Life's Little Injustices (Take XXI): Hey, Mr. Monopoly (Your Five-Star Review Isn't Forthcoming)

 

<"Thumbs Down!"/The Reckoner>

Blogs are better than therapy. I've no trouble reaching that conclusion lately, as the problems at our complex multiply. Regular readers may recall the mother and daughter duo I profiled in my last entry of this series (see link below), which focused on who'd washed up on these crumbling shores, after the owner of the house they'd been renting suddenly decided to sell it.

As I recounted, they weren't thrilled about stepping down a notch, to a place like ours, but vowed to make the best of it. Last week, The Squawker and I ran into Mom Sixtysomething (as we'll now call her), in mid-junk mail persual.

We'd barely exchanged pleasantries, when she rolled her eyes, and said, "Boy, we can't wait to get out of here."

"Hm, couldn't imagine why," I responded, with a smile. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"We were promised a one-bedroom when we moved in here." Mom Sixtysomething's face squinched into a frown. "But that's not where we ended up."

"So what happened?" Squawker asked. "Was it something they did?"

"You could say that," Mom Sixtysomething sighed. "The manager claimed that she couldn't show the apartment, because it was still occupied. But I've read the lease, and it's not an issue. There's no language against seeing the unit, whether anybody's in there, or isn't."

"Well, wouldn't be the first bait and switch that happened to anybody," I offered. "What did you end up doing?"

"A studio," Mom Sixtysomething said. "The circuit breaker's so old, the air conditioning and the heater often run at the same time. The flashing around the window has crumbled, so the wind and the rain blow through it. We've been flooded a couple times, too." Her face hardened beyond mere exasperation. "Our lease is up in July. We can't wait to get out of here!"

"Trust me, nobody will hold against it you," I assure her. "Especially when they hear where you lived last."

"Well, that was the thing," Mom Sixtysomething sighed. "We were renting a motel room for almost a week, while we waited on that one-bedroom. When we found out it wasn't going to be available, we bit the bullet, and moved in."

I allow myself the luxury of another smile. "I take it, you're not leaving a five-star review, whenever you do go?"

"They'll be lucky if it's one star!" Mom snaps back.

We dissolve into peals of raucous laughter that bounce off the ceiling. With that, we adjourn the discussion, and head back to our separate existences.

The review I'm referencing is a prominent feature of our so-called resident portal, where you pay that exortionate rent (now that management stopped taking checks and/or money orders, about four years ago). As soon as you log in, the pop-up slaps you visually upside the head:

"Leave Us A

Review On Google!"

A quick glance at Google shows that 51 people have done just that, yielding 3.5 stars on a five-star scale. As I've written here before, that's a decent mark, though not exceptional, an impression that only strengthens when I read the more niggling verdicts.

I'm surprised that our complex's rating is that high, given the increasing MIA status of our maintenance team; the ever-spiraling rents; the increasingly grubby appearance of hallways and stairwells, that no longer get regular attention; and the erratic performance of fixtures like the baseboard heaters, whose giant knobs would elicit a familiar groan from anyone who struggled with them during the "Cosby Show" era.

So will it discourage anybody from renting here? Maybe yes, maybe no. The thumbs down notice that scares off more discerning renters may not matter so much during economic downturns, when the dismissed and the desperate have to check their pickiness at the door.

And, of course, we've all heard that old saying, "The only thing worse than bad publicity is no publicity at all," right? As the above conversation shows, Mom and her offspring had to hold their nose, and sign their lease, the because they had to figure an alternative, fast. Motels are expensive, right?

There's a reason why John Lydon once said, in dismissing his former cohorts' post-Sex Pistols ventures, like "Silly Thing": "If you notice a drop in quality, that's neither here nor there."

I just ran into another refugee from our complex, a nice twentysomething couple, whom I'd talk to in passing. They were checking out the dairy options, with their five-month-old son, when I asked how their new apartment was working out. They both expressed satisfaction, especially since their new abode is costing them $200 less in rent per month.

"I can't blame you, because I'm looking at some changes myself," I tell them. "The maintenance department is quieter than the cemetery."

"Yeah, well, we moved in with broken blinds," Mrs. Twentysomething offers. "And that's how we're leaving it. And that was the least of it."

Naturally, I want to dig a little deeper, drill down more, but they have to go, and get their son fed, before he gets restless. "No worries," I tell them. "I get it. Hope we get another chance to talk more next time."

I'm not a betting man, but this much I know. I doubt they'll leave a review, but even if they do, it sure as hell won't be a five-star one, let alone three. That's why we have blinker lights at busy intersections, after all. So we don't get blind-sided. Or T-boned by another car. --The Reckoner

<"Thumbs Down!" (Take II)/The Reckoner>

Links To Go (The Girl Can't Yelp It):
Ars Technica: One Apartment Complex's Rule:
You Write A Bad Review, We Fine You $10K:
https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2015/03/one-apartment-complexs-rule-you-write-a-bad-review-we-fine-you-10k/

Ramen Noodle Nation: Life's Little Injustices (Take XX):
"We Moved Out, Because We Had No Choice":
https://ramennoodlenation.blogspot.com/2023/07/lifes-little-injustices-take-xx-we.html