Lily's Diary
by Lily
February 9
I didn’t know I’d finally won the lottery until three fat envelopes plopped though the mail slot on the same day. All were from attorneys congratulating me on my good fortune and suggesting I might be wise to seek their guidance during the conversion process, which, they intimated, had more twists and turns than the Lemnian Labyrinth. I read through each prospectus and grew more and more depressed. I’d waited six years for this day and now, gulp, I actually had to do something about it. All those inspections. All those fees. All that unwanted discovery of what lies beneath my well-decorated walls. All those upgrades made over the years without the formality of permits. And it’s not like you can postpone the decision. Once you get the go-ahead to condo convert, you have to do just that, go ahead. I know it’s a wise move in the long run: condo conversion is the only way I can afford to stay in my unit in my old age and still realize some of the capital I’ve sunk into it. But, oh, the thought of sharing ownership with others is pretty scary for a control freak like me.
February 14
It was not a happy Valentine’s Day for everyone. The tenants in unit two are splitting up. They’ve told me that she is moving out and he will be staying. The problem is, since she had moved in when she was single, her name is on the rental agreement. I told her she would not get her security deposit back until the apartment was delivered to me empty. “Can’t you just cross out my name and write in his and he’ll pay me the deposit I gave to you when I moved in?” she asked, hopefully. I told her that’s not how it works. I need to terminate one tenancy and begin another. I had served him a 6.14 notice when he moved in, so I knew that he didn’t have the right to stay on under her agreement and, more importantly, under her rent. Last night I slipped a new rental agreement made out to him under the door, indicating a new rent at market rate with a note saying, “Look this over and then let’s talk.” I’m waiting.
February 21
Maggie and I went to a meeting of the Coalition of San Francisco Neighborhoods last night to hear a presentation on the proposed measures to speed up public transit service on Geary Street. I’m interested because it will set a precedent for other transit corridors, which, in turn, set into motion a series of zoning changes affecting building owners. The Bus Rapid Transit plan suggests things like bus-only lanes, automatic fare machines, stop lights that turn green when a bus approaches and easier boarding. It sounded great to us, but it made the Geary merchants who were there mad as wet hens. Because the number of car lanes would be cut in half, they were afraid their business would be, too. As usual, I see both sides. (I hate that about me.) I feel that small businesses are the lifeblood of every San Francisco neighborhood and deserve all the support they can get, and yet, as a MUNI rider and proud Rescue MUNI member, I want nothing more than a world-class transit system. As a building owner, I am also torn. Part of the transit corridor master plan is to lift the current requirement of one parking space per rental unit. This means developers can construct larger buildings for less money and some owners can add an extra unit. But as a realist, I know that, irrespective of the availability of transit, most of the people who live in these buildings will also have cars and that those cars will end up parked on the street. Not a good thing in a city that has far more registered automobiles than legal parking spaces.
March 1
There may be scores of hearings going on in Washington, D.C., over contracts in Iraq, but, I, too, toil with ethical problems. Today: to paint or not paint. Apartment four is now vacant and the former tenant left walls bearing the scars of a loose headboard. Then there was a section of wall in the living room scorched from her computer, plus the usual sofa strip, picture outlines and nail holes. But was there enough damage to warrant the $3,000 cost of repainting the whole apartment? Using cleanser and a 3M pad, I got rid of most of the marks. Excepting where I had to rub extra hard (an encounter with a slippery marking pen?) the blemishes really aren’t that noticeable from a distance, particularly if I do a little touch up with paint and feather it with a dry brush. But, still, I ask myself if I can pass it off as “recently painted” when it’s really been five years. Well, maybe I could paint just that one wall in the bedroom if I’m careful to stop precisely at the corners of the wall and ceiling. But what about the space above the bathroom sink? Can I feather out the paint so that it doesn’t look like a patch job? I can always promise to paint if the new tenants stay a year. I wonder what Halliburton would do?
March 5
When I entered a tenant’s apartment for the first time after she had moved out, I found a sweet note trimmed with flowers thanking me for being such a good landlord. She said, by the way, that I would probably want to fix the broken pipe under the bathroom sink before I rented the apartment again. I rushed to the bathroom and found that the bottom of the vanity was soggy and the floor around it gave in when I pressed down on the linoleum. Why, oh why, hadn’t I stressed that her job as a tenant was to report malfunctions, and that mine was to repair? I berated myself for not having her initial that part of the agreement. Like many young people who work long hours and want to avoid any contact with their landlord, she had just looked the other way, not even putting down a bucket. I was horrified. The linoleum and subflooring had to be ripped up and replaced. The job cost much more than her deposit, even though I laid the lino myself. But, on the other hand, she had been there seven years, always paid early and, hell, I liked her. Again, I was faced with one of those ethical questions. I decided to charge her for the cost of the linoleum and replacement of the bottom of the vanity. But I’m not complaining. I received an important lesson: teach new tenants about the vital importance of reporting all malfunctions immediately.
March 14
A building inspector made one of those periodic inspections last month. He took his time and seemed to approve of everything he saw, commenting on how well some Victorians held up, provided they were well maintained. I swelled with pride. Nevertheless, he told me I had to put pieces of thick plastic over the windows of the French doors going out to the back yard in the first floor apartment where I live. “It’s for your own safety,” he said with some concern. Then he looked at the four cement stairs going from the yard down to the basement and shook his head. “Needs a hand rail,” he said, “for your own safety.” I was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t taking exceptional interest in my well being, and was deeply touched. After I had the work done, I called DBI for an inspector to sign off on the jobs. The guy that came out this time couldn’t have been more different. He didn’t seem to give a fig for my safety or my nice building. He barely looked at the icy plastic with its shiny studs now guarding the glass doors and the graceful line of the handrail made with high-grade lumber. No, he just shot them a glance and signed off. He was out of here in less than five minutes. Only a month after Valentine’s Day, but where was the love?
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the viewpoint of the SFAA or SF Apartment Magazine. “Lily’s Diary” is written by a longtime rental property owner who reserves the right to remain anonymous on the grounds that her tenants might gang up on her. Comments, corrections or ideas are welcome at lilysdiary@aol.com. Copyright © 2007 by SF Apartment Magazine. All rights reserved.