Diary of a Slumlord: Entry 3 - Why Property Management is the Greatest Invention Ever

This is an easy point and shouldn’t take more than one examples to illustrate.

At 11:08 on a Saturday night, while publicly imbibing immense quantities of the toxic liquid cyclohexanol (known more commonly as tequila), a tenant called me on my cell phone. Hysterical, and squawking out syllables that only vaguely resemble any known human speech, I made out the following phrases: “rat,” “basement,”  “standing on chair,” and “baby in crib.”

Now, I pride myself on my powers of deduction, so being something of an amateur sleuth (tequila accords superhuman reasoning skills), I pieced together that she saw a rat in the basement, she’s evading from it by standing on a chair, and she’s worried about her baby upstairs in its crib (but not worried enough to venture onto the open floor and go check on the little bastard).

At this point I proceeded to take another shot, and tell her that there are good, sound reasons why our parents taught us not to leave stale chicken ‘n biscuits around the house to fester, but then I realized that my parents taught me that at 15, and she got knocked up at 14 and left home, so she probably missed this pearl of parental wisdom.

In short, you don’t want tenants calling you, whether at 11:08 on Saturday, or ever, really. So let someone else field their phone calls, and listen to these sordid tales, amusing as they may be. You’ll be able to finish your margarita in peace.

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