My bestie Jenna and I found the perfect vintage apartment with a seemingly sweet landlord, Mr. Whitaker. But things took a bizarre turn when his daily “inspections” and unsolicited advice crossed the line into creepy territory.
Hello! My name is Andrea, and anyone who has had to deal with a crazy landlord will relate to my story. So, here we go.
A few months ago, my bestie, Jenna, and I found this adorable two-bedroom apartment. It had that vintage charm, as well as brick walls, slightly creaky hardwood floors, and just this amazing cottage-core potential in the middle of the city.
A beautiful apartment living room | Source: Midjourney
The landlord, Mr. Whitaker, seemed like a sweet old guy, too, with gray hair and a kind smile. He looked a little like the grandfather from “Up,” except not grumpy.
I thought it was perfect, so we took it right away and signed the lease. For the first few months, it was bliss.
We decorated with quirky thrift store finds and turned every windowsill into a mini jungle. We even posted our journey on Instagram and did a lot of DIY craft stuff for more decorations. But then… things got weird.
Two people making crafts | Source: Pexels
It started innocently enough, so we didn’t have time to control things before they exploded. Let me explain a little better.
Mr. Whitaker showed up one day with a toolbox in hand. “Just checking the plumbing!” he said with a smile. That was amazing, right?
It was good to have a proactive landlord, one we didn’t have to call every day for a simple fix. But then he was back the next week. And the week after that.
An old man carrying a toolbox | Source: Midjourney
Soon, it was every. Single. Day. And his excuses got more and more ridiculous.
“Gotta inspect that wiring!”
“Those smoke detectors won’t check themselves!”
“Need to measure the air quality!”
I kid you not, he actually said this, and I had to Google if that was a real thing. Apparently, it was, so Jenna and I didn’t know what to think.
A woman with a puzzled expression | Source: Pexels
At first, we tried to be cool about it. We were like, “Maybe he’s just thorough? Or bored? Or really, REALLY into property maintenance?”
But nope, this issue got so much worse.
He came by another day without any kind of excuse and just looked around. Suddenly, he started critiquing our cleaning.
“You know, a little vinegar would get that stain out of the counter right out,” he said, pointing at a spot we didn’t even know existed.
Kitchen counters | Source: Unsplash
He also made these passive-aggressive comments about our lifestyle. “Back in my day, young ladies dressed much better with pretty sundresses, not sad, tight pants,” he muttered to me.
I was literally in my work clothes.
And sometimes he just… sat there. In our living room. Watching us like we were some kind of reality TV show.
He wasn’t exactly creepy yet, but Jenna and I were uncomfortable. If I wanted an old grumpy man to complain about my life and choices, I would’ve stayed at home with my parents.
A woman worried and uncomfortable | Source: Pexels
We had to start tiptoeing around our own apartment. It felt like he was here even in the rare times he didn’t show up.
Jenna and I even began to wonder if he was letting himself in when we weren’t around. Now, that was a creepy thought. But we had no proof.
One time, he showed up while Jenna was in the shower, and insisted on checking the bathroom sink right then and there.
I had to play bodyguard outside the bathroom door. Still, Jenna finished and came out quickly, and Mr. Whitaker got to work like this was perfectly normal.
A woman drying herself | Source: Pexels
Mortifying didn’t even begin to cover how we were feeling, and I was about to reach my breaking point.
Days later, he decided our furniture arrangement was “damaging the floor,” and tried to move our couch himself, nearly throwing out his back.
We had to help him sit down and get him some water. Eventually, we started keeping a log of his visits.
An old man on a couch drinking water | Source: Midjourney
It was our own bizarre diary:
Monday: Checked lightbulbs. Commented on dust.
Tuesday: Inspected windows. Criticized our choice of curtains.
Wednesday: ‘Fixed’ a door that wasn’t broken. Left it squeaking.
You get the idea. We were going nuts, but we were also kind of scared to confront him. What if he kicked us out?
A woman confused and worried | Source: Pexels
The rental market was brutal, and we loved this place (when he wasn’t in it).
Then came The Day.
It was a sunny Saturday morning. Jenna and I were having our weekend coffee, planning a day of brunch and thrift shopping.
I reached for the sugar and my elbow knocked over my cup. Coffee spilled over our cute little IKEA table and onto the floor.
That was no big deal, but before we could even grab a paper towel, we heard keys jingling.
Keys on a lock | Source: Pexels
The door flew open, and there was Mr. Whitaker. His face changed so quickly at seeing the mess and got so red, I swear he could’ve stopped traffic.
“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!” he demanded, and his eyes almost bulged like a cartoon. “YOU’RE RUINING MY PROPERTY!”
I tried to calm him down. “I just spilled my coffee, Mr. Whitaker. We’ll clean it up, no worries!”
“JUST COFFEE?!” he screamed. I’m pretty sure I saw steam coming out of his ears. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAMAGE THAT CAN CAUSE?! IT’LL SEEP INTO THE FLOORBOARDS!”
An old man yelling | Source: Midjourney
Jenna and I shared a look that said, “This is it. We’ve reached our limit. No more Ms. Nice Tenant.”
As soon as Mr. Whitaker stormed out (but not before giving us a 20-minute lecture on the “proper way” to drink coffee), we started thinking.
What could we do to stop this?
We spent the rest of the day researching tenant rights, reading our lease agreement with a fine-tooth comb, and coming up with a battle plan.
Reading a document | Source: Pexels
And we decided to use a secret weapon: a security system. (Yes, it’s legal in most cases for tenants to install their own security cameras.)
We had someone install it as soon as the system was delivered. It came with motion sensors, cameras, and a loud alarm. It also connected to the internet.
Jenna and I installed the app, and we were ready. It was definitely out of place, considering our decor and general style, but Mr. Whitaker had forced our hand.
A phone with several apps | Source: Pexels
So, the next day, we activated everything and left for our respective jobs.
Lo and behold, around 11 a.m., my phone started buzzing like crazy. The alarm had been triggered. I checked the cameras, and as expected, it was Mr. Whitaker, who had let himself in.
I called Jenna, and together we decided to call the cops, although we only used the non-emergency line. Then, we each left our jobs early.
A woman at work making a call | Source: Pexels
When we got to our apartment, Mr. Whitaker was in a heated argument with two very unimpressed-looking police officers.
“This is MY apartment!” he yelled, his face matching the color of a ripe tomato. “I have every right to be here! I OWN this building!”
The younger cop looked so done, so we approached and introduced ourselves.
“Sir,” he said slowly, “you may own this place, but you have tenants. You can’t just enter whenever you want. That’s not how this works. They have a right to privacy.”
Cops working a case | Source: Pexels
When Mr. Whitaker began sputtering, I pulled out the lease agreement, pointing out the clause about 24-hour notice for non-emergency entry.
The older cop nodded at me as if he already knew that clause would be there. Jenna and I thought this moment was great to point out how Mr. Whitaker often barged in, not taking no for an answer, and made us uncomfortable.
The officer’s frown increased the more we talked.
A cop with his arms crossed | Source: Pexels
After a huge sigh, he turned to Mr. Whitaker. “Sir, you’re in violation of the lease terms. These young women have a right to take this matter further.”
I was expecting the old landlord to complain some more, but he deflated like a sad balloon. He probably felt cornered.
He mumbled something about just trying to take care of his property, and I decided to lay it out for him.
“Mr. Whitaker, we appreciate that you care about the building. But there’s caring, and then there’s… whatever this is. We’re responsible tenants. We’ll let you know if anything needs fixing. But you can’t keep barging in like this. It’s not okay.”
A woman with a worried look | Source: Pexels
Mr. Whitaker avoided my eyes.
Jenna added her two cents. “Being a good landlord doesn’t mean invading our privacy. We just want to feel comfortable in our own home. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
The old grump nodded, but I could tell it was a begrudging agreement, so the cops gave him an official warning. They explained that if it happened again, he could face legal consequences.
Mr. Whitaker nodded again, but it was more serious, although he still looked like a kid who’d been told Santa wasn’t real.
A sad old man | Source: Midjourney
I felt bad for the sad, old man. He might have been lonely, but I don’t regret it because it’s been blissfully quiet since.
He has stuck to the lease terms like they’re glued to his hands. Not only that, but he schedules visits in advance, keeps them brief, and actually waits for us to let him in.
So here’s what I learned: Know your rights as a tenant. Document everything. Don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself. And a good security system is worth its weight in gold!
Two women laughing on a couch | Source: Pexels
My Parents Moved My Brother’s Things Into My New House While I Was on Vacation – It Was High Time I Brought Them Back to Earth
When Jeremy and his wife, Nina, get home from a vacation, they are horrified to find Ted, Jeremy’s slob of a brother, in their home. After a confrontation which leads to angry parents and Nina moving out, Jeremy forces Ted’s hand, making him move out…
When I came home from vacation, I was expecting to relax, maybe pop open a bottle of wine with my wife, and enjoy the peace of our home. Instead, we walked into a living room that looked like a complete frat house after a party from Hell.
A couple on vacation | Source: Midjourney
There were beer cans everywhere, dirty clothes tossed in random piles, and the smell, my goodness, the smell. And there, sprawled out on my couch like he owned the place, was my older brother, Theodore, or Ted, as everyone called him.
“Ted, what the hell? What is this? Why are you in my house?” I asked, trying to stay calm, though my blood pressure was rising by the second.
Nina, my wife, looked around our living room and rolled her eyes. In that moment, I knew that I had to fix it or I’d have to deal with a very upset wife.
A messy living room | Source: Midjourney
My brother looked up, casually, like I hadn’t just caught him red-handed.
“Oh, hey, Jeremy,” he said. “Mom and Dad figured that it would be easier if I just moved in while you were gone. You’ve got all this space, and it’s not like you’re using it, you know? You and Nina are either working or on vacation.”
I blinked, trying to process the audacity of his words.
A man sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
“You moved in? You moved into my house? Without asking? Ted, are you insane?”
He rolled his eyes, lifting his feet onto the couch and crossing them like he was about to watch a movie.
“Yeah, so what?” he said. “I needed a place to stay, and it’s not like you’d say yes. So, we decided to skip that part. Quit being so uptight, Jeremy. Just help a brother out.”
A man sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
It was like a switch flipped inside me, the years of watching him leech off my parents, his life one big excuse after another, and somehow, he was the victim here.
Now, he’d taken over my house. Really?
Just as I opened my mouth to speak, my phone rang. Mom. Of course.
I answered, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible.
A man holding his phone | Source: Midjourney
“Mom, did you and Dad seriously let Theodore move into my house while I was away?”
“Why are you using my full name?” Ted chimed in from the background.
I ignored him.
“Jeremy, don’t be so dramatic,” my mother said, not even a hint of apology in her voice. “Ted needed a place to stay, and you’ve got all that room. You don’t even have kids yet. So what’s the harm in helping out your brother?”
An annoyed woman | Source: Midjourney
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Mom, he is 42 years old. He isn’t a kid. You’ve let him mooch off you for years, and you want to dump him on me? Are you being serious? Why do you want to treat him like he’s a kid just out of college?”
My mother’s tone shifted, and she immediately went on the defense.
“Oh, mooching, huh?” she said. “I’m disappointed in you, Jeremy. He’s been through a lot. You don’t understand what it’s like to be him. You’ve always had everything together. Ted needs a little more help. And as family, you owe it to him.”
A frowning man | Source: Midjourney
Been through a lot? My brother had two children under the age of five, with two different women. And he didn’t bother to support either of them. How was I supposed to feel sorry for this man?
Before I could respond, my father took the phone, his voice taking over my ear, sounding even more irritated.
“Jeremy, stop being selfish. You’ve got the money, the house, the wife. What’s the big deal? It’s your job to take care of your family. Ted is your brother. He is staying.”
Two young children | Source: Midjourney
I almost lost my mind. I almost let my anger take over me. But then I remembered that it just wasn’t my style. Ted might’ve thought that he had won this time, but I had a plan.
“It’s not about the space, Dad,” I said. “It’s about respect. Ted can’t just live here without my permission. Nina and I have worked hard for our home. And what’s even worse? My wife just has to deal with this, too.”
From the couch, Ted snorted.
A man sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you’re all high and mighty. It’s just a house,” he said.
“But you’ve been freeloading off Mom and Dad for years. Why should I trust that you’d do anything differently here? Why can’t you stay with one of your kids and their mom?”
I thought that was the card that would have frustrated him. But he didn’t even flinch.
A frowning man | Source: Midjourney
“Because I’m family, that’s why. Why do you always act like I’m a stranger? It’s my right to stay here. Mom and Dad said that you’d be like this, but I didn’t think you’d be this bad.”
I was done.
“Fine, Ted,” I said. “You want to stay? Sure. Let’s see how that works out.”
I was fine with being horrible to my brother, I mean, someone had to teach him a lesson. But when I went upstairs to tell Nina about everything that had happened on the phone, she was highly frustrated.
A disgruntled man | Source: Midjourney
“Jer, you can’t be serious,” she said as I sat down on the bed across her.
“I’m going to fix it. I promise you, Nina. I’ll make this right. But I’m going to teach him a lesson first.”
“Well, I don’t want to be here for it. You have a week. Get him out, or I’ll stay gone,” she said.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
An annoyed woman | Source: Midjourney
“I’m going to my sister’s house, Jeremy. I can’t stand your brother, and I will not stay here while he’s here,” she said, packing a suitcase as she spoke.
“I’ll make this right, my love,” I promised her.
For the next week, I made Ted’s life a waking nightmare without ever raising my voice. And with Nina gone, I had a bigger incentive to get him out.
A woman packing a suitcase | Source: Midjourney
The first thing I did was disconnect the Wi-Fi. Ted, who spent most of his days glued to his phone or binge-watching shows on the TV, was completely lost.
He complained, but I just smiled.
“Oh, the internet? Yeah, it’s been spotty.”
Next, I shut off the hot water. Ted loved his long, lazy showers, but now he was greeted with ice-cold water every morning.
Water running in a shower | Source: Midjourney
“Must be something wrong with the plumbing,” I’d say innocently when he whined about it.
Then, there was the food.
I stocked the fridge with nothing but tofu, vegetables, and the healthiest food I could find. Ted hated anything that wasn’t greasy or fried. And now, every time he opened the fridge, he groaned like I was starving him.
“You’re family, right?” I’d say. “I’m sure you can deal with a little inconvenience. But it’s for my health, so you’ll be fine.”
An array of healthy food | Source: Midjourney
To top it all off, I started blasting music at 6 a.m. every day while I had my treadmill session in the gym room. I figured if Ted wasn’t going to contribute to the household, the least he could do was get up early.
He hated it all, of course. And by day five, he looked like he was on the verge of losing his mind.
“Jeremy, man, this is BS,” Ted said one morning, his voice filled with frustration. “I can’t stay here. How do you live like this? No Wi-Fi, no hot water, and no food I enjoy. This is torture.”
A man on a treadmill | Source: Midjourney
I raised an eyebrow.
“I thought you’d be grateful to stay, Ted. It’s not like you’re paying rent or contributing anything. What’s the problem?”
He grumbled something under his breath, clearly fuming.
“Forget it, I’m going back to Mom and Dad’s.”
An annoyed man | Source: Midjourney
As he stormed out, dragging his junk with him, I couldn’t help but smile.
But I wasn’t done yet. I cleaned the house top to bottom, went out to get proper groceries, and cooked Nina a good meal. I had already called her during the day and told her that Ted was gone.
“Come home, honey,” I said.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
While waiting for Nina to shower, I knew that there was just one more thing to do.
“Mom, Dad,” I said on the phone. “Ted’s out of my house. And he won’t be coming back again. He’s your problem again.”
My mother was furious.
“Jeremy, you can’t just kick him out! Where will he go?”
“That’s up to Ted, Mom. He’s 42. If you guys want to keep coddling him, go ahead. But I’m done.”
A man talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
After that, I heard that Ted moved back into my parents’ house, but they demanded that he transform the garage into his own space. They forced him to get a job.
Ted was upset, of course, so they blamed it all on me. But I was fine with that. Nina and I had our home back, and we were at peace.
A garage converted into a bedroom | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
My Husband ‘Accidentally’ Locked Me in the Basement to Watch Basketball with His Friends at Our House
Dani cannot stand her husband’s friends. So when Ethan brings up the possibility of having them over to watch a basketball game, she shuts down the idea. On the evening of the game, Dani finds herself going into the basement to get a pack of beer, but before she knows it, she’s locked inside. What happens next?…
I should have just said no from the start. Not just when Ethan brought up the idea of his friends coming over for dinner. I mean way before that, like when I first realized how awful they were. I never outright said that I didn’t hate them, but let me be honest with you: I think I made it pretty clear.
An annoyed woman | Source: Midjourney
But my husband, Ethan?
He’s so different from these guys. At 35, he’s a successful manager at a tech company, and for reasons that I will never understand, he’s still friends with the same guys he went to high school with.
They’re loud, rude, and completely unlike Ethan. They’re everything he left behind when he made something of himself.
Except, apparently, his loyalty to them.
A man sitting in his office | Source: Midjourney
“Dani, it’s just one game,” he said that night, sitting in the kitchen with a hopeful grin. “The guys really want to watch the game here. They’re dying to see our new TV setup. It’ll be fun!”
I sighed, trying to stay calm. I could almost see the dreadful evening unfolding. I knew that Ethan’s friends would take over the house, inappropriate comments getting into every conversation.
“Ethan, you know how I feel about them. Every single time they come over, it’s like our house gets turned into a frat house. I’m not cleaning up after them again. It’s not happening.”
A man sitting at a kitchen counter | Source: Midjourney
My husband’s face dropped, a look of wounded pride flashing in his eyes.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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