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 email@example.com, if you please.
Eventually the police would kick down the door and drag him off, leaving the rest of them to slowly meander off to do whatever the heck it was that they did with their non-stop methamphetamine fueled days, finding another target to house-rape. They left behind empty rooms, almost everything having been pawned or 'redistributed' among the dozen or so of them. Later I was almost glad, it made the bedbug aftermath easier to deal with.
Here's a fun civics fact you may not be aware of: You can change your address on the DMV website. It's a convenient cool trick, and you don't have to provide proof or anything. Turns out, the address you register with the DMV is your legal address as far as police are concerned. So, say you are a homosexually inter-involved band of meth hobos (This is pertinent to the pathos, The lovers quarrels were constant and loud, and [thank goodness I didn't know about it at the time] at least one of the group was violently unstable, eventually shooting and killing a patron at a local desert and coffee shop. It was rumored the shooting had something to do with sexual orientation, but that was never verified.) who have recently been evicted from the bridge you live in. One of your members has been there for a month 'slumming' for the sex and dope, while still paying rent for the room at their apartment. You can all hop onto the web at the local library, change your address to his address, and no matter what, the renters of that apartment have to let you in. If they don't you can call the police and the police will make the apartment renters let you in. You now have a house.
Unfortunately, it was my house, and it wasn't a fun fact, it was reality. They descended and took over. The police explained that they could do nothing, but that I could contact my landlord and the landlord could start eviction proceedings. My landlords were a large faceless mega-corp of a rental company. How they ended up managing the rinky-dink run-down apartment I rented I have no idea. I called them and had a conversation. It went in part like this:
Me: I have a band of meth hobos in the apartment destroying everything and the police say the only way to get rid of them is to evict them.
Faceless worker and rental mega-corp: We don't do individual evictions, you want me to evict you?
Me: I really like living here, and it's one of the only places I can afford rent. Can you evict us all but then rent back to me?
Faceless worker and rental mega-corp: We have a policy against renting to anyone who has ever had an eviction.
It was traumatic. I hid locked up in my room, unable to sleep. Occasionally one of them would come knocking on my door. Explaining about their 'meticulous notes' and how they needed to pawn the microwave or whatever because my housemate (the actual legal housemate that brought them all in) owed them money. Eventually the mob kicked the real housemate out for a few weeks. He made good somehow and came back, only to be arrested. Turns out that he had pulled a museum heist. He stole $20,000 or so worth of books and specimens from the natural history museum. Thus ended the reign of terror. By that time I had not yet moved, but had found a new apartment. I had nothing of note left to my name besides a scared psyche and this tale of warning.
· Renters Week 2012 [Curbed LA]