucks to CLEAN the goddamned SINK? I always cleaned the sink. Regularly. Scrubbed the fucking thing. The only thing dirty about that sink is possibly a little dirt from me rinsing out the scrub brushes after I cleaned the floor on my HANDS AND KNEES. What did they do, white glove the damned thing? Assbags.

3)$40 for a crack in the crisper tray in the refrigerator. First off, the damned thing was cracked when we moved in. Second, I feel pretty sure that I can find 'em a tray cheaper than that. Give me my damned money and let ME go sale shopping. If the tray was cracked when we moved in, I feel safe in saying they're going to charge me for it and not fix it for the next person who moves in, either.

4)*and my personal favorite* $30 for a soil pre-treatment of the carpets. I'm still not laughing. We've lived in this unit for a year... you think carpets don't get DIRTY? I used Resolve on the cheap carpet in this place, so they were actually in good condition, or at least in as good a condition as could be expected, since they pretty much sucked when we moved in, anyway. I treated, I used my dirt devil shampooer, I vacuumed... and yet they're charging me for basic cleaning of carpets, something that is done ANYWAY, in ANY apartment, before a new tenant moves in. I almost had an aneurysm over this one.

So, you add these charges to my final water bill, which they also take off the PET DEPOSIT, and you get $150. That's a hundred and fifty SHORT of what we paid for a pet deposit when we moved in. So I ask chicky where the rest of my money is. Her response?

'Oh, no, that $300 wasn't ALL a pet deposit. Half was pet deposit, and half was non-refundable PET FEE.'

PET FEE? PET FEE? Are you out of your MIND? I paid an extra $40 each month, in addition to regular rent, for PET RENT, and now I find out, belatedly, that half my deposit is non-refunable PET FEE? What the FUCK is that $40 a month FOR? You do the math... $40 a month, 12 months... I'd say that more than covers soil treatments on carpet and a cracked CRISPER TRAY. But no. They're going to hose you for all they can, and damn the ethics of the whole thing straight to hell. And it's not like you can change their minds, or appeal to a higher court. It's corporate america at it's finest. They don't give a shit if what they're doing is WRONG... it's LEGAL, and that's all that matters. They just made about an additional $800 off of us, on top of what they'd made in standard rent, and they're laughing all the way to the bank.

If there's any justice in the world, people who come up with/implement policies like those discussed above will spend eternity picking dingleberries out of Satan's ass hairs... with their TEETH.

PMS, Of Course

Where've I been, you ask? Well, I've had things at home keeping me busy, such as my cats deciding two weeks after moving in that they'd lose their collective furry minds and start waging war on one another. Hissing, spitting, bouncing off walls and down the stairs with fur flying... I should sell tickets. I've also had my usually sweet natured, easy going son lose HIS mind and become the class delinquent. New school, new attitude. I don't care for it and have been attempting to correct the problem without resorting to the rack or the lash. Then, naturally, there've been some bookkeeping problems, since the ex from hell is, once again, making the responsible and ethical decision of skipping out on his child support. Six weeks behind and counting. Fucker. Let's see, what else... oh, yeah. I'm PMS'ing. Perfect.

This is the third thing I've tried to write tonight, and if it's not wonderful, well, just be grateful it's not my FIRST two efforts you're reading. They were, and I admit this freely, absolutely depressing and not at all what one would expect to find on here. I'm feeling weepy, emotional, agitated, and angry... all four at any given moment, festive as that is, and I was going to make sure to take you all down with me. If *I'M* going to suffer through my PMS, by god so can everyone else. Suck it up. Luckily for you all, I decided to suppress the urge and just inform you what's been keeping me off the computer for awhile, and let you know that I haven't disappeared or died. I know, you were hoping, but no. I'm still here. Just as bitchy as always, quite possibly more so, and trying my damnedest not to become a headline involving a clock tower.

I can't guarantee when I'll have my head glued back on correctly, but my goal is roughly within a week. Let's all keep our fingers crossed, shall we?

Hormones suck.

28 Days Later

I wanted to see this movie when it was first out in the theaters, but didn't have the chance. Finally got to see it the other night on HBO. I wasn't sure what to expect, since I'd been told it was like 'Dawn of the Dead', but I was pleasantly surprised. Sure, it's gross at times. Let's face it, you're dealing with people who are infected with quote unquote RAGE. Sheesh, heavy handed metaphor, anyone? But still, all in all, it was a well done film of it's genre.

The movie starts out with a small band of anti-animal testing fanatics breaking into a lab where monkeys of one sort or another are being force fed large doses of violent imagery. This being a movie, of course two things must follow: 1) someone who works there walks in on them right before they were about to free the monkeys and begs them not to do it, and 2) they ignore him and all hell breaks loose. I always love it when people in movies act like they've never seen what happens on the big screen when people in labs aren't listened to. *shakes head* Well, the next thing you see, after a monkey makes a Scooby snack out of one of our morally indignant morons in the lab, is a black screen with the words '28 Days Later' across it. Then the screen goes to a man on a hospital bed as his eyes open. The man has obviously been in the bed for some time and in a coma of some sort... far be it for me to point out here that, um, he would have STARVED TO DEATH by now, but I digress. The man gets up, wanders around... not a soul to be seen. He walks across half of freaking London... still no warm, or even cold, bodies. There's a certain timeless value in films using the effect of a deserted city to evoke a really strong feeling in the watcher. I mean, you see him strolling around Big freaking BEN, for criminy's sake, with still not a body to be seen, and yes, it's unsettling, to say the least. Needless to say, he eventually finds some bodies, warm and otherwise, or there'd be no flick to watch.

He makes a few friends here and there, but they're almost the last survivors of the thing that has taken over the population. They go on a mission to find a possible safe haven in an army installation that may or may not even exist anymore. Let me just say... NOT SAFE! But I won't ruin it for you. Much as it's killing me, I won't. Arghhhhh

The thing I like about the movie is that it actually shows some *gasp* ACTING! I know, scary movie type things aren't usually rife with theatrical talent, but this actually does have some. It also offers a few twists, including a fair sized whopper near the end. And actually, kudos to the writers for making the twist BELIEVABLE. That's what was so great about it. Once you get the twist all laid out for you, you're like 'holy shit! Why didn't I think of that!?!' Those are the kind of twists I like, the kind that totally make sense and don't leave you scratching your head and nursing a migraine. I hate the twists that are such an outlandish stretch that you can tell it was just pure invention on the part of the writer, just a way he/she was trying to do something 'daring' and 'different'. Screw different, I want my movie twists to at least make some modicum of SENSE. Or is that just me?

Oh, and the metaphor thing... watch the movie and see if it takes you more than 2 minutes to catch on to what I'm talking about. Maybe metaphor isn't the right word, but I'm very sleepy and I'm excused. I'm sticking by metaphor, though. *rubs eyes*

Acts That Justify Violence *Restaurant Version*

It's Mother's Day. I wanted to eat out. Not so much to ask, now, is it? Pphhhtttt. There are situations that, in my opinion, make it perfectly acceptable to start throwing things. And screaming...

1) The fact that when I walked into the restaurant, with my six year old son, I was left standing, for no apparent reason, at the hostess station when I could see no less than six empty booths/tables that would have suited me much better. The chick who left me standing there seemingly had some rather pressing business that took precedence over seating me and resembled, to the naked eye, wandering aimlessly in circles around vacant tables like an utter dipshit.

2) The fact that, once seated, it took no less than twenty minutes for something that was striving to pass for an actual employee to come and take my drink order. This meant that my son and I had been eating chips and salsa for about ten minutes with a)no napkins, b)nothing but water to drink, and c)no human fucking contact. Water, for the uninitiated, does NOT help when eating spicy salsa. It's akin to trying to put a fire out with airplane fuel. And the napkin thing, well, while it may seem minor to some people, bear in mind I was eating SALSA with a SIX YEAR OLD. Enough said on the need of napkins...

3) The fact that I sat there and watched the butt monkey who claimed to be our waiter take the order of someone who came in ten minutes AFTER us before taking OUR order. Yeah, THAT almost sent me right over the edge. It's like watching someone cut in line in grade school. Grounds for an ass kicking. Sure, public opinion would probably go against me when I took the blue haired lady at the table outside and kicked her ass, but hey, fair is fair. I was there first, sister.

4) The fact that when our food did eventually *40 minutes after being seated* get there, we STILL didn't have a)straws, b)silverware, c)napkins, or d)the refill on chips we'd asked for 15 minutes before. I really don't know how to describe the overwhelming anger one feels when one is really fucking hungry and staring at a fresh, hot plate of food that one cannot eat because there's NO SILVERWARE. There was almost carnage of epic proportions at this point in the outing. I figured I could take ol' Jesus *that was our waiter... HAY-SOOS* without even breaking a sweat, no question. I'm small, but I'm meeeeeeeeean.

5) The fact that when I returned from walking my six year old to the bathroom, I see a couple who'd just been seated five minutes before... ALREADY EATING. I was struggling not to go Linda Blair right there in the middle of their Carne Asada. Seeing someone sit down to a civilized meal after a fucking five MINUTE wait is just adding insult to injury. I think at this juncture it's safe to say that Jesus *remember, the waiter* was probably as close to receiving a gaping chest wound as he's ever been in his entire life. Him and the silly twat at the hostess station. Justifiable homicide if I've ever seen it.

Did I mention how much he's going to love me when the management gets it's hands on the comment card I dropped off on my way out? Between that and the $1.84 tip I left him *Hey, it's better than the ZERO I wanted to leave him... but I was civilized, dammit* I figure he's just loving me to pieces.

The Ballad of the Politically Correct

Come one, come all,
Whether you like it or not,
I'm here to monitor
Both your deed and your thought.

I have no patience
For honest expression...
It's for your own good
The joys of repression.

Bite your tongue if you must
*I hear it tastes just like chicken*
If that's what it takes
Be you Christian or Wiccan.

Free speech is a concept
Makes me break out in hives
Unless you're a minority
Or have seven wives.

Don't talk without thinking
Of whom might take offense
And if you follow my lead
You won't need common sense.

I've made a huge list
Of things you can't say
Take the burden of thinking
Right out of your way.

Just say to yourself
'Ass kissing's an art!'
Soon you'll be like me,
A parrot at heart!

Parrots don't strain
With speaking their minds
They say what they're told
And leave shit on the blinds.

Simply turn off your brain
*It's just taking up space*
Glue a shit eating grin
On your new PC face.

Now you're part of the club!
Wear your name tag with pride!
Freedom of Speech? Someone asks...
Tell them it died.