Polish Your Poop

Anyone who has ever rented an apartment or had to deal with a landlord knows that it is always hit or miss whether they are reasonable, understanding, and helpful, or lazy, strict, and just plain crazy. My new landlord most definitely falls under the latter.

As I have developed my intuition, I tend to dip my toe in the water instead of jumping in during any first impression. I try my hardest to understand the energy they give off and piece together what makes them who they are as a person. Believe me, I tried my hardest to understand Candice.

Let me introduce Candice the landlord to you.

My first red flag about Candice was when she answered the phone about my application for the apartment. Any stranger that calls you “honey, dear, or cutie pie,” the first time talking on the phone immediate gets a red flag. I do not know you, I have never met you, and I am not your “honey.” Although Candice probably thinks this is a term of endearment, when professionally applying for an apartment, this is patronizing. It was a clear sign into one of Candice’s more prevalent personality traits. She full-heartedly believes she is entitled.

I could not figure out why she had this sense of entitlement from the greeting on the phone, but only time would tell. It only got worse. I was very anxious about my move to the city and that translated into worrying about being approved for this apartment. I had not heard back from Candice in over three weeks. When I called her, she promptly said that I was approved on her end but needed to call corporate to double check.

She then claimed the only reason I would not be approved is if a “herd of elephants came into the office and trampled all over my application.” That was verbatim from “dear” Candice. I nonchalantly joked that this was an absurd idea. Without a beat, Candice exclaims, “This is LA, honey. Anything can happen.” And hangs up on me.

It took me a second to collect myself after being so abruptly disconnected. After I closed my dropped jaw, I immediately texted my roommate. I was curious to know more about my new landlord. My roomie was quick with the emojis and sent me lots of peanuts. 🥜🥜 Candice is nuts. 🥜🥜 As I continued to joke with my roommate as I took her warning about our landlord for granted. I didn’t actually believe a professional property manager could act in such a way. Boy, was I in for it.

Flash forward three weeks and I am moving into my new apartment in the glamorous City of Angels. It had been two months since I applied for the apartment and Candice had yet to send over a new lease to sign or an official approval of my application. Still paranoid, I forced my mom to come with me to the leasing office to meet Candice in person. I wanted to know about the lease and what else Candice needed from me. I should have heeded my roommate’s warning.

Candice was even more patronizing in person than she was on the phone. I was appalled and did my best to get through our initial meeting as fast as I could. She told me that she was too busy with other renewals to focus on my lease. This was just after a smoke break with her dog. “Busy.” She stomped around the office in her flip flops, hands on her hips, and the occasional finger point to make sure her point was emphasized.

Candice promptly told me to stop worrying and that she could tell from the way I was dressed that I was about to make this city my b*tch. All I had to do was polish my poop. Excuse me? What? In the span of fifteen minutes, she gave me her life story and how to succeed in life by polishing my poop. All the pieces fit into the puzzle. Candice was someone that loved control and her right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of even more control. This filled in my initial reaction to her sense of entitlement.

She told my mom to never worry about me because she was the police. Candice has guns in her apartment. Just what I needed to know about my new landlord. She told us that she used to be a nurse but that wasn’t fulfilling enough. Her explanation was that family members can help the sick, and being a nurse did not offer her much. I was shocked. She followed up with that by being a property manager she can give homes to kids and families. She feels this is helping more people that way than helping through healing. Pretty amazing, right?

She explained she could never afford to give her sons much when they were growing up, so she wanted to return the favor as a property manager. Last time I checked, she did not give me an apartment. I am still paying her and corporate monthly rent. It was clear that she has a need for control over everything and everyone in her life, and that gave her false entitlement. So I began to take everything she said with a grain of salt.

However, then the words just flew right out her mouth. All I needed to do was to polish my poop to succeed in LA. Candice said she picks up dog and cat poop for $10 an hour because she can. She offers financial advice for $100 an hour because she can. Not too sure that one could possibly be true. She polished her poop, and now Candice has an Audi AND a BMW.

She concluded our conversation with that I needed to continue to polish my poop and that I had stars in my eyes. I was going to be just fine in this city. Let’s hope so, Candice. However, I am not going to polish my poop.

I run into Candice from time to time, mostly because I actively try to avoid her. She told me one day she polished her poop and was going to buy a new Birkin bag and a new Louis Vuitton bag. It has also been two months since I have moved in, Candice still has yet to create a new lease. Good ol’ Candice.

Polish your poop, friends!

#TheCrazies