Hello! My name is Andrea, and anyone who has had to deal with a strange landlord can relate to my experience. Okay, here we go. My best friend, Jenna, and I came into this wonderful two-bedroom apartment a few months ago. It had historic charm, brick walls, slightly creaky hardwood flooring, and incredible cottage-core potential in the heart of the city.Mr. Whitaker, the landlord, appeared to be a sweet old guy as well, with gray hair and a friendly grin.
He reminded me of the grandfather from “Up,” except he wasn’t as grouchy. I felt it was ideal, so we accepted it immediately away and signed the lease. For the first few months, it was perfect.We decorated with unique thrift shop treasures and transformed each windowsill into a small rainforest. We even documented our journey on Instagram and created a bunch of DIY craft items for additional decorations. But then things became odd.
It began innocently enough, and we didn’t have time to control things before they exploded. Let me explain more clearly. Mr. Whitaker arrived one day with a toolbox in hand. “Just checking the plumbing!” he said, smiling. That was incredible, right? It was nice to have a proactive landlord that didn’t require us to phone every day for a minor fix. But he was back the following week. And the week after that.It quickly become every.
Every single day. His excuses were increasingly ridiculous: “Gotta inspect that wiring!” “Those smoke detectors won’t check themselves!” “Need to measure the air quality!” I’m not kidding, he stated this, and I had to look it up on Google. Jenna and I had no idea what to think.At first, we tried to remain calm. We wondered if he was just being thorough. Or are you bored? Or are you genuinely into property maintenance?”
However, the situation has deteriorated significantly. He came by another day with no explanation and simply glanced around. Suddenly, he began criticizing our cleaning. “You know, a little vinegar would get that stain out of the counter right out,” he observed, pointing to an area we had no idea existed.He also made some passive-aggressive remarks regarding our lifestyle.
“Back in my day, young ladies dressed much better with pretty sundresses, not sad, tight pants,” I heard him say.I was literally wearing my work attire. Sometimes he just sat there. In the living room. They were watching us as if we were on a reality television program. He wasn’t really creepy yet, but Jenna and I were uneasy. If I had wanted an elderly grumpy man to moan about my life and decisions, I would have stayed at home with my parents.
We had to start tiptoeing in our own flat. Even when he didn’t appear, it felt like he was still present. Jenna and I started to wonder if he was letting himself in when we weren’t there. That was a creepy thought. But we didn’t have proof.He once showed up when Jenna was showering and insisted on examining the bathroom sink right away.
I had to play bodyguard outside the restroom door. Nonetheless, Jenna finished and exited swiftly, and Mr. Whitaker resumed work as if everything was normal.Mortifying didn’t even begin to describe how we felt, and I was about to lose my cool. Days later, he felt our furniture arrangement was “damaging the floor,” and attempted to move our couch himself, nearly injuring his back.
We had to assist him sit and grab some water. Eventually, we started keeping track of his visits. It was our own odd diary. Monday: Checked light bulbs. I commented on dust. Tuesday: Checked the windows. They criticized our choice of curtains. Wednesday: ‘Fixed’ an undamaged door. I left it squeaking. You get the idea. We were furious, but we were also afraid to face him. What if he kicks us out?
The rental market was tough, but we enjoyed this place (when he wasn’t there). Then came the day. It was a bright Saturday morning. Jenna and I were enjoying our Saturday coffee, planned a day of brunch and bargain shopping. I reached for the sugar, and my elbow tipped over my cup. Coffee spilled all over our nice little IKEA table and on the floor.
That was no huge deal, but before we could get a paper towel, we heard keys jingling. The door swung open, and there stood Mr. Whitaker. His expression changed so rapidly when he saw the mess and turned so crimson, I swear he could have stopped traffic.”WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!” he shouted, his eyes nearly bulging like a cartoon. “YOU’RE RUINING MY PROPERTY!”
I attempted to calm him down. “Mr. Whitaker, I just spilled my coffee.” We will clean things up, don’t worry!” “JUST COFFEE?!” he exclaimed. I’m very sure I saw steam coming from his ears. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAMAGE THAT CAN DO?! It will seep into the floorboards!” Jenna and I exchanged a look that meant, “This is it. We have reached our maximum. “No more, Ms. Nice Tenant.”
When Mr. Whitaker rushed away (but not before giving us a 20-minute lecture on the “proper way” to consume coffee), we began to think. We spent the rest of the day studying tenant rights, thoroughly reviewing our lease agreement, and devising a strategy.We decided to use a secret weapon: a security system. (In most circumstances, tenants can legally install their own security cameras.)
We had someone install it as soon as the system arrived. It included motion sensors, cameras, and a loud alarm. It was also connected to the internet. Jenna and I installed the app and were ready. It was clearly out of place given our decor and overall style, but Mr. Whitaker had forced our hand.So the next day, we activated everything and went to our various occupations.
My phone began to vibrate frantically around 11 a.m. An alarm had been triggered. I examined the cameras, and, as expected, Mr. Whitaker had allowed himself in. I contacted Jenna, and we agreed to call the cops, albeit we only used the non-emergency line. Then we all left our workplaces early. When we arrived at our apartment, Mr. Whitaker was in a furious debate with two unimpressed-looking police officers.
“This is my apartment!” he said, his face the color of a ripe tomato. I have every right to be here! “I own this building!” We approached and introduced ourselves to the younger cop, who appeared to be exhausted. “Sir,” he continued carefully, “you may own this property, but you have tenants. You cannot enter whenever you wish. That’s not how it works. “They have the right to privacy.”
When Mr. Whitaker began sputtering, I took out the lease agreement and pointed out the paragraph requiring 24-hour notice for non-emergency entry.The senior cop nodded to me, as if he knew that clause would be present. Jenna and I believed this was an excellent opportunity to highlight how Mr. Whitaker frequently barged in, refusing to take no for an answer, and made us uncomfortable.
The officer’s displeasure deepened the more we spoke.After a long sigh, he turned to Mr. Whitaker. “Sir, you are in violation of the lease terms. These young women have the right to pursue this matter further. I expected the elderly landlord to complain even more, but he deflated like a sad balloon. He probably felt besieged. He murmured something about just wanting to take care of his property, so I laid it out for him.
“Mr. Whitaker, we appreciate your concern for the building.” But caring is not the same as… whatever this is. We are responsible tenants. We’ll let you know if anything needs to be fixed. But you cannot keep barging in like this. It isn’t okay.”Mr. Whitaker avoided my gaze. Jenna added her two cents. “Being a good landlord does not require breaching our privacy. We just want to be comfortable in our own home. Isn’t that too much to ask?
The old grump nodded, but I could tell it was a reluctant assent, so the cops issued him a formal warning. They explained that if he did it again, he could face legal action.Mr. Whitaker nodded again, this time more seriously, but he still resembled a child who had been informed Santa wasn’t real.I felt sorry for the sad elderly man. He may have been lonely, but I don’t regret it because things have been gloriously quiet since.
He has adhered to the lease terms as if they were nailed to his palms. Not only that, but he plans his visits in advance, keeps them brief, and actually waits for us to invite him in. So here is what I learned: Understand your rights as a tenant. Document everything. Do not be frightened to stand up for yourself. A good security system is worth its weight in gold!
