I congratulate you on the gross incompetence inherent in your inability to deduce what the check I sent you (which had my name, the current address I rent from you as the return address on the envelope, and the subject “RENT” written in the memo line) was supposed to be for. I congratulate you to the tune of this checkstop fee I’m about to pay, which I could have used to buy groceries.
I further congratulate you on your utter lack of communication to your tenants in the “usual practices” of your company (none of which are included in the lease), which I was somehow magically supposed to know to follow.
I hope you find spider’s eggs in your socks. I hope you find them too late, and are only enlightened to their presence when those eggs hatch, and you feel a tickle in your foot, which suddenly grows into an itch, and spreads, and spills out from your favorite shoes in a wave of tiny black arachnids, thousands of them, scattering to the floor and crawling up the legs of your pants.
And you can rush home and put everything through the wash, scrub to threadbare shabbiness every article of clothing you own, but you will never really be sure you are rid of them all.
And the ones that you missed will grow big and fat on your prickling uncertainty. Until the day comes when, moving silent and unheard through the corners of your unease, they find the darkest shadow of your home, the warmest, most comforting, lightless nook…and lay a thousand eggs of their own.
Happy Halloween, you jerks.
A Discontented Tenant.