Subletting is always an adventure. I’ve had flatmates lie about eating my chicken salad, sneak shots from my whisky collection and pilfer toilet paper from my bathroom because they lacked the foresight to stock up. But this here is an amusing bit of subterfuge. You moved a big parrot into your room without asking, without coughing up a pet deposit and without even acknowledging it after the fact. I had to inquire about the unmistakably tropical-bird squawks coming from your end of the hallway, to which you answered that you were merely “bird-sitting” for a spell and not to worry. Never mind the fact that you still should’ve told the master tenant about that—the bird is still here three months later. That’s a long time to be bird-sitting, my friend. You’re lucky I struggle with confrontation. Otherwise, you’d pay me a pet deposit or pack up your bird and leave.
I Saw You is an anonymous “man on the street” column. Email your rants and raves about co-workers or any badly behaving citizens to [email protected], or send to 380 S. First St, San Jose, 95113. Submissions should stick to about 100 words.
