I was chatting with a friend about this and thought it might make an interesting topic.
This will be a LONG story, just to forewarn, but if you're at all interested click the spoiler tag:
A horribly long story I know, but I'd love to hear other peoples stories about their hellish homes!
This will be a LONG story, just to forewarn, but if you're at all interested click the spoiler tag:
Around ten years ago my home went on the market due to a messy breakup, it sold far quicker than expected and I was in a rush to find elsewhere to live before handing the keys over. I put my name down on the local council housing list not expecting much while also looking at private rentals until I was in a position to get back on my feet. Unexpectedly a local housing association contacted me over an application I had made.
The housing association in question is a company called ISOS that operates in the North East of England. The property I'd applied for was a small one bedroom flat with very low rent in an area I was familiar with, not the best in the world but not especially bad either -- besides I didn't plan on staying long so I wasn't overly fussed. They had the audacity to send out a lady to interview me to make sure I was the 'right fit' for the block. She explained this as them wanting to improve the area, how they had removed the undesirables knowing the place had a little bit of a name. What she did not tell me was that this in large was due to a massive renovation project due to start in the area, something which fell through and wasn't started until many years after I had left.
I of course accepted the offer, it was short term and the rent was dirt cheap -- ideal for me as I was waiting for my money from the sale and separation to come through. That is when the problems began, I had of course viewed the property prior to accepting and in actuality it was a lovely little flat. The floors/hallways were all spotless, the windows well cleaned, the lift smelled like lemon and bleach. Excellent I thought, I've lucked out! How horribly wrong I was.
On the week prior to my moving into my new home, on the sixth floor of an apartment complex, the only lift broke down. At first I wasn't concerned, it was a bit of a pain to climb up and down the stairs while decorating but I figured it would be sorted in a day or two. I called up about it and was told it'd be fixed and not to worry. Two days prior to my moving in my carpet fitters came, the lift was still out of order. The poor ******** had to climb the stairs with my carpets, they were good lads and I tipped well for their inconvenience. My bigger concern was that I had to move in the next day and knew the delivery company would ask for several times the amount, so I called again and told them I would be claiming my removal costs should the lift still be out of order. It was fixed the next day, my removal men dodged an unknown bullet.
As the days went on after moving into my lovely new home, the lift broke down again -- I examined the costs breakdown of my lease and laughed. Once more calling my new landlords to point out the ridiculousness of the situation. I also failed to mention the lack of room in my new kitchen for a washing machine, a little annoying but again the rent was dirt cheap and I figured I could deal with it. Upon moving in I'd been assured there was a 'laundrette' style area for the block a couple of floors down. My particular flat was 24 in the block, the second highest flat -- the laundrette had one small washing machine and one small drier for an entire block. I suppose I should have checked the room prior to signing the lease, but hey, it was dirt cheap.
Did I mention how the renovation project for the area fell through? It happened roughly a month after I moved in, which coincidentally was around the time less desirable people started to move in. The neighbour on my landing started to get harassed by a young 18-19 year old ex con, who, at random times in the middle of the night would kick the guys door as hard as he could and then run away. I know this because it woke me up on several occasions roughly around the same time, so I decided to wait up for it and see what would happen. The young man was less than enthused when I opened my front door and stepped out after hearing the 'bang' and decided to run the other way. I complained about this and was told the cameras fitted in the hallways didn't work properly and there was nothing that could be done as they couldn't make out the guys face. To make matters worse it became common for the local homeless drug addicts to somehow get into the block and doss in the stair-ways, hardly enjoyable having to climb past them every time I left or came home, and while the police would very occasionally chase them off they were always quick to return. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not claiming all homeless people are drug addicts, but these particular people most definitely were. Oh, and the lift was broke again.
Speaking of drug addicts, I had a literal drug dealer live a few floors below me. He was on the second floor from the ground, and I think it's important to point out that the windows at the back of the block backed onto a communal garden area that was mostly closed off. He was definitely an enterprising guy, at various times of the day and night his 'customers' would go to said back windows and shout up at him for their fix, obviously being the clever drug salesman that he was he developed a codeword: Chicken Dinner. Terry, as I came to know him, at least based upon the demands for chicken dinners, would answer the call all hours of the day or night. The police weren't particularly interested in this, they lacked the resources apparently and people shouting "Chicken Dinner! Terry! Terry! Chicken Dinner!" at 3am only to be tossed packages of drugs wasn't enough evidence.
At this point I'm three months into my tenancy, the lift is of course still broken and while the door kicking chav was no longer kicking my neighbours door I was having other problems. Due to the number of people in the the block the aforementioned washer/drier was in constant use, and according to the rules of the tenancy couldn't be used after 8PM. While there was supposed to be a 'system' where people signed for use, nobody bothered with it. I'm having to wash my clothes in my bath, not an enjoyable or expedient experience when you're working an extremely busy job. One day I had a lot of excess washing, so I thought I'd bundle it up and try my luck -- Excellent! Nobody is using it, I set my washing down and open the door of the washing machine. The smell was foul, somebody had quite literally crapped in the washer. I'm not joking here, there was a gigantic turd sat all alone dead centre of the drum. It was not a large washing machine, whomever decided to do this must have fished the thing out of the toilet or off the floor and taken actual care in transporting it to the perfect place: the blocks singular washing machine.
I had been looking for somewhere else prior to the above, but after a few photographs and an angry phone call I ramped the process up. I also reported it to the live in care taker, a man who would go out of his way to avoid you or any work. I did see him on more than one occasion with armful's of beer quite literally sneaking in and out of his own flat while pretending to not be at home when people would try to get hold of him.
I'm roughly 5 months in at this point and the communal hallways and windows haven't been cleaned since I initially viewed the property. I was under the belief things could get no worse, that of course was until I went to throw some bags of rubbish out. Did I mention the bin-chutes had been sealed off? Oh, and the lift was still out of order. So every single time I wanted to throw out a bag of rubbish I needed to walk down and then back up 5 flights of stairs, which at least allowed me to say hello to the resident homeless drug addicts living in the stairways. I enter the bin room, which requires me to go through a gallery of horribly stained old mattresses and random crap. It had become a dumping ground for tenants in the block who didn't want to pay to have the company remove their larger unwanted goods. I digress, the cherry on the cake was the young man who had quite literally overdosed with a needle hanging out of his arm -- I suspect his friends on the stairs had forgot about him but unfortunately I had to call for help on his behalf.
I thankfully moved out a couple of weeks after that, left the place absolutely spotless, not a single thing remained. I was extremely lucky that on the day I did move the lift was actually functional, if but carrying the wonderous odour of urine. The guy they sent out to do a final inspection even complimented me on the state of my ex home, and discretely informed me that he would never live there in a million years and didn't blame me in the least for moving out. Two weeks later I received a letter demanding £1300 as I'd apparently left the flat in a mess with a ton of crap that had to be shifted out. I called and contested their claim, they apologised for the 'confusion' and told me not to worry about it was it was a mistake. A month after that I receive a letter from a debt collection agency on their behalf asking for £1300, I called them up and explained the situation -- the lady on the other side of the phone sighed, informed me this wasn't the first time, and I thankfully never heard from said landlord ever again.
The housing association in question is a company called ISOS that operates in the North East of England. The property I'd applied for was a small one bedroom flat with very low rent in an area I was familiar with, not the best in the world but not especially bad either -- besides I didn't plan on staying long so I wasn't overly fussed. They had the audacity to send out a lady to interview me to make sure I was the 'right fit' for the block. She explained this as them wanting to improve the area, how they had removed the undesirables knowing the place had a little bit of a name. What she did not tell me was that this in large was due to a massive renovation project due to start in the area, something which fell through and wasn't started until many years after I had left.
I of course accepted the offer, it was short term and the rent was dirt cheap -- ideal for me as I was waiting for my money from the sale and separation to come through. That is when the problems began, I had of course viewed the property prior to accepting and in actuality it was a lovely little flat. The floors/hallways were all spotless, the windows well cleaned, the lift smelled like lemon and bleach. Excellent I thought, I've lucked out! How horribly wrong I was.
On the week prior to my moving into my new home, on the sixth floor of an apartment complex, the only lift broke down. At first I wasn't concerned, it was a bit of a pain to climb up and down the stairs while decorating but I figured it would be sorted in a day or two. I called up about it and was told it'd be fixed and not to worry. Two days prior to my moving in my carpet fitters came, the lift was still out of order. The poor ******** had to climb the stairs with my carpets, they were good lads and I tipped well for their inconvenience. My bigger concern was that I had to move in the next day and knew the delivery company would ask for several times the amount, so I called again and told them I would be claiming my removal costs should the lift still be out of order. It was fixed the next day, my removal men dodged an unknown bullet.
As the days went on after moving into my lovely new home, the lift broke down again -- I examined the costs breakdown of my lease and laughed. Once more calling my new landlords to point out the ridiculousness of the situation. I also failed to mention the lack of room in my new kitchen for a washing machine, a little annoying but again the rent was dirt cheap and I figured I could deal with it. Upon moving in I'd been assured there was a 'laundrette' style area for the block a couple of floors down. My particular flat was 24 in the block, the second highest flat -- the laundrette had one small washing machine and one small drier for an entire block. I suppose I should have checked the room prior to signing the lease, but hey, it was dirt cheap.
Did I mention how the renovation project for the area fell through? It happened roughly a month after I moved in, which coincidentally was around the time less desirable people started to move in. The neighbour on my landing started to get harassed by a young 18-19 year old ex con, who, at random times in the middle of the night would kick the guys door as hard as he could and then run away. I know this because it woke me up on several occasions roughly around the same time, so I decided to wait up for it and see what would happen. The young man was less than enthused when I opened my front door and stepped out after hearing the 'bang' and decided to run the other way. I complained about this and was told the cameras fitted in the hallways didn't work properly and there was nothing that could be done as they couldn't make out the guys face. To make matters worse it became common for the local homeless drug addicts to somehow get into the block and doss in the stair-ways, hardly enjoyable having to climb past them every time I left or came home, and while the police would very occasionally chase them off they were always quick to return. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not claiming all homeless people are drug addicts, but these particular people most definitely were. Oh, and the lift was broke again.
Speaking of drug addicts, I had a literal drug dealer live a few floors below me. He was on the second floor from the ground, and I think it's important to point out that the windows at the back of the block backed onto a communal garden area that was mostly closed off. He was definitely an enterprising guy, at various times of the day and night his 'customers' would go to said back windows and shout up at him for their fix, obviously being the clever drug salesman that he was he developed a codeword: Chicken Dinner. Terry, as I came to know him, at least based upon the demands for chicken dinners, would answer the call all hours of the day or night. The police weren't particularly interested in this, they lacked the resources apparently and people shouting "Chicken Dinner! Terry! Terry! Chicken Dinner!" at 3am only to be tossed packages of drugs wasn't enough evidence.
At this point I'm three months into my tenancy, the lift is of course still broken and while the door kicking chav was no longer kicking my neighbours door I was having other problems. Due to the number of people in the the block the aforementioned washer/drier was in constant use, and according to the rules of the tenancy couldn't be used after 8PM. While there was supposed to be a 'system' where people signed for use, nobody bothered with it. I'm having to wash my clothes in my bath, not an enjoyable or expedient experience when you're working an extremely busy job. One day I had a lot of excess washing, so I thought I'd bundle it up and try my luck -- Excellent! Nobody is using it, I set my washing down and open the door of the washing machine. The smell was foul, somebody had quite literally crapped in the washer. I'm not joking here, there was a gigantic turd sat all alone dead centre of the drum. It was not a large washing machine, whomever decided to do this must have fished the thing out of the toilet or off the floor and taken actual care in transporting it to the perfect place: the blocks singular washing machine.
I had been looking for somewhere else prior to the above, but after a few photographs and an angry phone call I ramped the process up. I also reported it to the live in care taker, a man who would go out of his way to avoid you or any work. I did see him on more than one occasion with armful's of beer quite literally sneaking in and out of his own flat while pretending to not be at home when people would try to get hold of him.
I'm roughly 5 months in at this point and the communal hallways and windows haven't been cleaned since I initially viewed the property. I was under the belief things could get no worse, that of course was until I went to throw some bags of rubbish out. Did I mention the bin-chutes had been sealed off? Oh, and the lift was still out of order. So every single time I wanted to throw out a bag of rubbish I needed to walk down and then back up 5 flights of stairs, which at least allowed me to say hello to the resident homeless drug addicts living in the stairways. I enter the bin room, which requires me to go through a gallery of horribly stained old mattresses and random crap. It had become a dumping ground for tenants in the block who didn't want to pay to have the company remove their larger unwanted goods. I digress, the cherry on the cake was the young man who had quite literally overdosed with a needle hanging out of his arm -- I suspect his friends on the stairs had forgot about him but unfortunately I had to call for help on his behalf.
I thankfully moved out a couple of weeks after that, left the place absolutely spotless, not a single thing remained. I was extremely lucky that on the day I did move the lift was actually functional, if but carrying the wonderous odour of urine. The guy they sent out to do a final inspection even complimented me on the state of my ex home, and discretely informed me that he would never live there in a million years and didn't blame me in the least for moving out. Two weeks later I received a letter demanding £1300 as I'd apparently left the flat in a mess with a ton of crap that had to be shifted out. I called and contested their claim, they apologised for the 'confusion' and told me not to worry about it was it was a mistake. A month after that I receive a letter from a debt collection agency on their behalf asking for £1300, I called them up and explained the situation -- the lady on the other side of the phone sighed, informed me this wasn't the first time, and I thankfully never heard from said landlord ever again.
A horribly long story I know, but I'd love to hear other peoples stories about their hellish homes!
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, well it was not all bad, but I'm more of a country person than city foke
