Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Try as I might, search as thoroughly as I may, I can’t seem to describe a reality where leasing agencies abstain from screwing you. Sure, one buddy told me his rent actually decreased this year, a claim I quickly declared pure malarkey, but then again he lives in a mythical place called “downtown Chicago.” Here in the suburbs, well, things work differently, and agencies can’t help but intersect with shysterism all too regularly.

Every year around April I receive a lease renewal form, which basically reads like some eggnog-stained wish list.

“We’d like to raise your monthly rent by 100 dollars.”

“By the way, please add an additional 50 bucks to your security deposit.”

“Should you leave your apartment early, you will pay for every month until we find a subletter.”

“Unless, of course, you find a subletter first, in which case you only need to pay us 100 extra dollars.”

Why don’t I make it easy for y’all, lay my head on the curb, and simply invite you to walk over me? And for crying out loud, if you’re going to send the same desperate missive detailing the economic curveballs thrown at you over the past 12 months, don’t use the same fucking letter from last year.

I told you about a pony I once wanted fervently, dear reader, and in the interest of enumerating the key features of my mythical animal I’ll tell you this: I wanted a proud beast made of pepperjack cheese and shattered hopes, but did I get what I wanted? My pony melted under the hot, sad sun, never to gallop again.

Apparently my current leasing agency is also in league with my first love. Oh, le horror!