Living in a rented apartment became a nightmare when my landlord turned my life into hell. From sneaking into my bathroom unannounced to brutally raising the rent, he did it all. After years of his torment, I finally snapped. What I did next made him regret ever crossing me.
Hey everyone, Celine here! Living in a rented apartment can have its perks, but nosy landlords? Not so much. Imagine taking a relaxing bath and suddenly… your landlord knocks on your bathroom door. Weird, I know! Well, it happened to me. And it’s not the only thing my landlord did to make my life a living hell…
For four long years, I’ve been stuck in this apartment with Mr. Wildrick as my landlord, and let me tell you, it’s been pure hell. This guy’s turned my home into a battleground.
The day I ended up in the ER with mold poisoning? Yeah, that was because Mr. High-and-Mighty forbade me from calling in professionals to deal with the black stuff growing in my bathroom.
“It’s just a little dampness,” he said. Sure, tell that to my burning lungs and pounding headache.
And don’t even get me started on his surprise visits. I swear, the man has a sixth sense for showing up at the worst possible moments.
Taking a shower? There’s Mr. Wildrick. In the middle of a work call? Mr. Wildrick decides it’s time to “check the pipes.”
It’s like living with a creepy, unwanted roommate who has a key to your place.
The kicker? When I moved in, this place was a dump. Peeling wallpaper, carpet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the 80s, and a kitchen straight out of a horror movie.
But did Mr. Wildrick care? Nope. “It’s livable,” he said. Well, I made it more than livable.
I poured my heart, soul, and way too much of my paycheck into turning this dump into a home. And what thanks do I get? Well, hold onto your hats, folks, because that was just the trailer. Here’s the main feature for you!
It all kicked off during my first week in the apartment. Picture this: I’m soaking in the tub after a grueling day at work, bubbles up to my chin, eyes closed, finally relaxing.
Then, out of nowhere, there’s a knock on the bathroom door. Not just any knock—a loud, insistent pounding that nearly made my heart burst right out of my chest.
“Celine? Are you in there?” Mr. Wildrick’s gruff voice called out.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Mr. Wildrick? What are you doing here?”
“Just checking for leaks. Mind if I come in?”
“Yes, I do mind! I’m in the bath!” I shouted, scrambling to grab my towel.
He chuckled. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ll be quick.”
“No! Get out now!” I yelled, my heart pounding.
I heard him grumble and walk away. Later, when I confronted him about it, he just shrugged.
“It’s my property. I have the right to ensure it’s in good condition,” he said, his beady eyes narrowing.
I felt my face flush with anger. “Not without notice, you don’t. It’s illegal and a violation of my privacy.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t be so dramatic. If you don’t like it, you can always leave.”
But that was just the beginning. Mr. Wildrick seemed to take pleasure in making my life difficult. One winter, the heating system broke down. I called him immediately.
“Mr. Wildrick, the heater’s not working. It’s freezing in here!”
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