A property management company here in town listed a 3-bedroom, 2-bath house in the school district, renting for $1250 a month. We pulled into the driveway to turn around after seeing its pitifully run-down condition and were approached from the neighboring house on the left by what looked like a bum with a brown bag in his hand and, from the house on the right, a retarded man who, arms a’ flailing, barreled towards our car. Had it been two seconds later, his face would have been smooshed against my son’s window. He was laughing and waving as I sped away as fast as I could. The bum just stood there watching us and took another puff on his cigarette.
I, of course, gave up and went back to the apartment where at least all I had to worry about was the noise.
And the third:
I called a phone number from a yard sign. The man explained that he required $1600 a month for his 3-bedroom, 1-bath, 650-square-foot house. Then he asked, “Why in the world do you want to rent a house, anyway?” And for some idiotic reason, I went ahead with my 15-second superficial explanation. He continued, “I have a house up the street for sale for $179,000 that would suit you much better.” (he had known me for over a minute at this point, after all ) He gave me the address. I said I would drive by and call him back. (Duh)
And the fourth:
I contacted a property management company (not the bum/retard one) and asked if they had any properties matching my requirements. She said she didn’t at that time, but asked, “Why don’t you print our application from our website and send it in with the $50 application fee? That way we’ll have it on file, and you’ll be one step ahead of everyone else if we ever do have anything that meets your needs.” (It’s me, isn’t it?)