I fucking hate rental inspections.
Lets not get into the sob story of why we are renting, suffice to say we had a house, we sold it, we paid for Boo’s therapy cause the government of the time sucked syphilitic donkey gonads. Therefore now we pay someone elses mortgage/retirement fund.
When else are you required BY LAW to allow some high on their own power stranger to come into your home and judge how you live?
For them to wander around your house, looking at the way you keep your things?
Personally I take it as a judgement on me as a person.
As a mother.
As a housekeeper.
As a fucking batshit motherfucking OMGWHYDOYOUCARE fuckwit.
I know that they are just looking for damage to the property and don’t give a rats arse about how my couch cushions are artfully arranged.
But I will arrange those mofos extra carefully.
I know that they don’t care that my bed is made ohsocarefully and all the cupboard doors are glistening.
But that shit is getting done.
They are looking for mould and broken tiles in the bathroom and laundry, not the fact that it is so damn clean you could eat off every surface AND watch yourself do so and OMG LOOK I have done all the washing!
However, every now and then you get some bitter old lady or fresh out of high school kid come in and open the oven (I KNOW! What the actual?) or look in the cupboards, or mention that perhaps I should wipe that wall over again, and I fall to pieces.
I am not good enough.
Some random came into my house and found ME lacking.
My carefully constructed Kelley cocoon has been violated and I have to just take it and THANKYOU SIR MAY I HAVE ANOTHER?!
Years ago, when we were moving out of a rental into our own home, one such fucker came to do the final inspection.
We had just returned from Adelaide where we had not only just buried MPS’s mother on the day of settlement, but both the girls had chicken pox.
The real estate agent wandered in just as we were finishing up cleaning, and complained that one wall had a dirty smudge (it was wet and still drying) and the grass was not cut close enough (any closer and it would have been dirt) and we weren’t getting our bond back until it was fixed.
She had just married the owner of the agency and thought that she was pretty fucking shit hot.
We got our bond back.
We didn’t mow the grass again.
I cleaned that fucking wall thrice.
Fast forward a fuckload of years and here we are. Cleaning like crazy to impress someone that either will not notice or doesn’t deserve that kind of power over my self esteem.
But I am still aiming for that 1st prize ribbon.
That recognition that I am doing OK.
Best in show, motherfuckers. Best. In. Show.
Have any rental inspection horror stories?
Do you clean like a crazy person before hand?
Got a house lying around that you don’t want anymore?
UPDATE: It has been over 24 hours and I have had time to calm the fuck down.
The house was perfect. She was LOOKING for issues. A spot on the carpet. The curtains looking tired (WTF and they are MINE, BITCH) a dint in the gutter outside (from when the aerial came down in a storm) but all in all the house was looking great.
So great that she is talking about putting the rent up. Perhaps as much at 30 dollars a week.
So I killed her and buried her in the garden.*
The tulips are going to be AMAZING in Spring!
This probably didn’t happen. I probably got hysterical and started whining like a little bitch and had to watch Real Housewives of Melbourne to calm down. GO TEAM GINA!Magnetoboldtoo is sponsored by: