How I Got Even With A Cheap Landlord

I once had a landlord who was pretty damn cheap. He was that kind who squeeked while he stepped over a dollar to pick up a nickel. When something needed fixing, he sat on it. Waiting for an act of Congress, I suppose. But I got even with him.

Let’s look at the two fixy-doos he wouldn’t do. First was my new roommate. I hear this scraping in the place in the middle of the night. I look around. It’s coming from beneath the floor. No, it’s in the bathroom. I see something happening to the wall. A hole has appeared, and it’s increasing in size. I get down and look close. A nose comes through and whiskers wiggle. That’s my roommate. Little and gray with pink feet. Days later I open a drawer where I keep my napkins. They’re a mess. I look close, what’s all this? He pops out. Jumped out of my skin.

I call the manager and tell him about the intrusion. He says, “Well, do what you can.” Do what I can? It’s his place.

How about number two? That’s an appropriate way to put it, since it involves the toilet. The thing backed up. Called him up. He himmed and hawed. I removed the toilet and noticed that the pipe, about four inches in diameter, has three inches of rusty buildup. Do what you can, he says. I’ll show him what I can do. I get a five gallon bucket and keep it and a plunger near the toilet. I plunge and power flush, pouring water in the bowl. Let it get worse. Let that wax seal between the toilet and the floor remain as it is. Let it seep. My roommate lives freely. Chew it up, baby. Chew it up.

So I move out and get a place owned by someone with sense, and it happens to be right around the corner. In fact, there’s a little breakfast nook where I can sit and look across the yard at my old hole in the wall. So on my last day I show Mr. Cheapskate the situation I’m leaving him with. All he can say is “Oh my.”

Days later the tenants on the other side of that duplex have moved out. There are many repairs that will wait no longer. His pidgeons have come home to roost and what a nest they've built. Replacing doors. Fixing a chimney that’s about to fall over. The house sits for over a month, no rent coming in, while he spends money and time fixing it. Then he has to wait for new tenants. All that money wrested from his boney grip. One morning I sit at the breakfast nook and watch him take that dead toilet outside with a hand truck. There’s such a haggard look on his face. I sip my coffee, “Eat it, sucker!” Such satisfaction.