“FIVE DAYS RENT DEMAND NOTICE TO TENANT”
To: JAMIE LARK
PLEASE BE ADVISED, that you are justly indebted to the Owner/Landlord of the premises described above in the amount of $11,424.00 for rent and additional charges for the period from November 2013 to July 2015. You are required to settle this amount within FIVE (5) days from the date of this notice or vacate the premises. Failure to comply will result in the Owner/Landlord initiating summary proceedings under the Real Property Actions and Proceedings Law to reclaim possession of the property.
As the digits flashed before my eyes, I was bombarded with images of no-fee apartment listings on Craigslist. Not only did I lack such a hefty sum, but I also knew I owed nothing at all. The intimidatingly capitalized FIVE DAYS felt cold and indifferent to my situation. My heart sank as I realized that this letter from the past was little more than a fabricated threat cloaked in false authority.
Following the method I had been using since I moved in eleven years ago, I adhered to the egg-and-spoon approach for rent payment. Each month, on the fifteenth, I would write a check, trek down from my fourth-floor apartment to the second floor, and slide my payment under the door of the building manager (who, as it turns out, was the landlord’s daughter). This slow, roundabout method was their preference, and for over a decade, we had maintained a flawless payment record—meaning, there was no money owed.
Clutching the letter, I stepped outside, my mind swirling in confusion. I spotted my landlord, Mr. Harris, emerging from his basement apartment, likely having just deposited the ominous notice. The prospect of confrontation loomed large.
“Mr. Harris!” I called out, brandishing the letter. “What is this?”
“YOU OWE ME MONEY!” he shouted back, his voice raised. “You never pay your rent! I know how many people are living upstairs! Hundreds, that’s how many!” Spittle flew as he raged.
This outburst was so unlike him that I was momentarily stunned, leading me to respond in kind. We exchanged heated words in the street for what felt like an eternity before I retreated to my apartment, tears streaming down my face as I called my mother, who offered little comfort.
“Do you owe him money?”
“NO!”
“Well, then you have nothing to worry about!”
But I did have something to worry about. I had a mere five days to settle a staggering debt I didn’t owe, or risk losing my home and all my belongings. I feared leaving even to walk my dog, imagining being ambushed upon my return. I dialed the lawyer listed in the notice, disputing the claims.
“You mean you don’t owe any money?” he asked.
“That’s right,” I confirmed.
“You’re all paid up?”
“Yes, I’m all paid up.”
He expressed concern about my landlord’s mental state, but I figured that would be the end of it.
How many more days until I’d be homeless?
Two days later, another notice arrived—this time in a certified envelope waiting in my mailbox. I called the lawyer again, but he refused to take my call. The next day brought yet another letter, and again, the lawyer evaded my inquiries. Soon, a certified letter from a different lawyer appeared, stating I now owed $19,992, an increase of $8,000. How many FIVE DAYS were they going to grant me?
I contacted 311, who directed me to the South Brooklyn Legal Hotline, only available for two hours each day. I reached out to several lawyers, but they told me there was nothing to be done until I received an eviction notice or faced a lawsuit—something I wanted to avoid, as it could ruin my chances of renting in NYC again. No one cared that my five-day window was swiftly closing, and I feared moving in with my mother, sharing her one-bedroom with my five-year-old brother and a small dog named Maxi, a name that made me wince.
From what I understood, fabricating a debt and coercing someone into payment is called extortion. What kind of lawyer would send out letters like this without requiring proof? What were my rights? I began researching my situation legally, but when I couldn’t find answers, I started Googling stories of others who received similar letters. Where were the others like me, the worried tenants, the distressed souls?
That’s when I recalled a project by conceptual artist Matthew Bakkom called the “New York City Museum of Complaint,” where he collected letters to mayors from 1751 to 1969. I had always wanted to explore the archives myself. This seemed like the perfect opportunity. My goal: to unearth past complaints from tenants in my building, perhaps even from my own apartment. If I could find enough evidence of wrongdoing, I could use it against my landlord.
For three years, I had dealt with inadequate heat, often telling my landlord I was freezing, only to hear his dismissive reply that it was warm in his apartment. Surely, if I had been without heat, others had suffered too. I aimed to gather a historical account of issues extending back as far as Brooklyn itself.
Upon reaching the Municipal Archives, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of complaints I had to sift through. I hopped on the Microfiche Reader and scrolled through history. I quickly realized that finding complaints from my building was unlikely, but I struck gold with a letter from my former East Village apartment, dated August 2, 1888. It was a report from James C. Bayles, President of Health and Sanitation, to Mayor Abram S. Hewitt.
I have the honor to return several complaints with the reports of inspectors detailed to investigate them, viz:
The letter from Andrew Gross of 118 St. Mark’s Place, calling attention to the fact that undertakers empty ice in the streets, that has been in contact with dead bodies, I desire to retain for fuller investigation. I do not believe that this is a general practice, but if it is, I am somewhat in doubt whether it is a source of danger.
In that same letter, Bayles also addressed other concerns, from complaints about noxious smells to unhygienic conditions. It was a reminder that while the issues may have changed, the act of voicing grievances remained timeless.
Having been absorbed in history for too long, I rushed home, fearing I had squandered my precious time. As I neared my block, the mail carrier stopped me, delivering yet another certified letter.
“Oh no,” I thought, panic rising.
“I know what’s going on,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “There’s a British real estate lady telling all the landlords how much they can get for their apartments. They’re trying to get tenants out.”
“Seriously?” I asked, incredulous.
“Seriously. Don’t complain about anything, don’t give him any reason to kick you out.”
But I had already complained about the heat to his daughter, who he claimed wasn’t related to him. I felt as though I was trapped in a web of confusion and threats.
In the midst of this turmoil, I found solace in the knowledge that I wasn’t alone. For those looking into home insemination, this home intracervical insemination syringe kit might be a valuable resource. If you’re exploring the journey to pregnancy, this fertility-boosting kit is another excellent option. For further information, Wikipedia offers a comprehensive overview of artificial insemination that can help guide you through this process.
In summary, as I navigated through my landlord’s accusations and the weight of historical grievances, it became clear that the struggle for rights and recognition has persisted for over a century. My search for evidence of neglect in my building intertwined with the echoes of past complaints, reminding me that standing up for oneself is timeless.
Keyphrase: tenant rights and grievances
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