Beeeeep.

“Yes, hi. This is [MIG] in Apt. 7. I called you a while ago about another tenant using my garage? Well, it’s been more than a week and I haven’t heard back from you. Can you give me a call, let me know if it’s been resolved?”

(Five minutes later …)

“Yes, this is Kim [aside: Kim is an old MAN.] Have you been inside your garage this week? There’s nothing in it.”

(Mouth gaping open.)

“Um, I’m confused. I saw him unloading boxes. His car was in it.”

“I know,” Mr. Smart-Mouth landlord retorts, like I’m the one that’s mental here. “I had him move one garage over. He’s all out of there. Don’t you check your garage?”

(Seething.)

“I haven’t checked it, no, because last time I did someone was in there. I didn’t want to move stuff in and have another tenant also have a key for it. And I hadn’t heard back from you as to whether you were giving him or me another space.”

“Well. It’s empty now. I tried knocking on your door but you didn’t answer.”

(Thinking how I filled out a dozen papers with my number on it during lease signing, and how, you know, it’s maybe his job to try to get ahold of me that way.)

“Yes, well, I wasn’t home-”

“And I didn’t have your number handy. Now I do. So, go check your garage and-”

Click.

Sorry, Crabby Landlord Man, but unless you want a black eye resulting from me reaching through the phone and socking you a good one, it’s best I just hang up now.