Just call me the Godfather…or my own fairy godmother

For over a year now I have been admiring the hardwood floors that my landlord has been installing in everyone’s units as tenants have been moving out before new families moved in. When my next door neighbors got them a year ago without having to move, I was downright jealous. How come they got them and I didn’t? As it turns out, they got them by agreeing to sign another year lease. Too bad I have commitment issues.

At the time I found this out, I had been in my apartment for a year and a half, had recently painted the walls my favorite shades of turquoise and gold, and had no plans of moving in the near or even not-so-near future. But to sign another lease cementing the fact that I absolutely could NOT move for 12 whole months was more than my commitment-phobe self could handle. I mean, what would happen if my dream job running the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children landed in my lap and required me to move to Washington DC or I got a book deal that allowed me to run off to Italy to write? What if a member of my family took ill and I had to pack my bags and leave? What if I had a nervous breakdown, lost my job, or decided to run off to Vegas and get married? That was 15 months ago and I have yet to rope my friends into another pizza, beer, and moving day fiasco. The truth is, I like the fact that I have been at the same address for going on three years. I have gotten to know my neighbors and enjoy having a drink with them in our courtyard when we all come home from a night out around the same time. I know all the idiosyncrasies of my apartment – namely that to light the front left burner on my stove, I need to use a long-handled lighter, but to light the front right burner, I need to wait until the smell of gas makes me want to open the windows and run before the flame is going to catch. I’m not moving any time soon and yet the prospect of signing my name on the dotted line for yet another year incites shallow breathing, sweaty palms, and hives.

Fortunately, some of the afore-mentioned “idiosyncrasies” recently allowed me to engage in what some might call extortion.

As it turns out my bath tub faucet’s tendency to leak - despite being shut off - as well as vacillate between having Niagara Falls and an IV-drip for water pressure was an indication that the pipes in my building were no longer considered “old” but had moved into the category of “must be replaced immediately before the entire building explodes like a fire hydrant on a summer day in Brooklyn in 1963.” The plumbers were hired, walls were busted down, floors were jack hammered, and my dog and I floated around like a homeless pair taking advantage of friends’ couches. While all of this was annoying, especially considering these “professionals” didn’t like to clean up after themselves or wipe off their shoes before coming into my apartment, California Renters’ Penal Code didn’t really give me much room for complaint because my landlords were, in fact, taking care of the problem in a relatively timely manner. However, coming home to empty soda cans and open bags of candy from my refrigerator and cupboards did give me reason to call an attorney.

The first time it happened, I weighed the amount of energy it would take to complain about having my cupboards rummaged through against the cost of a soda, and after scrubbing my floors for the 6th time this year (usually this is only a bi-annual occurrence, see "Spring Awakening"), found that I just didn’t have it in me. The second time it happened, I was ready to explode like a fire hydrant on a summer day in Brooklyn in 1963 – wait, have I used that reference already? I got on the phone with my landlord to file an official complaint.

“Ummm, hi…this is me from Apartment #? I just wanted to let you know about what happened when I came home from work today? I had empty soda cans from my refrigerator on my counter that were not there when I left this morning. And the other day I came home and a bag of candy that I had just bought was ripped open with empty wrappers laying around it…I’m not really one to complain, but this just really makes me nervous given the fact that people have been coming in and out a lot lately? And if they are so careless as to leave the trash out, it makes me wonder what else of mine they might be going through?” Namely my underwear door, you sickos. I know all about how most plumbers are ex-cons. I saw that 20/20.

Twenty minutes later, my landlord showed up at my front door, apologizing profusely, demanding the empty cans so she could have them dusted for finger prints. She wanted to know if there was anything she could do. Even if I requested cash value for what had been taken, I would not have been able to buy myself lunch. And really, it was not about the money. I feel violated, y’all.

I think Oprah would have called this an “Aha!” moment. “Well, while I have you here, I have noticed that all the other units have gotten hardwood floors in the past year…and I was wondering if there were any plans to have them installed in my unit any time soon?”

She shot me a look that I am pretty sure read: You had this planned the whole time you very innocent looking, yet evil, extortionist. What she said was: “Ok, I do that for you.”

Score one for Cinderella. Commitment issues or not, it feels pretty good to get what you want.