My Landlord Does Not Speak Human

I met my landlord for the first time today. Of course, it happened when I was running late to class. I was hurriedly carefully and expertly backing the truck out of a parking space and the landlord slooooowly walked behind my truck, completely blocking my path. Not being in the mood to commit vehicular manslaughter, I stopped the car. She disappeared from my rear view mirror and then suddenly reappeared at my window, peering at me with beady, black eyes. I rolled down the window, intent on saying a quick hello and then doing that thing where I go to class.

But no. ‘Quick’ was nowhere in my plans.

As I rolled down the window, the landlady asked, “AND, WHO, MAY I ASK, MIGHT YOU BE?”

Dear God, I can just kiss punctuality good-bye today. This cannot be good. Okay, just act natural. 

Me: “I’m Michelle! Hi, I live here! I’m the new tenant from the west coast! How are you??”

Landlady: “You are not on the lease.”

*Crosses arms in a sassy manner*

Me: “Oh, okay. I’ll ask my roommate about it, she said that was all sorted out already.”

Landlady: *Grimaces and growls*

“How long have you lived here?”

Me: “Errr…”

*takes ten seconds to calculate basic math*

“…two months.”

Landlady: “Hrmph. And what’s this about a cat? There’s a cat?”

Me: “Um.. yes! My roommate e-mailed you about it.”

Landlady: “Hrmph. Is your roommate in the apartment?”

Me: “Yep!”

*Landlady abruptly ends conversation and walks off in curmudgeonly fashion (possibly has a peg leg)*

—— later in the day, when I have yet to print off the lease forms ——– 

*knock, knock”*

Me: “Hello?”

Landlady: “It’s ME.”

Me: “Oh, okay, please come in! I’m JUST printing off the lease!”

*Scrambles to actually begin process of printing off lease but has no idea how to use roommate’s computer and fumbles with various cables while sweating from judgmental, death glare from landlady*

Landlady: “Did you have family in the Navy?”

Me: “Um, yes, my dad. Do you?”

Landlady: [incomprehensible mumbling] “…twenty years.”

Me: “Oh, wow! [small talk about weather]“

*Continues to fumble nervously with cables and successfully plugs ONE in*

Landlady: “[incomprehensible mumbling] “ART” [incomprehensible mumbling] “… these doors in the complex cost me $1200 each!”[incomprehensible mumbling] “….and that’s the meaning of life.”

Me: “Wow, that’s… spectacular!”

*FINALLY plugs in all of the cables correctly and gets lease printed and signed*

“Annnnd, here’s that lease form.”

Landlady: *silence… vacant eyes*

Me: “Well, see you again soon!! It was nice meeting you!”

Landlady: “Hrmph.”


- Daughter


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Smoked Bacon: Not the Good Kind

Looks like another freshman tried to make popcorn.

Looks like another freshman tried to make popcorn.

This semester, I am living in a big-girl apartment instead of slumming it in the dorms at college. I am too good for dorms and can’t ruin my reputation running around with the wrong sort of people who choose to call these heathen-holes “home”. To be fair, the dorms are actually quite nice. They were built in the something-or-other century and have lovely architectural design (read: fancy pants) that will make you unconsciously raise your pinkie finger and start wearing a monocle.  But they’re still dorms. And as such, they have major drawbacks. For example, you have to be ready at all times for errant freshmen who wander across your path and have yet to develop social skills resulting in awkward small-talk while you microwave your oatmeal when really, that situation calls for an in-depth analysis of the sociology of breakfast foods in America. Obviously.

Sometimes, a cat – illegally kept in the dorm by an aspiring-future-cat-lady student – will escape from its enclave and make a beeline for your open door and straight to the bathroom where it will hop in the bathtub and look up at you expectantly (this happened).

You also are constantly subjected to idiocy: that of yours and that of others. Figure 1: fire alarms. Every year I have lived in the dorms, some person has set a bag of popcorn on fire. IT’S A BAG OF KERNELS THAT YOU PUT IN THE MICROWAVE FOR THREE MINUTES, HOW DO YOU MESS THAT UP?? Best get a refund from the college because you have learned NOTHING important. And, to compound matters, this person (let’s be real, it’s always a freshman) has to be a popcorn pyromaniac during the wee hours of the morning. So, the entire dorm has to evacuate with their fuzzy slippers on and unironically clutching stuffed animals, looking like disheveled hobbits after a trip to Mordor (and back).

Embarrassingly, I have also set off the dorm fire alarm. I was cooking bacon in my room despite the rule against cooking and electric burners in the dorm. (NOBODY SEPARATES ME FROM MY BACON.) After successfully sizzling up some pig bits, I noticed that there were a few stray pieces of bacon burnt on the bottom of the pan. No problem, I will simply pour ice-cold water into this saucepan which has hot oil and burning pork morsels in it, thus, no cooked-on bacon… GENIUS!! 

Well, I idiotically poured the water into the saucepan filled with flaming pig remains (sidenote: way less appetizing describing it that way rather than just calling it, ‘bacon’), and a huge plume of smoke immediately filled the room. I felt like I was standing in the shadow of the volcanic cloud of ash and debris from Mt. Vesuvius, it was that serious. The fire alarm went off and panic seized me. My first instinct was to hide the evidence from my illegal cooking activities (I stashed the still-burning-hot saucepan in the bathroom with the perfume of acrid smoke wafting out. They’ll never check here! And then I opened my window and did what can only be described as a panicked frolicking as I tried to herd, coax, and force the smoke to make its way out through the window instead of loitering around like teenagers outside of a pharmacy (that’s still a thing, right?). By some miracle, the fire alarm turned off and I breathed a sigh of relief – probably inhaling some smoke while doing so. But yes, I was an idiot.  I haven’t eaten bacon to this day…

Just kidding. Give me bacon, or give m- no, just give me the bacon.

- Daughter

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