As you may know, my kids and I have had our fair share of “adventure” this past year. We’ve relocated three times due to catastrophes. This last move is due to a wonderful setting in Cottonwood Heights called Hillrise Apartments. Unless it’s Halloween and you’re in for a creepy scare of not knowing what lurks behind the shadows, I wouldn’t suggest going there at all. Here is a video from the 2nd time we were flooded within a month–there was periodic flooding before this from under the floor. Know any lawyers seeking a bit of publicity? How about Get Gephardt from KUTV? Perhaps.
After already having missed several days of work for ridiculous repairs, such as our front doorknob literally falling from its socket THREE times and waiting for repairs, getting help in this scenario proved just as tedious. After alerting the manager of the first flood from upstairs, she gave me the tenant’s phone number (CPNI violation) and told me to call her myself, reciting that from now on, any calls I made after hours would cost me $50! Aubrey went on to tell me that a flood is not considered an emergency–an event is only considered an emergency if there’s a possibility someone may die. I suppose if your apartment burns to the ground, but no one’s inside, it’s not an emergency.
On this particular day my son, Cameron called the office with no response. He knocked on the door upstairs with the same result. And then, he called me. Hearing dripping in the background and remembering the flood a month ago, I said with dry humor, “Got flood?” Unfortunately, that’s exactly why he was calling. On my way home from work early yet again, I called our good ol’ government for the second time–and then I called the fire department. They showed up and made a report.
Clearly, no one wanted to help a single mother in Utah.
Get this, Randy Williams, the Environment Protection Agent I called (before the fire department broke in) didn’t come over until the next day, a couple of hours before the third maintenance worker in our six months, Phillipe, arrived with a wet vac.
Phillipe casually explained, with a smile stretched across his face, that we would pay for his services. None of these shinanigans surprised me, as Randy had barely made it when I called him the month prior. He clearly didn’t want to get involved. He called sixteen hours later, stating there couldn’t be anything for him to see since the water had certainly been cleaned up by now. I described the puckering walls and drenched carpet. When Randy finally made it, he remarked the brown carpet appeared dry and the swelling on the walls was purely cosmetic. There’d be no reason to worry about mold if I used a fan to dry the carpets. Furthermore, he sees nothing wrong with my two children and me staying there, despite the visible mold growth and rotting walls. He said it is harmless and shouldn’t be a problem for us to remain. (Remember kids, he’s paid with your tax dollars.)
After taking out a loan, we almost have enough money to move — we ended up “borrowing” money from additional funds that we shouldn’t have, but we had to move as the 100+ degree heat and the stench made me ill enough that I eventually went to the hospital, but still don’t feel much better. Our move got messed up because our rental truck was “lost,” which ended up costing us our movers after paying a $100 deposit. OUCH!
My daughter ended up “celebrating” her thirteenth birthday on July 24th, helping pack loads up to the apartment rather than the night at the movies with her friends, thanks to A-1 International Distributors, the company that supposedly owns this drug-dealers’ haven where we resided. My daughter was ultimately bummed her first teenage birthday was such a dud. Can’t say I blame her. I was crushed watching her haul her clothing in garbage bags up the steps to her new home in 103-degree weather. A-1 International Distributors and Hillrise Apartments should be deeply ashamed of themselves for feeding off struggling tenants.
We wound up with two super-duper high school studs helping us move with the use of several U-Haul trucks over the course of over a week. Okay, my son and his friend, Orion, moved our entire apartment up three flights of stairs! And pictured below are our new digs. Nice change, eh? We no longer live in the basement but on the third floor.
My week’s vacation from work was supposed to have been used much differently than working my butt off. I still have severe headaches and nausea, but we’re free at last!
Oh yeah, apartment manager, Aubrey did return my call — 11 days later — to inform me that without 30 day’s notice, I am required to pay for the month of August as well. In the event you’re wondering why Google has such great reviews on this complex, it’s because Aubrey will take $25 off of each person’s rent for a five-star review, whether or not anyone gives the review a thumbs up or not.
What’s your worst apartment experience, and how did you handle it?