Some of you may remember my previous dealings with the grossly incompetent apartment complex in which I live. Long story short, they have a habitual problem with keeping their posted hours at the Mustang II office. I have complained to them several times, including a time when Jerry, Forrest, and I went down there and bitched at them for a half hour. Every time, it was the same shit:
we're trying to get more people,
we're going to do better. Today, my parents were helping me do laundry (though perhaps that's not fair. It's more fair to say that they did it. I appreciate it). Anyways, the office wasn't open at 1:00, like the door said it was supposed to be.
Now I'm pretty sure everyone who reads this blog knows my dad. Much of who I am can be attributed to him. As I've grown older, I think I've found that I've become even more like him (though I should add that he doesn't drink nearly as much as I do, so don't go thinking I got that from him). He doesn't like incompetence any more than I do, though he seems to be slightly more willing to state his displeasure in an unabrasive manner than I am. However, in the face of gross incompetence, he is perfectly willing and able to chew someone out.
After calling the Mustang I office and being told that someone would be at the office shortly and that he should
come over to the Mustang I office to put money on the laundry card. After telling them that he shouldn't have to go over there, he and I decided to go over there to complain...again. This would be I think the fifth time I've complained to them about about this particular problem. This would be the first time he complained to someone in charge.
So we go over to the office. After telling people waiting in line to sign leases that they're making a mistake, he asks to speak to the person in charge about their apparent staffing problem. So we speak to someone, a completely different person than I've ever talked to before. She's apparently in charge of staffing (Which makes me again have no idea just who's in charge down there). We proceed to complain...again, and they proceed to give us the run-around...again. She says they've put job listings in the papers. That's funny; they have several hundred students (possibly close to or exceeding 1000) living in their complex. That's several hundred to a thousand low-income tenants who want a do-nothing job. A thousand potential employees who would have an easy and fast commute to work. How many fliers around the complex have I seen telling people to apply for a front desk position? None. Zip. Zero. I'm tempted to find this job listing and post it around public areas myself.
She then tells us that she may have to close this office because she can't staff it. We tell her this is unacceptable, that we were never told this was a
satellite office opened for the convenience of the Mustang II tenants. We were told this was the Mustang II office.
My dad eventually tells here we're getting nowhere and asked for the number for the corporate office. She gives him an email address, tells us the guy whose email address she gave was
well aware of the situation and we go. On the way out the door, we again tell people they're making a mistake by signing the lease.
I'm convinced now more than ever that I'm dealing with a corrupt bureaucracy. One who only wants to maintain the status quo and get their rent check without doing any actual work. And because I'm a tenant, I have no rights or recourse to make them actually do something. All I can do is keep complaining until they're sick of me. And they have very thick skin. So, we'll complain to corporate, but since he's
aware of the situation, he's probably part of the problem as well.
Only four more months.