Many of you may have seen my post on FB yesterday regarding this link to the listing of our old house.
I didn't blog about it yesterday partly because I had already started writing about how often I crave jelly rolls and partly because I was so angry that I knew nothing good would come of talking about it. (Insert bad FB status such as, "Complaining on the internet is like [something offensive]" here.)
I've stopped visibly shaking, but I'm still pretty appalled. Basically the rental company took everything we told them about the things that happened to us in that house and decided, "You know what? We're the devil; I bet we could squeeze another $55 a month out of this puppy!" So some poor, unsuspecting person is going to rent that house with no idea of what they're signing up for.
But not to worry, everyone, for I have devised a plan.
The first draft of the plan, I'll admit, wasn't my best. It involved staking out the house for the next two weeks and then running out barefoot, dressed in dirty overalls, waving a pitchfork and screaming incoherent warnings every time someone came to look at the house. Then, Gary would just happen to be walking by and mention casually, "Oh that? That's just Crazy Millie. She's harmless...well, unless you have children or pets. Or are susceptible to pitchfork wounds." But really, who has the time or the overalls for a production of that caliber?
My current plan is a much more reasonable one which includes strategically placing notes of dire warning all over the inside of the house. My hope is that that any potential residents would at best heed my advice to look elsewhere for lodgings lest they be forever haunted by the Ghost of Crackhouse Past and at worst realize that a crazy person seems to have access to this house and feel unsafe enough to leave.