A couple of weeks ago I got my nose bent out of shape by a property manager who inspected my perfectly-maintained home and told me that I needed to dust the air vent in the ceiling above the toilet and I wanted to punch her in the face and ask her to show me a little respect on account of the fact that we have rented our house for almost seven years and in that time we have not once missed a rent payment or attempted to grow marijuana in the bathroom or set fire to the carpet and so if she discovers a little dust in the toilet she ought to just let that one go through to the Keeper.

So anyway at that same inspection I told her that the wiring in two light fittings near the front door would benefit from some attention from a qualified electrician and two weeks later nobody had called me to make an appointment to come and fix it.  So I called her yesterday morning and she said she would call the electrician again and she told me that if I didn’t hear from him by Friday that I should call her back to chase it up.  She was not at all concerned or sorry that the problem hadn’t been resolved despite two weeks having passed.

I hung up the phone, then called back and asked the receptionist for the name of the Manager of that real estate office.  She said “oh… um… can I ask your name?” and I said “no, you can’t.  I just want the name of the Manager” and then she said “can I ask what this is regarding?” and I said “no” and so she told me who it was and then she told me he was unavailable and so I asked for his mobile number which she gave me and then she very, very cheerily wished me a pleasant day.  I called him and he answered right away, and we had a lovely chat.  I told him that I didn’t think it was reasonable of the property manager to ask me to chase it up again in another three days, and that if I had been the landlord and not just another tenant she might have adopted a sense of urgency with regard to ensuring the electrician was notified and booked.

He agreed.

A few hours later, the electrician has been and gone and everything is fixed and as it should be.

I got a call back from the Manager of the Property Managers and he and I also had a lovely chat. I told him how the property manager had wandered around, going into my bedroom and my daughters’ bedrooms and she hadn’t even remarked on how sparkling clean the oven was and all she had to say about anything was that there was dust in the toilet.  And he said

“Well, after seven years, that house is more like your home, isn’t it, so really she ought to be a little more respectful of that.”

I choked back tears, honest to God.  I was about to start crying to a real estate agent.

I know it’s hard for a lot of people to get their heads around the notion that a rented house can be a home.  I myself have struggled with it.  When the bushfires came through Canberra in 2003 and destroyed 500 houses in Duffy and Curtin, one of those 500 houses was where one of my friends lived with her family.  They rented the house.  And I’m so ashamed to admit this now, but I distinctly remember telling her “well, at least it wasn’t your house.”

No, it wasn’t her house, but it was most definitely her HOME.  And now, years later, I totally understand the look of sadness that came over her face when I told her, indirectly, to suck it up.

Kudos to the Manager of the Property Managers, and the Manager of the Agency, for recognising exactly what the problem was, acknowledging it, and then fixing it, without the merest suggestion that I was asking for anything unreasonable – the problem being, of course, that I felt completely disrespected and taken from granted (the wiring was a secondary issue).  In fact, I’m going to write them a letter.  And if, in a few years time I am looking for a real estate agency to take care of my enormous property portfolio, I’ll give them a call.