I'd like to think the registered owner of my building would be, in any other situation, a likable guy. Maybe he isn't but I'd like to think so; however, I've gotten to the point where it simply doesn't matter anymore. When I used to watch TV, I loved watching shows like "The People's Courts and "Judge Judy". I get the feeling he's not familiar with them.
On "The People's Court" Marilyn Millian is fond of quoting her Cuban granny: "Lo barato sale caro" ("Getting something cheap can turn out expensive") whenever something (goods or services) that were too good to be true fell apart. Judith Schendlin has habit of explaining to defendants who sincerely don't understand why they are responsible for damages arising from an accidents: "Sir (or Madam) I believe you aren't a bad person. I'm not saying you are a bad person. And I believe you didn't do this intentionally. That's not what I'm saying. I believe this was an accident but that's we have insurance. You're still responsible for paying the plaintiff's damages." If they continue to not get it, she might explain the concept of a tort a little further but after a while she'll just bang her gavel and declare "Judgement for the Plaintiff in the amount of X dollars. That's all, court is adjourned". At that point they either get it or stand there in shock. IRL court is a lot like that expect civil court judges rarely bother explaining the legal concepts behind their rulings in open court.
I actually enjoyed litigation when I was a legal practitioner; as a litigant, not so much. If I learned anything, it was BE PREPARED, have all the facts and evidence ready to go and make sure you anticipate every legal argument that can be thrown at you. Oh, and don't litigate your own shit. People with legal training tend to get emotionally involved. Besides, I don't have a law degree and I'm not a member of the Bar of any state. Laws, statues, regulations and the rules of court/evidence change all the time. When it comes to things like housing, family law or family money, get someone someone who has experience litigating these issues. Because if it's gotten to the point where court is necessary, I guarantee you have fantasies of strangling someone, stuffing them in the trunk and dumping them in the East River and it will eventually come across in court. If it doesn't, you're either a saint or a psychopath, in which case a judge will likely rule against you just to see your reaction and you'll either be canonized by the Vatican or carted off to the Bellevue Psycho Ward.
OK, maybe not most but you can always appeal if you object on the record and if you'redumb smart enough to litigate your own case, you should already know that so no big whoop to a judge who has better things to do.
It's too bad people don't pay attention to the reasons why a judge on TV rules a certain way. Maybe they'd understand why, even despite good intentions, they still lose and sometimes, lose big (as in "Pay Plaintiff/Petitioner lots of money"). It's also why I did my best to work with my landlord before filing a petition against him; one, it could actually work out for everyone and eliminate the need to go to court and two, at the very least you want to be able to say you did your best to give the landlord a chance to make things right instead of wasting the court's time. Judges in civil courts are notoriously overloaded with cases.
So, when last month I sent the owner an email that said basically "Look, the apartment next door is empty, let me move my stuff there and fix my dump or else I'll take you court seven days from today" I believe he wants to do the right thing because he agreed. Also, he seems smarter that the average landlord. Win-win for everyone, right?
Unfortunately, no.
My hardwood floors are a mess. The housing inspectors (yes, plural) have all agreed and written him up for violations on several occasions. Then there's the cockroach infestations (which happens because there's no exterminator service).The broken window. The lopsided and rotten cabinets in the kitchen, courtesy of the tenant upstairs who got high and forgot to turn the faucet off in the kitchen. Or bathroom. Or both. The kitchen floor tiles that have rust all over them and are in pieces, thanks to the afore-mentioned tenant. A bathroom with water damage and a rusted tub. Walls that have primer instead of paint. An apartment door lock that's loose. There's more but you get the picture.
Of course, this would not be complete with NO HEAT. When it drops below freezing.
Did I mention the mold in the east bedroom? Thanks to missing/non-existent mortar between bricks and/or a leaking roof, I have water coming into a room when I am suppose to sleep. During an inspection November 3, it earned a Class "C" violation, making it an emergency that has to be fixed within seven days or the City of New York does it for him and sends him a bill. I suppose that's why the super came in, rubbed his bare hands all over it and declared "It's not mold" instead of sending someone experienced in mold remediation to abate it before the inspection. I was aghast. The super rubbed the mold, trying to make it go away, like he was rubbing suntan lotion on a hot babe at the beach. No, seriously. I'm sure there are mold spores in my hair right now, FFS.
But that's not all. Yesterday, after moving all my stuff next door all week (into an empty apartment), the guys the landlord uses show up to repair, sand and apply polyurethane to my floors. They bring a commercial sander.
It's rated for 220 volts. In America, consumer electronics are rated 110 so outlets are nearly all 110 volts (unless you use something like a washer/dryer combo that uses a metric fuckton of electricity and requires a 220 outlet and the manufacturer makes sure you sign and understand ONLY A LICENSED ELECTRICIAN is qualified to install a 220 outlet; otherwise, you're going to fry yourself to Kentucky Fried Chicken extra-crispy status). Modern homes will have 220 volt electric service built into the house but old buildings (like mine, built in 1915) do not have 220 volt capability, usually pre-war buildings that have not had electrical upgrades. Hell, electricity was an afterthought in my building-shit, we still have gas lines in the ceilings since the building initially used gas lighting, that's how old this dump is.
I didn't care for the guy who came to do the floors. He did a piss-poor job next door and I asked him what he planned to do in my apartment and he tried to brush me off with "I'M A FLOOR MECHANIC HURR DON'T QUESTION ME" (lol @ floor mechanic).
Let's be honest here: you can rent a sander from Home Depot and do this shit yourself, get decent stain and sealant/polyurethane and it'll look great regardless. It's not rocket science and in fact, I've done it before. Also, this is New York City. I have plenty of neighbors who realized "Why the fuck should I bust my ass in an office for a lousy pay when I can remodel apartments and charge real money?" I mean, I literally walk out the door and talk to my neighbors about this crap. It still is, for the most part, a working-class Irish neighborhood west of Broadway and Dominicans/Hispanic east of Broadway, despite pricey co-ops and condos next to the park.
"I'M A PROFESSIONAL LITTLE LADY" doesn't impress me when you're talking to me about sanding and finishing wood since I do all my own furniture as well but at this point I just wanted to get this over and done with.
Anyway, this skinny guy says "Oh hey, we're just going to plug the machine right in here" the "here" being in my GODDAMN FUSE BOX. That's right, he had stripped the wires from the sander and had taken the door and plate off the FUSE BOX and was ready to start fucking around A LIVE FUSE BOX.
WITH VERY REAL ELECTRICITY GOING RIGHT THROUGH IT AS WE SPOKE.
Just so you know, the three 110 lines in my apartment are powered by a 100 amp cartridge fuse. Meaning the maximum amount of amperage those lines can take COMBINED is 100 amps. A machine pulling 220 volts can pull more than 100 amps but whatever, it's highly illegal for a landlord to send anyone who is not a licensed or union electrician to tamper with wiring in case shit blows up.
I REALLY COULD NOT BELIEVE THIS BULLSHIT SO I HAD TO MAKE SURE. "You're going to do what now?" He repeated himself so yes, it was true, he was going to stick that shit into my fuse box. "It can be done" he insisted.
Yeah, and I could probably steer a car using my butt cheeks but that doesn't mean I should do it.
"Nope" I answered, "not happening." "Oh well" he replied, "we don't sand the floors". As if that's worth risking a fire. The agent came by and I ended everything with "Do you want me to call an inspector? Because he will shut everything down in here." Not to mentions fines and so on. And probably "Are you serious or out of your mind and what the fuck" in addition.
Instead, he sent some guys to give me a new kitchen floor (who were nice, funny and did a good job-not perfect but at least they weren't going to blow shit up). Two hours later, the sander dude comes back with "OH HEY FOUND AN EXTENSION CORD I CAN NOW PLUG INTO THE 220 OUTLET IN BASEMENT" except that I now had different guys working in different areas. I politely deferred everything to agent, who nixed it. I mean, why not do that in the first place, blockhead?
All this nonsense gave me a migraine for the past two days (this one guy came to help move boxes who could not understand simple directions, bitched about dust and cats hair although he lives in the basement with the super who has, like ten cats and wore a mask so I told them don't send him back but of course they did). I was eating painkillers like crazy and it still wouldn't go away. Today the agent sent me an email telling me to move all my boxes/furniture back by tonight. So, let's recap: I packed everything and moved it next door for nothing except a kitchen floor (which, course, did not require me to empty out the apartment). I still have mold and splintering wood floors with holes in then.
IT WAS ALL FOR NOTHING. OK, THANKS.
I get the feeling when I this all gets to Housing Court, it'll be like Judge Judy because, despite what I'm sure the owner thinks are all his good intentions, sending unlicensed contractors who insist on using your fuse box as an outlet isn't the right thing. To be fair, the owner may not have known that but the super certainly did. He knows the guy is lousy super so why he keeps him around is a bit of mystery. Unless the guy is super cheap, in which case he should heed Granny Millian's advice. Oh, and also Judge Schendlin, who will be only too happy to tell you "The road to hell is pave with good intentions."
Once. Before she slams that gavel.
On "The People's Court" Marilyn Millian is fond of quoting her Cuban granny: "Lo barato sale caro" ("Getting something cheap can turn out expensive") whenever something (goods or services) that were too good to be true fell apart. Judith Schendlin has habit of explaining to defendants who sincerely don't understand why they are responsible for damages arising from an accidents: "Sir (or Madam) I believe you aren't a bad person. I'm not saying you are a bad person. And I believe you didn't do this intentionally. That's not what I'm saying. I believe this was an accident but that's we have insurance. You're still responsible for paying the plaintiff's damages." If they continue to not get it, she might explain the concept of a tort a little further but after a while she'll just bang her gavel and declare "Judgement for the Plaintiff in the amount of X dollars. That's all, court is adjourned". At that point they either get it or stand there in shock. IRL court is a lot like that expect civil court judges rarely bother explaining the legal concepts behind their rulings in open court.
I actually enjoyed litigation when I was a legal practitioner; as a litigant, not so much. If I learned anything, it was BE PREPARED, have all the facts and evidence ready to go and make sure you anticipate every legal argument that can be thrown at you. Oh, and don't litigate your own shit. People with legal training tend to get emotionally involved. Besides, I don't have a law degree and I'm not a member of the Bar of any state. Laws, statues, regulations and the rules of court/evidence change all the time. When it comes to things like housing, family law or family money, get someone someone who has experience litigating these issues. Because if it's gotten to the point where court is necessary, I guarantee you have fantasies of strangling someone, stuffing them in the trunk and dumping them in the East River and it will eventually come across in court. If it doesn't, you're either a saint or a psychopath, in which case a judge will likely rule against you just to see your reaction and you'll either be canonized by the Vatican or carted off to the Bellevue Psycho Ward.
OK, maybe not most but you can always appeal if you object on the record and if you're
It's too bad people don't pay attention to the reasons why a judge on TV rules a certain way. Maybe they'd understand why, even despite good intentions, they still lose and sometimes, lose big (as in "Pay Plaintiff/Petitioner lots of money"). It's also why I did my best to work with my landlord before filing a petition against him; one, it could actually work out for everyone and eliminate the need to go to court and two, at the very least you want to be able to say you did your best to give the landlord a chance to make things right instead of wasting the court's time. Judges in civil courts are notoriously overloaded with cases.
So, when last month I sent the owner an email that said basically "Look, the apartment next door is empty, let me move my stuff there and fix my dump or else I'll take you court seven days from today" I believe he wants to do the right thing because he agreed. Also, he seems smarter that the average landlord. Win-win for everyone, right?
Unfortunately, no.
My hardwood floors are a mess. The housing inspectors (yes, plural) have all agreed and written him up for violations on several occasions. Then there's the cockroach infestations (which happens because there's no exterminator service).The broken window. The lopsided and rotten cabinets in the kitchen, courtesy of the tenant upstairs who got high and forgot to turn the faucet off in the kitchen. Or bathroom. Or both. The kitchen floor tiles that have rust all over them and are in pieces, thanks to the afore-mentioned tenant. A bathroom with water damage and a rusted tub. Walls that have primer instead of paint. An apartment door lock that's loose. There's more but you get the picture.
Of course, this would not be complete with NO HEAT. When it drops below freezing.
Did I mention the mold in the east bedroom? Thanks to missing/non-existent mortar between bricks and/or a leaking roof, I have water coming into a room when I am suppose to sleep. During an inspection November 3, it earned a Class "C" violation, making it an emergency that has to be fixed within seven days or the City of New York does it for him and sends him a bill. I suppose that's why the super came in, rubbed his bare hands all over it and declared "It's not mold" instead of sending someone experienced in mold remediation to abate it before the inspection. I was aghast. The super rubbed the mold, trying to make it go away, like he was rubbing suntan lotion on a hot babe at the beach. No, seriously. I'm sure there are mold spores in my hair right now, FFS.
But that's not all. Yesterday, after moving all my stuff next door all week (into an empty apartment), the guys the landlord uses show up to repair, sand and apply polyurethane to my floors. They bring a commercial sander.
It's rated for 220 volts. In America, consumer electronics are rated 110 so outlets are nearly all 110 volts (unless you use something like a washer/dryer combo that uses a metric fuckton of electricity and requires a 220 outlet and the manufacturer makes sure you sign and understand ONLY A LICENSED ELECTRICIAN is qualified to install a 220 outlet; otherwise, you're going to fry yourself to Kentucky Fried Chicken extra-crispy status). Modern homes will have 220 volt electric service built into the house but old buildings (like mine, built in 1915) do not have 220 volt capability, usually pre-war buildings that have not had electrical upgrades. Hell, electricity was an afterthought in my building-shit, we still have gas lines in the ceilings since the building initially used gas lighting, that's how old this dump is.
I didn't care for the guy who came to do the floors. He did a piss-poor job next door and I asked him what he planned to do in my apartment and he tried to brush me off with "I'M A FLOOR MECHANIC HURR DON'T QUESTION ME" (lol @ floor mechanic).
Let's be honest here: you can rent a sander from Home Depot and do this shit yourself, get decent stain and sealant/polyurethane and it'll look great regardless. It's not rocket science and in fact, I've done it before. Also, this is New York City. I have plenty of neighbors who realized "Why the fuck should I bust my ass in an office for a lousy pay when I can remodel apartments and charge real money?" I mean, I literally walk out the door and talk to my neighbors about this crap. It still is, for the most part, a working-class Irish neighborhood west of Broadway and Dominicans/Hispanic east of Broadway, despite pricey co-ops and condos next to the park.
"I'M A PROFESSIONAL LITTLE LADY" doesn't impress me when you're talking to me about sanding and finishing wood since I do all my own furniture as well but at this point I just wanted to get this over and done with.
Anyway, this skinny guy says "Oh hey, we're just going to plug the machine right in here" the "here" being in my GODDAMN FUSE BOX. That's right, he had stripped the wires from the sander and had taken the door and plate off the FUSE BOX and was ready to start fucking around A LIVE FUSE BOX.
WITH VERY REAL ELECTRICITY GOING RIGHT THROUGH IT AS WE SPOKE.
Just so you know, the three 110 lines in my apartment are powered by a 100 amp cartridge fuse. Meaning the maximum amount of amperage those lines can take COMBINED is 100 amps. A machine pulling 220 volts can pull more than 100 amps but whatever, it's highly illegal for a landlord to send anyone who is not a licensed or union electrician to tamper with wiring in case shit blows up.
I REALLY COULD NOT BELIEVE THIS BULLSHIT SO I HAD TO MAKE SURE. "You're going to do what now?" He repeated himself so yes, it was true, he was going to stick that shit into my fuse box. "It can be done" he insisted.
Yeah, and I could probably steer a car using my butt cheeks but that doesn't mean I should do it.
"Nope" I answered, "not happening." "Oh well" he replied, "we don't sand the floors". As if that's worth risking a fire. The agent came by and I ended everything with "Do you want me to call an inspector? Because he will shut everything down in here." Not to mentions fines and so on. And probably "Are you serious or out of your mind and what the fuck" in addition.
Instead, he sent some guys to give me a new kitchen floor (who were nice, funny and did a good job-not perfect but at least they weren't going to blow shit up). Two hours later, the sander dude comes back with "OH HEY FOUND AN EXTENSION CORD I CAN NOW PLUG INTO THE 220 OUTLET IN BASEMENT" except that I now had different guys working in different areas. I politely deferred everything to agent, who nixed it. I mean, why not do that in the first place, blockhead?
All this nonsense gave me a migraine for the past two days (this one guy came to help move boxes who could not understand simple directions, bitched about dust and cats hair although he lives in the basement with the super who has, like ten cats and wore a mask so I told them don't send him back but of course they did). I was eating painkillers like crazy and it still wouldn't go away. Today the agent sent me an email telling me to move all my boxes/furniture back by tonight. So, let's recap: I packed everything and moved it next door for nothing except a kitchen floor (which, course, did not require me to empty out the apartment). I still have mold and splintering wood floors with holes in then.
IT WAS ALL FOR NOTHING. OK, THANKS.
I get the feeling when I this all gets to Housing Court, it'll be like Judge Judy because, despite what I'm sure the owner thinks are all his good intentions, sending unlicensed contractors who insist on using your fuse box as an outlet isn't the right thing. To be fair, the owner may not have known that but the super certainly did. He knows the guy is lousy super so why he keeps him around is a bit of mystery. Unless the guy is super cheap, in which case he should heed Granny Millian's advice. Oh, and also Judge Schendlin, who will be only too happy to tell you "The road to hell is pave with good intentions."
Once. Before she slams that gavel.
