The first year I was here, I didn’t have to contend with any unwanted visits from the management company. But there have already been two in-depth appliance inspections this year. I’m assuming this has something to do with a recessed economy, mortgages, and appraisals, but that doesn’t make it any better.
Technically I have two air conditioners. The second, of course, was disassembled and encased in a sarcophagus dressed up to look like a windowseat, because it didn’t work and only served as an underground railroad for invertebrate pests.
First time around they didn’t check that room, as I lied and said someone was sleeping. I didn’t want to risk using the same excuse twice, should they record such things, so I did some re-arranging.
As luck should have it, my chaise longue (i.e. half-couch) was exactly as long as the window seat, so I dragged that in and put it against it. I filled the top with two rows of books all the way across. The room looks inconspicuous enough. Nobody would ever suspect.
At just after nine three people from the management company showed up at the door: two maintenance men and a bureaucrat. The bureaucrat ran through the building, poking things, yelling out codes like, “Stove three.” But despite her unemotional efficiency, she failed to notice the missing A/C.
She did, however, glare at my floor-to-ceiling posters stretching across the entire living room and disdainfully announced, “Walls one.”