Curbed Horror Stories are firsthand reader reports about terrible Los Angeles apartment experiences past and present. This week, in honor of Renters Week, we're having a rental horror story showdown. We'll post a few horror stories each day with a vote for the best on Thursday. The winner will advance to the national round of our network-wide contest (and the nationwide winner gets a free month's rent!). Horror stories to firstname.lastname@example.org, if you please.
I rented a converted garage from a lovely valium-loving octogenarian lady in Glendale. I soon realized that the nice lady was coming into my home while I was at work and snooping around. I patiently explained to her that she was prohibited by law from entering my home except in an emergency or with appropriate notice. Her response? 'If you don't like it, you can move out. Soon after that, the rains came. The water seeped in through the sliding-glass door and formed a lake on the living-room carpet. The landlady consulted with her handyman (who was the person who converted the garage), and he suggested pouring some concrete in the living room to raise the depression where the lake was forming (incredibly, I am not making this up). I suggested sealing the sliding glass door instead, an idea that was met with ridicule by both the landlady and the handyman. You can probably guess the landlady's response - 'If you don't like it, you can move out.' I gathered my mildewed belongings and fled.
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