The Slum Landlord
I have finally relocated the phone number of the slum landlord I had for my last apartment in New York. Sadly, although I have been looking for it with off and on frantic urgency for the last two months, I did not find it through searches for it today. No, I found it while retrieving a cat toy from under the sofa for a whiny "I really am still just a baby" kitten. And there, under the sofa, was the little slip of paper, partly chewed on (obviously by the now "I can't even try to claim baby kitty status" Matan) but still legible. I clutched onto it like it was gold, as indeed it is, and ran for my phone.
He answered on the first ring and after identifying myself he asked so how are you?
"I'd be much better if I'd ever received my deposit back from the apartment I moved out of a YEAR ago" was my very tart reply. Because you see, despite numerous phone calls across an ocean my very hefty deposit has never been re-deposited into my now in the red bank account in New York. And it is so unkewl to be in the red in two different countries, let me tell you. It is particularly unkewl to be in the red in the country that you slaved yourself to death in to leave the apartment spotlessly clean and in better condition than I moved into it (which would not have been hard, trust me) in order to get said hefty deposit back which should have kept the checks that went bouncy-bounce from doing so.
He promised it will go in the bank tomorrow and tried to blame it on his boss. Whatever. It has been a year. It better go in tomorrow or heads will roll. I yelled at him that I want all the interest it has been collecting too but I'll be happy if the original amount actually goes in.
Let's hope blogger will let me post. It wouldn't let me update for hours earlier. ***Oh ack, i just refreshed and see that it has now posted all my repeated attempts to post the same post when it kept telling me there was a fatal error. Blogger burp indeed! Hmm better delete at least a few of 'em, heh.