Trembicky.com is a new site for posting horror-stories about crummy landlords. It's named after the crummy Park Slope, Brooklyn landlord of the site's founder.
I had a real pair of slumlords, Jan Minar and Michael Williams at 48 Sycamore in San Francisco — they wouldn't fix leaky ceilings, broken window locks, faulty blinds, and best of all, they "fixed" my faulty heater by disabling the safety apparatus that was supposed to shut it off when it started spilling gas and CO2 into the apartment. When it was all over, they ripped me off for part of my security deposit. They wouldn't pay interest on my deposit, either — they claimed that all the interest was being eaten up by the "costs" of maintaining it. When I asked for an accounting of these costs, they sent me an invoice that listed expenses like "60 minutes waiting at bank to open account, @ $80/hour: $80." It would have been funny if they hadn't been overcharging me, breaking the law, and creating potentially fatal living conditions with their "maintenance."
I think it's a great idea to start a wall-of-shame for rotten landlords. I've had great landlords before (hello, Jim Johnson!), but it's really hard to tell in advance whether you're going to get the shaft when you sign your lease.
On December 14, after almost two full days of heat just at the legal minimum, the outside temperature drops, and it's 62 degrees inside. I post a letter on Gloria's door and call 311 to file a complaint. Later that afternoon, Gloria comes to our apartment with a variety of excuses for the temperature: our thermometer is no good, she says. I offer to get a new one. We have the thermometer placed too low; it should be at forehead level, she says. I move it to a high shelf and confirm with her that this is acceptable placement.
"You have to have sweater, like me," she says. "Even President today has sweater on." What this has to do with her sub-legal building management is not clear. I tell her that I keep myself bundled up all the time in warm winter clothes, and it's still cold.
