I’ve been trying to keep my trap shut, because in my experience, all internet roads lead home. To put it another way: many years ago I had an anonymous work blog that was a minor hit. I worked in a cafe, and since baristas are gossipy bitches by nature, before I knew it my stupid little Typepad blog was racking in some respectable stats. By the end, coffee industry people on the East Coast knew about my blog, and Barista Magazine was contacting me, trying to dredge information.
Around that time I was coincidentally quitting the job and moving out of the state, so the ride was over, but for other reasons as well: I’d been found out. Not that it was a well-kept secret or anything, but I heard through friends who still worked for the company that higher-ups had been told of my blog, and in particular, one training manager whom I had been particularly mean to. It was complicated and double-edged; nothing I had said was untrue, and our employers really were (and are still) ill-focused, corporate-minded and petty and at the time I considered him to be one of them. But that doesn’t excuse that I created a forum in which I could mock someone without recourse, someone who was also just trying to work at a career that they loved, in an environment that was difficult at best.
So of course, now he is the boss of the current coffee company of my choice, and the employer of one of my best friends, and now I see him several times a week as I stumble, blind with rage and sleepiness, to get my morning coffee on my way to work. But I asked him for a meeting and apologized to him and now we say hello to each other but if I offered him half of a BFF pendant I’m certain he’d refuse it.
Why this long-ass story? Because I have been debating deeply further discussing the issue that my new landlord has illegally kept us without a stove for now over five weeks. He has, rather than hire a repair person, sent a part of the oven off to Canada for repair, only to be told several weeks later that they couldn’t, and then, this week, to acquire an even older stove off Craigslist, install it, and then discover that it too doesn’t work. Not that I wanted it to, because it honestly would be the shittiest stove of any rental I’ve rented in my entire adult life of renting.
Broken stove #2 now sits on our porch, because we are now hillbillies.
There is so much I want to say about this here, but I keep reining myself in, thinking about the legalities. What if we go to court with this guy? Will my bitter name-calling be thrown back in my face? Are we going to have to move again? The sneaking thought keeps coming back. Are we going to have to move again? Can this guy really be so irrational and terrible that he won’t just replace the fucking oven with a reasonable one? I’m tired of thinking about this. I’m tired of not having my coping mechanisms available to me: I want to bake bread. I want to roast vegetables. I want to try the “hamburger” flavor you-bake pizza from Papa Murphy’s. I want to make a pie with the rhubarb I had been so eagerly awaiting this spring, rhubarb which will now soon be gone from the markets. I want to not be tricked by people.
May 12th, 2012 | Drama!