Sunday, July 3, 2011

Viking Conquest

Recently, I moved from my old apartment to a new place.  I originally decided to make the move for a conglomeration of three reasons:
1. My apartment had electric heat and poor insulation, so I damn near had to sell my organs on the black market to be able to afford the winter electric bills (to keep the temperature between 55 and 60).
2. New neighbors moved in, and they are punk boners.  They would generally cram at least 10 douchebags into a studio apartment and then skateboard throughout the night outside my window while smoking.  In fact the cops were called on them for noise complaints a few times (not by me, but I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't amused by the fact that cops came).  In fact, once, the cops said to the rat bastards, "Keep it down because if you don't, we'll be back with a warrant, and from outside, we can smell things you don't want us finding."
3. My landlord tried to raise my rent by a ridiculous amount.  I know for a fact that there are other people in the complex with upgraded appartments that were paying about $100 less than what they wanted from me for my old crappy one with the non-sliding door and the cracked two-toned ceiling.  (Sidenote: I told the landlord that the door didn't slide open two years ago, and when I drove past the old apartment after I moved out, they were completely replacing the door.  Just in the nick of time!)

This story, however, is not about the reasons for leaving.  It is instead a tale about the new place.  A few days after I moved in, I found a little "Welcome Gift" from the old occupants.  I woke up one day with some little red marks on my ankles that itched like the dickens.  I suspected I knew what the culprits were, but I wasn't sure.  Then, I found one.  The old occupants gave me fleas!

Needless to say, I called the local pest control company; the flea army drew the first blood, so it was time for war.  Anyway, the consultant came out for a consultation and to give me a quote.  A few days later, I had an appointment for a technician to eradicate the non-fleeing force.  Both the technician and the consultant told me that after treatment, there was a thirty day guarantee of results, and the technician told me before he began treatment that I would need to vacuum every day for the next two weeks to combat the fleas.  Then, I told him where the fleas were, and he went to work.

I came back after the requisite amount of time had elapsed, and I vacuumed, as I was instructed.  After doing this for eight days, I received a bill showing a balance due (which was absurd because I had paid in full the day of the treatment).  Confused, I called the company to inquire.  The discussion went like this:

FSG: I received a bill, but I paid in full, so I'm having a tough time wrapping my head around a balance due.
Phonetard: We waived that, so you're okay.
FSG: Let me ask you one more thing.  How long after treatment should I start stopping seeing fleas?
Phonetard: About a week.
FSG: Hmm.  It's been eight days.
Phonetard: Let me check the file.
Phonetard: You got the one time treatment, so there's no guarantee with that.
FSG: Say that to my good ear?  Both the technician and the consultant said that there would be.  I didn't pay for your company to come out, treat part of my house (the invoice showed that the technician didn't even go into the basement, where I told him I was experiencing a problem).  I paid for you to complete the job.
Phonetard: I'll talk with my manager and give you a call tomorrow.
FSG: Okay.

When I hung up, I was a mix of peeved and proud; I was peeved for obvious reasons, and I was proud that I was able to abstain from referring to Phonetard as a "eunuch."  How can a company come out, not do their job, then tell you that they were kidding about the guarantee of results?  Anyway, the next day, another company representative called back to discuss how we would move forward:

Nice phone person: I know you spoke to [Phonetard] yesterday, and it turns out you were right.  There is a guarantee.  We can get out to you on Tuesday (this would be 13 days after the original treatment) after the holiday weekend.
FSG: Part of the reason I'm still having this problem is that the technician didn't spray the whole house, so I think you can come out tomorrow.
Nice phone person: Let me check the schedule.
[checks schedule]
Nice phone person: You're right.  We can come out tomorrow!
FSG: Thank you.  I appreciate your help.

Anyway, Friday, the new technician came out, and I explained to him that I wanted him to spray all the rugs and carpets.  The way I see it, I am not calling the Viking people for company...I have enough of that with the fleas.  He said he would, and I thanked him before leaving.

Now, I'm left to hope that the problem is actually solved.  If it's not, I can almost guarantee another post.



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