When I first moved back in the building (where I lived seven years ago), I was assured by the superintendant that I could have my old apartment as soon as it was vacant. In the meantime the apartment I got was as bright as a basement, the livingroom's single window directly over the dryer vents. I longed for a balcony for my little old dog, a bit of outside as he slowed down more and more.
Somehow my old place came up and went without me. So again I asked. And kept asking. And when another apartment became vacant, I put down a deposit, which was promptly cashed. I was told they were fixing the kitchen and was regularly assured how beautiful it was. But funnily enough, everytime I went upstairs to check it out, the door was locked and there was no sound of any work.
First the super was away on vacation, then the landlord, then they couldn't find anyone to do the work.
Two weeks ago, it finally started. Then a day later, finished. When I was finally allowed to see the place, I saw they'd cut a hole in the kitchen wall. That was it.
There was no counter, only a piece of varnished wood the width of the wall, barely wide enough to balance a coffee cup. All of the other counters were damaged, the kitchen faucet coming away from the sink and because of that, water damage to the wall behind the sink. The super wasn't pleased to see me taking notes. Or using my power bar to see if the electric outlets actually worked.
I'm paying a $70.00 increase--which makes it nearly a grand. I have no idea what the previous tenant paid because they refuse to tell me. ( Landlords increase the rent every year and jack it up again between tenants. There's a space right there on the lease where the landlord is supposed to write down "the lowest rent paid for your dwelling during the 12 months before the beginning of your lease". This is almost never filled out. You can ask and suffer the consequences. I ask and I do suffer the consequences.)
The week before the move, I'm told to keep the apartment I have or leave. I'm astounded. I'm booked off work, half-packed, friends organized to help me move. Instead, I'm kept running day after day after day to see if I actually have a lease. The landlord makes me sweat it out; I'm sat down in the office on Monday, eager to iron out any misunderstandings. (I am a good tenant: I pay my rent, I'm quiet, I help out my neighbours.) But for an hour I'm grilled like I'm a bad girl.When I'm told I'm not allowed to complain about anything,(yes, it's pay and shut up), I remember that an elderly neighbour was at the rental board just that morning. The landlord tells me to come back the next day. And I do. When the secretary tells me to come back later, I do, for a repeat performance. On the third visit, the office is merely locked. And it's a repeat the next day and the rest of the week. I can't really plan anything, much less call Bell or Hydro. When I finally track him down, the landlord doesn't have time, he hasn't decided if he's actually going to let me have the apartment.
When he finally does decide and a lease is produced, I go to the super's to sign. It's the first of the month, what's supposed to be the first day in my new apartment. I don't really understand what all this was about. Moving is stressful enough without being jerked back and forth and I haven't been able to sleep.
The super brings both copies to the office and the landlord leaves for the weekend. Without signing the lease.
Yikes what the hay???
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