Never Give Your Cell Number to a Tenant

The place was a disaster. Three apartments. Two upstairs, one downstairs. The landlord lived in another state and had no interest in maintaining the building. He appointed the downstairs tenant (in violation of that tenant's HUD agreement) as property manager "PM". This tenant couldn't fix a broken pencil point with an electric sharpener.

PM displayed little talent for involving the landlord in normal maintenance. His terminally ill mother lived with him. His mentally challenged brother lived with him. His two teenage children lived with him. He was unemployed and in poor health. Surprisingly, he wasn't my biggest problem. Gary, the tenant who complained, held that esteemed position.

PM played victim to a rotting infrastructure- of old, decaying plumbing, of neglect- of apathy from all parties. He was the front man for a foreign-born, American-trained slumlord. And on one cold winter's afternoon, shit really hit the fan- or rather, PM's dining room floor.

Directly above the dining room was a bathroom for the second floor apartment. For quite some time, a small amount of water leaked through the ceiling and down the dining room wall. PM ignored it until January, when a 3 foot section of the ceiling collapsed and toilet water rained down upon PM's family. That was when I received my first phone call-from Gary.

Gary's complaint involved all three apartments. PM's apartment had sewage raining into his dining room from Jill's apartment upstairs. Jill's kitchen sink drained into a bucket. The plumbing was no longer connected to the drain. Two of Jill's stove burners were broken and the warning light was always lit. Gary's apartment had a blocked sink drain, along with broken plumbing underneath their sink. Gary also had no working stove and no hot water. According to Gary, the gas company had refused to supply gas to these items until proper shut-offs were installed.

I inspected and confirmed the violations. Then the fun began.

My first decision: Everyone must move out until the health hazards are corrected. I began to prepare the notices and placards. Because PM had a Section 8 voucher from HUD, I began making phone calls to State and County agencies to try to find emergency housing for his family. My only success? I convinced a HUD inspector to meet me at the property at 5pm that same day. However, there was no emergency housing available. I was referred to private church-funded shelters. After another hour on the phone, I had made no progress. I couldn't even find a manger.

I made contact with the owners and they danced around the problems until I warned them that I would move everyone into the nearest motel, at the owner's expense. I was bluffing. Without the owner's cooperation, I would have to make the expenditure and then sue the landlords to force payment. The town fathers would never agree to that. I couldn't use my personal credit cards. The owners did agree to hire a contractor and fix the problems as soon as possible.

I made my second decision: Everyone could stay, but Jill would have to stop using her bathroom toilet. At 5pm I met the HUD inspector and we inspected PM's apartment. Gary showed up to tell me that a contractor had been located and that Gary would be coordinating the repairs. We were making progress. I went home, convinced that Monday would bring results.

Around 7 pm, I received a call from tenant Gary. I couldn't understand what he was saying because his words were slurred. He was claiming something about the contractor refusing to do the work. I told him I would handle it Monday morning. Around 9 pm, I received another phone call from Gary- he wanted to apologize for disturbing me earlier. I began to regret giving Gary my cell number. He appeared to be very intoxicated. I accepted his apology and quickly ended the phone call.

Saturday rumbled along without any problems. We decided to rent a movie and settle in for a cozy, snugly night. About half-way through the movie, Gary called. Things were much worse, he said. Someone was upstairs and had flushed 2-3 times already in an hour. I hopped in the truck, grabbed a placard, and drove the the apartment house. I contacted the local police who met me there. I knocked on the door of Jill's apartment. No answer.

I made my third decision: I placarded the door. "Occupancy is Prohibited" Then the door swung open and before us stood a young man, probably in his twenties. I explained the situation and he agreed to leave the building. I wanted to move the PM's family out as well. But there was no place for them to go. I imagined the next day's headlines, "Code Officer Throws Seriously Ill Woman out in Street in 15 degree weather." We couldn't have that.

By Monday evening, the contractor was hired and would start Tuesday morning with the repairs. Except for Gary's hot water,stove, and Jill's stove- Gary was going to make those arrangements himself. Around 10 pm Monday night, Gary called me. This time I had no doubt. He was clearly drunk and raving about the landlord forcing him to pay the contractor for the work. I had already spoken to both the landlord and the contractor. No such arrangement existed.

I made my fourth decision: "Gary, it is 10:00 o'clock at night. You are are abusing your cell phone privilege. If this is an an emergency, call 911. Otherwise, leave me alone until tomorrow morning." After he profusely apologized (with great drama), I ended the phone call.

By Wednesday morning, the contractor had repaired the bathroom floor, replaced the toilet, fixed all plumbing leaks, and installed a new ceiling in the dining room. Gary still had no hot water or a working stove. He also hadn't installed Jill's new stove. He had made no progress at all. His litany of excuses crashed upon each other like waves on an angry sea. It had become painfully clear-Gary was incapable of getting the job done. If he relies upon himself, he will never have hot water, his brand new stove will sit disconnected, and his incredibly filthy apartment will not be clean.

I made my fifth decision: Tenants will no longer receive my cell number. There has to be a clear boundary between a Code Officer and the general public he serves. Gary helped me find mine.

P.S. to Gary: Try not to stuff your food waste down the kitchen sink- it clogs the drain.