My landlord came by yesterday to do an inspection with his oldest son. I'm not sure why the son was involved other than to take notes. My landlord has a major case of the shakes all the time (not Parkinson's, I asked) and can't write anything at all. I really am hoping the landlord isn't turning this house over to the son. That would just suck.
The only other time he did an actual inspection was in the year between my ex vacating the premisis and my boyfriend moving in. At that time my landlord said he was checking to make sure I wasn't running a meth lab. Nope, not kidding. He'd seen it on the news and heard the landlords had no idea what was going on in the lab/house so he thought he'd better check. He's been by since to check things out and make sure I'm keeping the property in decent shape, but not formally inspect anything.
His son is one that I hadn't met before. It turns out he'd just retired because he's 65 and hates it. Every single thing I said to him from that point on he countered, almost like he could not possibly agree with me on any single thing. Really, I was telling myself to shut up after a while and just trailed behind them as they did the inspection. They seemed to be looking for specific things like cracking under the windows. They missed the largish hole I made in T's room to put cable in there. As things turned out this house is built strangely and we couldn't string cable through the floor and up into the wall. So instead we split the cable in J's room and ran it over the door jam up to the ceiling, across the ceiling and down into T's room. I'm not sure they even noticed that.
I pointed out the water running out of the eaves in places it shouldn't, like over window instead of down the spout. I was told it's just the way the wind moves the rain. Ok. I told them the chimney leaked during rainfall, I was told it was (again) rain and wind and happens in all houses. First time it's ever happened here since I moved in, but ok. I mentioned the revolting reddish ick spreading out from under the toilet and suggested the wax ring needs replacing. I was told it should never have to be replaced, the reddish brown goo is just the cast iron pipe seeping or leaking. Hm. My daddy told me the wax ring needs replacement about every ten years. I remember coming home after school one day and saw the toilet in the bathtub and my dad scraping away at the ring. I left the house immediately. Toilets belong on the floor, not in the tub. Anyway, I'll just put more silicone on the toilet base for now and think about paying to get the ring replaced later.
The son paid some attention to my bolt lock on the back door. It doesn't fit in the hole properly and he wanted to tighten it up. The screw was the wrong kind so he took it out and complained to his dad. He didn't replace the screw. Since he was focussing on doors, I mentioned the tumblers in the front door handle are falling so it can't be locked. Well, I can lock it, I just can't unlock it with a key from the outside and have to fiddle with it from the inside. The son told me to use the deadbolt as a lock and never mind about locking the handle. I already do that. It's just a pain in my butt when someone forgets and locks the handle. Then I have to fuss with it to get my paper from outside. The deadbolt is fine for locking the door, but the handle is needed to actually open the door.
I stopped talking at about that point. I adore my landlord and his wife. They charge me (probably less than) half of what this place is worth and are good about getting major repairs done. I don't mind doing little things around the house in exchange for super cheapy rent. The son, however, needs to go back to the town he lives in. He was nasty the entire time he was here. Every time his dad spoke the son insulted the dad and his opinions. He treated the dad like he was a stupid child, incapable of making a good decision. I mean really, the landlord has owned this house for over fifty years and it's still standing so he must know something about maintenance. Now maybe they were just on each other's nerves because they'd been inspecting the landlord's houses all day and mine was last. Or maybe the son is an ass. Whichever.
I get the pleasure of them coming back sometime this week to get the minor stuff repaired. The son said he'd call first, but didn't give me a date or anything. Maybe they'll come while I'm at work. Maybe they'll put a new screw in the deadbolt on the back door so it's not jiggling around. Maybe I'll stop typing before I get really snarky.