Friday was an interesting day. I received a call from my dad’s local banker. There was a woman in front of him who was demanding $720 to bring dad’s rent up to date. She said she was the landlady.
Amazing how many calls I get and visitors this poor banker gets from people who claim to be a landlord of some kind to my dad.
Mind you, I had spoken to a two different women last week regarding my dad’s rent. One, who turned out to just be a helper of some kind, told me that they had held dad’s room for him while he was in jail with the understanding that he would pay up as soon as he got out. She told me he owed five hundred eighty dollars. One hundred was for a deposit he never paid and the rest was for two months rent at two hundred forty dollars a month. The other was a woman, who claimed to be the landlady, reiterated what dad owed. Five hundred-eighty dollars. She also gave me the same breakdown.
Okay. I can deal with the possibility that dad owes back rent, but what I can’t deal with are people who request money on dad’s behalf without offering proof of who they are or whom they represent. I told the “landlady” that as soon as she provides me with a copy of the application with my dad’s signature on it and a price sheet that shows the layout and price of his place, I would be happy to pay his balance.
After much back-and-forth, she finally agreed to send me the application, but she insisted that there are no price sheets. Yeah. Sure. I did at least insist that she note the breakdown of what’s owed.
No price sheets? I’ve lived in apartments before and not one didn’t have a price sheet attached to some sort of layout or detail of the different apartments.
Interesting what I received in the mail this week: a copy of dad’s application with his signature, a breakdown of the amount owed, and . . . a note that the rent is $360 a month. Why am I not surprised?
When I spoke with the “landlady” who was at the bank, I asked her about the difference in rent. She said she told me that the rent was $360 when we last spoke. Poor woman didn’t know I have an eidetic memory. I repeated our conversation, as well as the conversation I had with her assistant, to refresh her conveniently flawed recollection. She wasn’t exactly a lady in her response. Suffice it to say, she asked if I was calling her a liar. I let her guess the answer.
In the end, I told her the originally requested amount of $580 was already ordered on-line, so I would not authorize the seven hundred-twenty. She wanted the balance. I told her I’d have to take care of that on-line. Which I will. As soon as I reach the person who actually owns the apartments and get to the bottom of this rent scam she’s trying to pull.
I am beyond tired of people taking advantage of my dad. I am tired of being lied to while I’m trying to help dad get right in his world.
I think, what I really think, is that I’m just plain tired.
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My Life With Dad 