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Reminds me whenever I’m looking to rent an apartment—so many times the For Rent sign or ad will ask you to call for the rental rate.

Why?

Why waste your time? Why waste my time?

Because is it really ever negotiable? If you want to rent the place, you’ve got to pay what the landlord wants you to pay—right? Anyway, it’s usually the Goddamn janitor who shows you the dump—and it’s not like this dope has the power to negotiate anything. And here’s a guy, the Goddamn janitor guy—who, nowadays, always has a title more politically correct, if not, at least, ego-boosting than the title of “janitor.” No, no, he’s not the “janitor,” he’s the “Building Engineer.” He’s a guy paid to do the least possible amount of work, because, otherwise, the landlord’s overhead increases. Right?

The guy who shows you the apartment is the same guy who can barely keep the bathtub drain from backing up every two weeks. Sorry, he’s not negotiating the rent with you.

If I can only rent at six hundred dollars a month—max, and your so-called “efficiency unit,” your what’s-really an ego-deflating—dare I say—soul-destroying excuse for a place to call home-sweet-(you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me)-home, your less-than-a-Goddamn-jail-cell to rent, and all I make brewing Caribou Coffee is six hundred a month including tips, and your dump’s going for nine hundred fifty—kiss my ass, I’m not signing your Goddamn lease.

So, uh, how much did you say for the Dumpster? That’s including the lid, right?

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