I’ve rented, and I’ve owned; and I don’t know if the rest of the U.S. knows this, but in a lot of ways, renting is better.
Grass getting long? Furnace not furnace-ing? Concerned that the downstairs guy may be raising ferrets without a license? None of this is your problem! Call the landlord!
The only thing worse than owning your own home?
Renting one out.
That’s right. Take your shots! I’m a landlord.
Look at that word: landlord. Doesn’t that look romantic? I mean, you have land, you have lording, what’s not to love?
Would you believe the tenants?
I really should’ve thought this whole landlording thing over more carefully.
I’m tired, ladies and gentlemen. Tired of “I know we signed a lease in September, but we broke up and neither of us want to stay”. Tired of “I know my rent was due a week ago, but I had unexpected bills and don’t have enough money!” Tired of “Sorry to call so late, but our toilet hasn’t flushed for almost a week now…”
Clearly, I am being punished.
I’ve gone over, in my head, the list of offenses of which I am guilty and heretowith offer myself up for proper rebuke.
I didn’t pay for lunch for a full week in 12th grade due to an office error and never told them.
I have given away prescription pain pills to friends in pain.
I scowl more often than I intend to.
There’s more, but already I fear I’ve lost your respect.
So now what?
Is it too late to rent a place with me as the landlord?
Of Borders and lines
8 hours ago