When Paige moved into her old apartment, she instantly noticed the lack of a washing machine and dishwasher. She decided to buy her own appliances, thinking it was a simple solution. But when she tried to take them with her upon moving out, her entitled ex-landlord refused to let her go without a fight, not knowing she had a lesson in store for him.
At 25, getting my own place was a breath of fresh air, especially after living under the thumb of Mr. Robinson, my old landlord, for a year. Let me tell you, it’s quite the story.
My old apartment didn’t have a washing machine or a dishwasher. When I first saw the place, Mr. Robinson greeted me with a smug look on his face like he was doing me a huge favor by renting it out. There was enough room for one person, but the place clearly showed its age with peeling paint and tattered furniture.
“We don’t have a washing machine or dishwasher?” I asked. Mr. Robinson shrugged. “Most tenants don’t mind. You can always use the laundromat down the street,” he said. After moving in, I bought my own washing machine and dishwasher.
Fast forward one month. I found a better apartment closer to work and gave Mr. Robinson the required notice. On moving day, as I was unplugging the washing machine, Mr. Robinson barged in. “Where do you think you’re going with those?” he demanded. “They belong to the apartment now.”
“Excuse me? I bought them with my own money. They’re mine,” I argued. “No, they’ve been here long enough. They’re part of the apartment now! If you take them, I’ll deduct the cost from your security deposit.”
Frustration bubbled up inside me. “Fine!” I yelled, losing my cool. “If you’re so adamant, I’ll get a lawyer to sort this out.” He started to laugh. “You? A stupid waitress?” he sneered.
At 25, getting my own place was a breath of fresh air, especially after living under the thumb of Mr. Robinson, my old landlord, for a year. Let me tell you, it’s quite the story.
My old apartment didn’t have a washing machine or a dishwasher. When I first saw the place, Mr. Robinson greeted me with a smug look on his face like he was doing me a huge favor by renting it out. There was enough room for one person, but the place clearly showed its age with peeling paint and tattered furniture.
“We don’t have a washing machine or dishwasher?” I asked. Mr. Robinson shrugged. “Most tenants don’t mind. You can always use the laundromat down the street,” he said. After moving in, I bought my own washing machine and dishwasher.
Fast forward one month. I found a better apartment closer to work and gave Mr. Robinson the required notice. On moving day, as I was unplugging the washing machine, Mr. Robinson barged in. “Where do you think you’re going with those?” he demanded. “They belong to the apartment now.”
“Excuse me? I bought them with my own money. They’re mine,” I argued. “No, they’ve been here long enough. They’re part of the apartment now! If you take them, I’ll deduct the cost from your security deposit.”
Frustration bubbled up inside me. “Fine!” I yelled, losing my cool. “If you’re so adamant, I’ll get a lawyer to sort this out.” He started to laugh. “You? A stupid waitress?” he sneered.
The next day, I called my friend Kevin, a handyman. “Don’t worry, Paige. I have an idea,” he said. When Kevin arrived, we quickly got to work. “Let’s take out the power cords and hoses first,” Kevin suggested. “We’ll remove the essential parts and leave the shells behind.”
Just two days later, while I was settling into my new apartment, my phone rang. It was Mr. Robinson. “Please, DON’T DO THIS!” he begged. “I’ll give you your security deposit back!” I played dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Robinson. I just took what was mine.”
A few hours later, my phone rang again. This time, Mr. Robinson was practically in tears. “I’ll return your full security deposit and give you an additional $200 for the inconvenience,” he offered. I pretended to hesitate. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the apartment,” I said.
When I arrived, Mr. Robinson was waiting anxiously. I had a box with all the parts, but I made sure he handed me the cash first. He looked relieved as he took the box from me. “Thank you, Paige,” he said, opening the box. But the moment he saw the contents, his face fell. “This isn’t everything!” he exclaimed. “Where are the power cords?”
I shrugged. “Oh, I must have misplaced those. I’ll have to look for them. Maybe in a week or two?”
“You can’t do this!” Mr. Robinson’s face turned red with frustration.
“Remember, Mr. Robinson, you tried to take my things first. Consider this a lesson from a ‘stupid waitress’ in respecting other people’s property.”
Later that evening, I met up with Kevin to thank him. “Can you believe he actually thought he could keep your appliances?” Kevin said, shaking his head. “I know, right?” I replied. “It feels good to have stood up to him and won.”
Kevin nodded. “Well, you did great. Here’s to your new apartment and no more Mr. Robinson!”
