There's a slight chance I might be going to hell.

My former landlord (oh, it feels so good to say “former”) is a jackass. He broke many laws—such as not replacing appliances in a timely manner, refusing to put deadbolts on my apartment doors, giving me my rent tax forms late… He told me he didn’t want to put on deadbolts because living in fear of burglary attracts the negativity of intruders (like rapists) as though by asking for basic safety measures, I was “asking for it.” Our “included” washer and dryer costs were snuck onto apartment #1’s bills. He spent a whole hour explaining to my neighbor how to use the miniblinds like she’s some kind of idiot, but he failed to tell her that she controlled the heat for my apartment, so when she turned the heat down and left for Boston for Christmas, I had no heat in my apartment until she returned a week later—in the middle of winter in Minnesota—and my landlord had left town with no back-up facilities help, so I was screwed.

When I moved in originally, he hadn’t cleaned the apartment, so I had to scour the place before I could move anything in. It was disgusting. Now, I have moved out. I didn’t want to clean it because it wasn’t clean when I moved in and because I hate him. But he still has my deposit—and while he probably couldn’t legally withhold it for not cleaning, the last two people who moved out had to take him to court to get their deposits back. I didn’t want to go there.

My landlord is the next tenant for my apartment—he’s moving in as we speak. So what’s a girl to do? Do you clean the place, knowing he doesn’t deserve it, hoping to save your deposit? Or do you leave it crusted with gunk?

I’ll tell you what you do. You clean the whole apartment using week-old toilet water. You snap on some rubber gloves, dip a couple sponges in stagnant water from the shitter, and you scrub the inside of his refrigerator with it. Then you do the microwave, the bookshelves, the mirrors. Dip them again—give the side of the bowl a little wipe—then clean all the light switches and door handles.

I ran into the bastard on my way to get my last pieces of mail. He told me how clean it was—immaculately clean—and he seemed so pleased.