Five months after crawling out of the rabbit hole that was 205 East Green Street, I thought that, despite being relegated to a bedroom still plastered with clippings of Derek Jeter and Justin Timberlake, I was freed of the perils of being a hapless, pathetic student tenant.
Wrong, Stupid.
Now while I can’t submit that I left Apartment 9 in immaculate condition, nothing could have prepared me for the thousand-dollar bill PPM Realty served me with. After an entire school year of what I’d affectionately come to call “the quirks of student living” – rabid raccoons in the stairwell, a toilet with a hell of a gag reflex, the personal landfill before my door, not to mention a constant soundtrack of bros and bimbos trekking to Station – I thought I’d be cut some what of a break when it came to reclaiming my security deposit.
Wrong again, Sucker. You’re a naive, broke-as-a-joke kid living in a town whose two main cash cows are car towing and exploitation of tenants (oh, and cattle, of course.)
For whatever it’s worth, I’m not the only one. It only took a Google search to find out that I was sorely misinformed when I signed a contract with Satan’s Real Estate.
Reading caps-lock laden rants by people with nicknames like ‘suckitPPM6969‘ eased my tears and regrets, if only for a few minutes.
Now, I suppose, it’s time to breathe deep, buck up, and ride this solidarity all the way to small claims court.
