I was out of town when our office manager called. My usual pattern when I am away is I call the office every day at about 4 PM, and that no one is to call me unless there is a crisis that cannot wait. So you can imagine I was considerably startled when my cell phone rang at 11 in the morning, the caller ID reading simply, “Office.”
My heart was beating madly as I answered it, horrible scenarios racing through my head: “The fire spread so rapidly it could not be contained” or “The hurricane came out of nowhere.” Or, not impossibly, “Ants! All over the break room! Ants!”
The office manager was instantly apologetic. “I didn’t want to call you but the landlord said it could not wait.” This was odd since I had not had a conversation, beyond saying “Hello” in the hallway, with our landlord since I signed our lease, many years ago. “What does he want?” I asked.
“He wouldn’t tell me. He said he needed to talk to you. Now.”
This made no sense, but I gamely called the landlord. “Thank god you called,” he said. “Have you read your lease lately?”
I allowed it had been a long while since I read our lease, while I privately wondered if that was the document that I used to blot the ink spill from the copier. “Your lease was up almost 6 months ago,” he said. “How could you not know?”
I resisted the urge to ask the landlord why he did not know, but all I said was. “If it’s already six months past expiration this can wait til I get home. We’ve been in the building for over 5 years. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ll have a new lease waiting when you get back,” he said.
Now, I’ve always been reasonably happy in our office although the carpet is disgraceful and it needs a paint job. There’s also a clause in our lease prohibiting pets on the premises, specifically goldfish and myna birds; this clause has always rankled me, not because I am a fan of goldfish OR myna birds, but because I resented being prohibited from having them if I ever wanted to. Even so, I figured I’d sign the lease anyway.
But then I read the new lease and I was shocked that it not only raised our rent but also provided for an annual escalation clause and it was for a much longer term than I would have wanted, had I been asked.
This was not acceptable, and now I was pissed. It was bad enough that I could not have goldfish, but to raise the rent in a recession? Things moved very quickly from that point. On my lunch hour that day I identified six appropriate looking buildings within a mile of our office. I had callbacks from six leasing agents within 90 minutes and I saw three of the offices before I went home from work that day. All three offered me significantly cheaper rents for larger, nicer office space with all kinds of concessions and upgrades. I had selected our new office by the end of that day, agreed to sign a lease the next morning and planned to move I at the start of the nest month.
The next morning, I went to tell the landlord, who as it happened was playing golf, of my decision to move. Since he was gone I told his secretary, seriously doubting that she would give him the message, since she was routinely hung over until lunchtime and drunk immediately after. Then, deposit check in hand, I walked to the new building.
And here is where one of those interesting twists of fate popped up. The new lease had an obscure clause about not allowing a microwave oven in the space because of the danger to pacemakers. This clause may have been more stupid than the clause prohibiting myna birds, so the new landlord apologized for his oversight, said he’d remove it, no problem, and that he’d have the lease redone and ready and could I please come back on my lunch hour to sign it. So, deposit check still in my hand I walked back to the old office.
On my way in I met the landlord coming out. He had been paged off the golf course and was frantic to hear that we were leaving in the middle of a recession. He offered to meet whatever deal I had in the new space. He offered to clean the carpet and paint our space. He said I could have a fish tank. Since he lowered our rent significantly, I was about to agree — I certainly did not want to go through the expense and aggravation of moving. Then, feeling that for one of the few times in my life that I was in control, I pressed my point. “May I bring my myna bird?” I asked.
I hate that fucking bird.