The Last Straw
When I first met Christina, the landlady of the apartment I’ve been renting, she seemed like a pure angel. Just full of sunshine and happiness, eager to help with every last little detail and always positive about issues and questions. That lasted a little while.
Now, the apartment has some nice things about it. One thing I absolutely loved was that no one lived above me or below me, just in an adjacent building. This means I could crank music up fairly loud at any given hour and no one got upset by it. That’s gold, to me: I’m an audiophile.
It’s got hardwood floors, leather furniture and a spa bathtub all of which I like very much.
The bedroom closet space is twice of what you see here.
The living room has some decent storage space as well, once again you see about half. Pardon the mess, as you’ll see I’m moving…
I believe Christina still lives in the communist times, in her mind. She imagines herself as something of an elitist and while she parades around like one, I can assure you she is not a wealthy member of the Politburo. She does have a willing servant named Mariana who resembles a small, hardworking dog that executes every command faithfully for a few scraps off the table.
The apartment I rented and moved into was supposed to come with a washing machine. It had one when I did the walkthrough and it had one the day I signed the contract. But on moving day, it was gone. My first reaction was to complain and her first response was to come up with fanciful stories about where the washing machine had disappeared to and why. In the end, she offered to have Mariana wash my clothes.
Some strange woman handling my unmentionables? Not on your life. I declined the offer and opted to keep the laundry duties in-house. That means manual washing, my American friends. Something of which we know little about, even though it’s not unheard of around these parts. Still, it’s an unwelcome chore considering the price of the apartment.
Under the pretense of apology, she offered to have the servant do the clothes and I voluntary declined. Later, I would come to understand that she probably would have tried to charged me for the service!
Another move-in mishap was when I discovered that my stove had been moved out of the kitchen and into an adjoining closet pantry space.
I was flabbergasted. What in the world could she possibly have been thinking? Well, she explained it was “the modern way of doing things” and I literally laughed out loud. Preposterous!
It turns out she was having a new water heater installed and basically didn’t want to pay the installers to pipe gas to both the heater and the stove, so she just ordered the construction guys to physically moved the stove out of the kitchen and into the pantry closet next to the water heater. Ridiculous.
Dear readers, I admit I was a sucker; although I complained most profusely about the bizarre arrangement being completely untenable, she had a quick-tongued counter arguement each time. Eventually after a week of not cooking at home (who can cook in a closet?!), I blinked. Yes, I paid to have them come back, move the stove, spilt the pipe, drill the wall, and reconnect the gas in the kitched because she steadfastly refused to pay.
Her next move during my first week was to have two guys come in and start taking away my refridgerator, unannounced.
I’d had enough and put a stop to it. Oh, sure, she tried to convince me that she would put in another one which was just fine, but this one was brand new and she needed it elsewhere (probably her own place). Nossir, I would have none of it. I put on my mean face, physically blocked progress, and the fridge stayed exactly where it was. It’s damn nice! I wasn’t about to let it go just because she was a bit pushy.
Of course, the aforementioned gas heater was a bust. The water fluctuates between hot and cold on an irregular basis. Mostly, it does faithfully follow your commands, but sometimes you get surprised. I chalked that up to “living in Romania.”
The water heater would break about once a month, like clockwork. It turns out the installers had done something wrong with the condensation collecting portion… or some such thing, but we didn’t find that out until recently. Once, the heater blew the electricity in the kitchen and we had to have an electrician come out. She tried to foist the charges on me, claiming I must have plugged in “something” that blew it, but I fought tooth and nail. This time, I refused to pay. It was her problem.
She stormed out in a rage. That was her mistake, because as soon as I was alone with the electrician, I got him to fix the flickering lights in the bedroom which were caused by visibly faulty wiring… and she ended up paying for that, too. As well she should, you might think.
I was glad when the heater and wiring were fixed, which made the coming winter much more bearable.
But about the communist mentality. As the owner, living next door to me in another section of the adjoining house, she has keys. Not long after I moved in, she decided now and then just to let herself inside for no particular reason (oh, sure, this or that pretense) but you can imagine my disgust. I was outraged and I let her know about it on the second offense. And the third and fourth. As one of those Americans, I tend to value my privacy very deeply and I don’t see why I should suffer some old bat to come in when I’m doing who knows what.
Eventually, she slowed that activity down, but it happened a handful of other times.
What else? She actually opened my mail. Again, must be an American thing, but if the mail has my name on it, you ought not open it. It’s not yours! She gave the excuse that she was concerned about what bills I was running up, in case somehow the debts became hers… which is, of course, ridiculous. Did I mention she was crazy? I had to get in her face about this issue and she did stop. It was exasperating that I should have to even bother, however. My expenses and details and private correspondence are mine and mine alone; period, end of story. No if, ands, or buts.
The last straw was the bathroom toilet. Just when I thought everything was under control.
So, I was gone somewhere on a short trip and returned to find two guys busily working away in the bathroom. After some inquiries, it turns out Christina had sold the adjoining house to someone and would soon be moving upstairs above me. I was about to lose my loud music privileges and have to be a civil neighbor again.
In preparation, these guys had been modifying the upstairs attic into a low-ceiling apartment, of sorts. One of their tasks was to get her a bathroom set up and that meant joining a sewage pipe to my drainage. No problem!
Well, it was a circus of amateurs. These guys were nice fellows but no engineering geniuses. They removed the toilet and began installing a new one. During this process, they cut a hole in the ceiling and put in some new plastic pipes. The result of the new pipes was that the new toilet could no longer be flush (no pun intended) with the wall and now had to stick out half a meter/yard which effectively made the bathroom a little more claustrophobic.
The fun part was they didn’t finish the job that day. No, they left a non-working toilet precariously perched upon some wobble brick stones with leaking pipes and all.
When I approached the landlady Christina about this, she feigned ignorance and pretended to be surprised they had left the restroom in such a condition. Her advice? Use the bathtub until the toilet is fixed.
Really. She said that.
Uh, yeah. So, it was arranged that I could call her at any time I needed to use her bathroom, should the need arise because I wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea of “using the bathtub.” No doubt that inconvenienced the poor thing when she got my call during late hours.
The guys came back, of course, to pour concrete around some of the stones. They were going to form a base and later tile it. But it had to dry for a few days first.
Yeah. So, she got more late calls.
At some point the toilet seemed stable and I was able to resume using it again, thankfully. They came back nearly a week later and removed the toilet so that they could lay down the tiles.
Uh huh. More calls.
Eventually, these clowns finished up by repositioning the toilet on this little platform. It looks ridiculous, takes up way too much space in already tight quarters, and feels really awkward to climb upon (whether standing or sitting) but technically it does work.
By the way, you may notice below that the bathroom has 4 different sets of green tile. Four.
As if all this weren’t enough, she moved in upstairs immediately. Now, when you’re in the bathroom shaving your face, using the toilet, or trying to take a long, hot relaxing bath… her toilet suddenly flushes and down comes the loudest racket you’ve ever heard as though someone had thrown a handful of marbles and small potatoes down that rickety plastic pipe, each object bouncing off the walls like it was a pinball game. The first few times literally startled me.
Just look at that.
That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, folks. I’m moving. Very soon.
April 21st, 2006 at 11:32 pm
Things you were talking about should be described in very detail in the apartment rent contract, which protects you from all misunderstandings and Christina’s simplicity.
Washing clothes by hand must be very tough ;) I still remember myself in student years, living in dorm (in Kiev) and washing my clothes…sometimes. I always used very simple method: you put your clothes in basket with warm water and detergent, leave it for couple of days and then rinse it. Sorta fresh and clean (but still stinky).
April 21st, 2006 at 11:32 pm
Sorry to hear you’re getting such a hard time. Your landlady sounds like what we call “baba absoluta.” I wish you better luck in the future :)
April 21st, 2006 at 11:36 pm
We call such sort of people in Ukraine - sovok (coming from word “Soviet”). Another meaning of that word is dustpan.
April 22nd, 2006 at 2:49 am
ohmy! i laughed out loud when i read this. not at your misfortune, just the memories of my own good times… i had one landlord i called dl. smecher - and that was on the good days. i had another who was passive aggressive. one who would come over, smoke like a chimney in the kitchen and stay for hours talking. he actually made me cry because i couldn’t get rid of him. i did finally get a great landlord at the very end. he might well have been the best landlord i’ve EVER had.
my favorite landlord line, while we were arguing about a 3 million lei electric bill left by the previous tenant - “of course that’s your electric bill for the last three months. everyone knows women use more electricity!”
step 1 in new apartment - change the lock. give the landlord a key that doesn’t work.
meanwhile, enjoy your toilet throne!
April 22nd, 2006 at 4:53 am
wait - the four different kinds of green tile are driving you out of this eden? did i read that right?
April 22nd, 2006 at 10:41 am
now i don’t want to stereotype any group of people but it’s just not the communist culture of your landlord but i think most of the eastern european culture in general - speaking from my own family experience and that of friends of mine here - but it’s part of the lifestyle and much more pronounced with the older folks - yep lack of boundaries :) especially difficult for americans i think…along with this comes some benefits too…for me i get to have an adopted family here, the opportunity to speak in ro, sometimes traditional foods and baked goodies - i admit ur landlord is a bit extreme unfortunately it doesn’t seem that your enjoying any of the benefits :(
as for your clothes - i have an american friend living here in cluj also and she too was washing her clothes by hand and then found a place where she could bring her clothes and they wash them - the price is lugging weighty wet clothes back home and lugging them up 6 flights of stairs…or of course there’s always just buying ur own machine.
April 22nd, 2006 at 11:39 am
I’m glad you can all laugh at my misery. It’s certainly been a devolving trial.
Cherolex, there are some details spelled out in the contract to be sure, but my Romanian language skills are weak and my legal knowledge covers only the basics. The contract was misplaced for a while and by the time it was found again, things were already on a platform of praticality.
Turns out she never registered the contract anyway, in order to avoid taxes. (That an eastern Europe thing. To me, having to “register” a contract with some “authority” is a Big F’ing Joke… a holdover of communism. In the free world, a contract is a contract.)
Raluca, I’m still picking up the slang here, but your “baba absoluta” got some big laughs from my friends.
Cherolex, heheh, that’s a nice coincidence. We’d like to imagine that Soviets are indeed in the dustpan. (At least, most places.)
Mamaliga, yes you’re right… I failed to mention how she likes to smoke inside my apartment. My friends and guests know you can smoke as much as you like at Romerican’s apartment, so long as you do it outside. She doesn’t care. AND THIS WAS WHILE THEY WERE WORKING ON THE GAS! AND!! THEY WERE SMOKING TOO! Now, I’m not much of a wimp, but that’s just F’ing stupid.
Arguing over the electrical bill of a previous tenant does make me laugh (and worried). But you know, dear, its true everyone knows that women DO use more electricity. Heh.
Oooh, I thought about changing the lock. It seemed like it would be a wasted expense as she’s one of those crazy ladies who has a 6th sense of all movement on her property. As soon as the locksmith shows up, you can bet she’ll standing outside my door waiting to get a correct (and tested) key. So, it would defeat the purpose.
Throne is hilarious. And precisely how it feels.
Thanks for pointing out the tiles. You’re right that it was misleading in the context. I’ve now rewritten a couple different sections (including an all new tale/paragraph!) so that it eliminates the confusion.
Gangsta Gyrl, I got one benefit once: Mucenici. And even that was the result of Mariana begging the Mistress to share. Lack of boundaries is not only difficult for Americans (and you’re right it is especially difficult for us, as we’re used to some degree of freedom and not communism) but it is difficult for most any adult! I can’t beleive it had to be explained more than once that I am not her child and she cannot just waltz in to satisfy her desires to see me in the nude.
Washing clothes manually tends to suck. Now, I’ve done the patented “Cherolex Method” when travelling long distances before, but in this apartment some effort goes into making them genuinely clean. I’ve thought about buying a washing machine here, but it just pisses me the F off because I got burned on it in the first place and shouldn’t have to incur the expense.
Besides, have you seen the washing machines? They are the size of a bucket. A bucket!
My American friends, in Romania, they sell you an bucket-sized washing machine for… are you ready? For $400 or more. It’s a joke!
My Romanian friends, in America it is possible to spend $1000 or more on a washing machine. But that’s not common. What is common is to get a washing machine roughly 5 to 7 times larger than Romanian ones… and pay only $200.
You can imagine I fail to see the bargain in paying for a Romanian automated washing bucket. I’ve not yet gotten that crazy. (Maybe I should post about this in the future.)
April 22nd, 2006 at 11:54 pm
I am beginning to worry that America is giving me a feeling of entitlement. You should hear me talk about my rights as a tenant, the need for my landlords to respect the contract, the need for my privacy and for them to replace the broken fridge (they did it without even asking a question).
You should get the “bloc de pensionari” experience to complete your trials and tribulations. That’s what I went through in Bucharest. I was accused of wearing heels, raping women, having six people live with me, not paying my utilities on time etc etc etc.
I miss noticing the peepholes with old folks behind them as I walked down the corridor down to my door. Great times.
April 23rd, 2006 at 2:21 am
I don’t view it as entitlement. I think you are on the track to healing, in fact. As a tenant, you do deserve some rights and they aren’t that complicated. Privacy being chief among them.
Do people abuse it in America? I suppose a select few do, but not many.
Do they abuse it in Romania? Not even close. Landlords abuse the people like it was 1847 or something.
I don’t pay the landlady’s mortgage so she can act like a bigshot. That’s bovine feces.
April 23rd, 2006 at 6:28 am
no, no, no… you’ve got it all wrong. you pay rent so you can enjoy all these little adventures. seriously - where else would you get an up close and personal view of people smoking while working with gas? when else would someone SERIOUSLY tell you to use the bathtub for a toilet? how else would you learn about the joys of having your stove in a room other than the kitchen? you pay for the entertainment. the apartment is incidental. thought you knew that by now.
April 23rd, 2006 at 7:43 am
sounds like the landlord from hell….someday you will look back on this and laugh too as those photos are unbelievable!!!!….but until then, happy trails & better times somewhere else
April 24th, 2006 at 2:00 pm
I’ve had to handwash my stuff for a while too. It must be some kind of rite of passage. :/
And I’ve seen an elevated toilet here as well. I hate that. Especially because it’s too elderly people I know who live there and I think it’s kind of dangerous for them to be trying to balance on this platform like that, but…what can you do.
April 24th, 2006 at 6:22 pm
Hi there - as a Peace Corps vol here in Romunia I can look at this post and grin, although honestly, had I never come here, I would have suspected that you were a bit of a primadonna. I am very lucky to have a landlord who is not only a kind old man, but he also pays my bills. Yep, each month he collects the bills, pays them, then presents me with them and I hand over the cash. Considering that he is retired and I am a scatterbrain, all is well.
I guess my closest parallel with your landlord would be my counterpart with whom I was assigned to work at the local school. Man, what a crueal and domineering woman. I think the combination of Communist-era depravity and the new influx of big bucks has seriously screwed people up. I get so disgusted about all the church stuff I see everywhere when in all honestly a little kindness would go a lot further than another icon… take care.
April 25th, 2006 at 7:27 am
gut for ze spoilt amerikan, no?
April 25th, 2006 at 11:26 am
mamaliga, I certainly got my money’s worth! =]
anonymous, y’all are helping me start to laugh already.
Anonymous Expat, I also saw it as a rite of passage at the time, but I expect it will be coming to an end here any day now. And you’re right about wobbly toilets for the elderly. Unless it is very securely fashioned in place (maybe with those handicap rails, too), then my experience is that it’s none too stable. Although, I can’t believe I actually have thoughts on the matter…
matt, moi? primadonna? I suppose we call be primadonnas in little ways here and there, but I try to do a decent job of rolling up my sleeves when it comes to cultural acclimation. Of course, that does not mean I’m willing to suffer undue abuse that isn’t part of the cultural experience. However, hehe, it may be that landlord abuse in Romania is indeed part of the cultural experience and I’m becoming closer to being a native as a result.
My landlady does the same thing with *some* of the bills. She pays the gas and electricity because the bills are in her name, then she presents me with my portion of the costs (which I review and pay). In those cases, of course, I have no objection to opening of mail — because it’s not in my name!
I definitely agree with you that a sad percentage of the population is wretchedly shattered by a combination of old communist mentality and the influx of dollars. All foreigners are perceived as a get-rich-quick opportunity. But, I tell ya, buddy, I ain’t da one!
maximus, character building and puts hair on your chest! ;] Glad you enjoyed the sniggering.
April 25th, 2006 at 5:31 pm
like a monkey fuckin’ a football… great post, man… hilarious…
April 26th, 2006 at 11:45 am
Well… The landlord this guy had when he was a student is certainly much funnier. :-)
(sorry, the link is in Romanian)
http://forum.oltcit.ro/viewtopic.php?t=507
May 1st, 2006 at 11:12 pm
that’s just awful. The thing about reading your mail and coming in and out of your place just makes my hackles rise. I’ve got this thing about the sanctity of privacy too. She is way out to lunch!
good luck finding a new place.