Of Mice and Men: A Brief History of Landlords

Apartment hunt. Moving day. Two tests of city life that truly measure an urbanite's will to live. Like a masochist, I am currently in the middle of this process for the fourth time in six years.

As frustrating as searching for a new home and relocating your possessions can be, sometimes things only get more interesting after the boxes are unpacked. Chances are if you're young, you're renting and someone else owns the roof over your head. Someone who is probably a stranger and probably odd.

Soon I'll be entering a brave new world with a fourth landlord/lady. Before the baton is handed off, I'm taking a post to look back on the men in my life.

A case of expectations not meeting reality.

1. John #1: (Un)Sexy Beast. Post-college I moved into the attic apartment of a worn Victorian in Boston. The wiring was original to Edison's era and the roommates took turns running hair dryers, fans, or A/C units. Kidding! We could never run A/C. Back then, I thought it had vintage charm. Now, I know it was just old and crappy. Who owned this pile? John #1. My first dealings with him were by phone. He had a super dreamy voice. British, debonair...very Clive Owen. Then I met him.

A faulty radiator drew John #1 to our nest one evening. I opened the door to find...not Clive Owen. What appeared to be a homeless troll stood before me. The kind of person that, if seen across a street, would make a mom grab her child's hand. I remember my roommate half-hiding behind the kitchen door in confusion. Was this a home invasion? And then he asked, "Which room is it broken in, then?" That voice! But that body!? Blimey.

Over the course of two years, John #1 turned out to be absent maintenance-wise, but harmless. I rarely saw him after that first shocking night and my senses were fine with that.


2. John #2: My Big, Fat Greek Landlord. Having had enough antique quirkiness, my roommates and I upgraded to a middle apartment in a triple-decker. It came complete with John #2, the fairest and most attentive landlord I've had or heard of. He also ran an auto body around the corner and because my car often needed something, I saw him regularly.

THIS. IS. SPARTAAA!

His office was the eighth wonder of the world...if only because it housed scale models of the other Seven Wonders. Statues of Greek goddesses, plates with Hercules's Labors, Greek flags, souvenir ouzo glasses, and pottery were crammed into the tiny room.

He wasn't a big man, but he had a big personality. Occasionally, I'd sit next to his desk while he'd take a business call. It always started calm, but escalated to the point where John #2 would vaguely threaten the caller, usually over payment. Then he'd turn to me and say with a smile, "How can I help you, my dear?" I assumed it was a way of telling me, "Do right by me and I'll do right by you." I did. I also was slightly suspicious of his cash only policy at the auto shop and how fast "his guys" attended to broken things around the apartment. I miss him. 

3. Joe: Anger Management. And then there's Joe, my Chicago overlord for the last two years. Landlords like Joe are a dime a dozen. Unresponsive, with a quick temper when you dare to suggest they are lagging in their responsibilities. My calls and in-person conversations with him mainly consist of me asking for something reasonable and him flying off the handle. In addition, Joe is a creeper with a thinning combover and tacky gold jewelry. I'll be happily rid of him in six weeks.

Of course none of these experiences are terrible, just a little weird. I can think of several friends' stories that are far more bizarre. Including one whose landlady lives above him and is a compulsive hoarder. And, weirdly related, other whose landlord asked if he could film a TV show, ominously similar to Animal Hoarders, in her apartment. Classic.

It's all luck, but I'm hoping for a completely unadventurous new venture.


*Re: title of post. Despite the myriad of apartment problems I've had over the years, mice have thankfully never been one. On the flip side, I have learned to kill roaches without blinking.