I am pleased to report that my former deadbeat tenant, who I wrote about recently having to evict for failing to pay rent, has departed. She left Thursday night, which was great because the legal notice I served her specified she had to be out by noon on Friday. I’m glad I didn’t have to worry about her leaving with my furniture while I was at work on Friday, and that it was all over with ahead of the legal deadline –I seriously didn’t want to have to file with the courts to have her forcibly removed.
When she left, she didn’t speak to me at all. In fact, she made every effort not to be within my sight for the two weeks she was under eviction notice. Her male friend brought the keys up to me, and she left without asking about her deposit (which she’ll never see again, believe me) and she did not complete a move out inspection report. The garbage was not removed from the suite, and I made fifteen bucks on the liquor bottles she left behind. Nothing was damaged, thank goodness, but the suite has most certainly not been cleaned.
The Electrician commented that the basement smelled like a nightclub: sweat, booze, and cheap perfume.
In all, I’m really grateful it all panned out without me having to get the authorities involved, and I don’t have to repair or replace anything in my furnished basement suite. What we have here is a TGIO situation: Thank Goodness It’s Over. The locks are changed (thanks Dad) so neither the former tenant or her unsavoury friends will be in my house again. It’s all tied up with a bow, really.
The last couple days have been great because I don’t have to worry about disturbing the person living downstairs. I suppose it makes me a good landlady that I make every effort to be respectful of the tenant by being pretty quiet and making sure my pets and guests operate at a relatively low volume too.
Since she’s been gone, though, I’ve been having a heck of a time. I was singing my heart out at midnight last night, and I am doing load after load of laundry tonight, and I didn’t get home from my aquasize class to find the tenant had beat me to the clothes washer. I can watch terrible tv movies as loud as I want to, which is somehow thrilling.
Perhaps we should do something really fun while I’m waiting for a new (hopefully SO much better than the last) tenant. How about a Rock Band marathon? Perhaps I could invite some friends over for a line-dancing extravaganza. I could learn to yodel. Sherman could learn to yodel! I could go buy tap shoes and pretend I’m in a movie from the 40’s.
Oh man, I need to live this up. Unfortunately, there are several dozen papers between me and fun right now. At least I can wail and weep about comma splices and subject-pronoun agreement at the top of my lungs, right?
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