Ok, so the car repair was, in fact, very necessary but I didn’t even have the money for it until the Friday I was supposed to be in Cocoa Beach. Turns out though I have the best sister in the world because she drove out to Tampa to pick me up and ferry me to the beach to be with the fam. I had a lovely few days to spend with people I don’t get to see often including some good friends from Jacksonville and one of my other sisters who lives in Seattle and whom I haven’t seen in over a year. Then that same amazing sister trundled me back out to Tampa because she’s a saint. We get back and find a note on my door saying that I didn’t pay this month’s rent and I have until the 21st to pay it or I’ll be evicted. Setting aside the fact that it’s fucking atrocious management to actually wait until most of the month is over to try and collect on those who haven’t paid you rent, I not only paid them at the start of the month THEY TOOK THE FUCKING MONEY OUT OF MY BANK ACCOUNT!
I’ll admit my first reaction wasn’t one of anger, it was panic and anxiety because I’ve actually forgotten to drop off the rent check before (it’s only happened twice in my life). So even though I could vividly remember dropping off the rent check this month I doubted myself and called up my bank. THEN I was incandescent with rage. No seriously, I might have been foaming at the mouth. My apartment manager is only lucky she doesn’t have an after hours voicemail (see aforementioned atrocious management comment) or I would have left a very nasty message. As it was a Sunday it would have to wait a day.
Being a reasonable adult I printed out the scan of the cashed check from my bank account just so there wouldn’t be any question. I took it in and presented it to the office staff and what did she say? Oh, well yeah I paid, but they attributed it to the wrong apartment, but that’s my fault. Why? Because they decided that the address on my checks must be my current address (you may all remember I made an EXTREMELY ill-advised move to another apartment as opposed to finding a new complex altogether earlier this year). Wait, what? I get that maybe you might think that originally, but you don’t actually look up my name in the system? You didn’t notice that my name wasn’t attached to the fucking apartment you gave my money too?!?! ARGH! This place has never been great, but the new management are assholes who blame the residents when shit goes wrong. It’s not just me either, I listened to her mouth off to a resident who was complaining about the fact that their a/c was leaking everywhere (seeing as I have one of those leaking a/c units and it fucking FLOODED my closet I sympathize). These are your problems, your clerical errors show some fucking respect and an ounce of customer service and apologize, THEN ask if next time, to avoid confusion, I could just line through the old address.
And now we come to my car, the car that I couldn’t drive to the beach because the belts might go if the compressor clutch seizes. I dropped it off to be worked on expecting a $1000 repair. While I’m at work I get a call from the repair shop (now this is a group of people I trust so no, I don’t think they were screwing me over), the bolts on my alternator won’t come off. If they can’t get the alternator off, they can’t repair my car, but if they keep trying to get the alternator off it might snap the bit that holds it in place rendering the part useless and another thing I have to replace. So basically they need my permission to break my car, so they can fix my car. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well at least there’s no fucking labor charges but I had to replace the alternator too, which was another $180.
Also when I went to the Stitching Bee I helped put together, no one else showed up, so that was a complete bust.
I’m officially out of even. I’m declaring the week over, the remaining days can go fuck themselves.