In response to the retarded, stammering message he left on my voicemail, I decided to confuse him with a letter that addressed all of his rambling issues. It was six pages, double spaced. I talked about how he never ever cleans. It's insane. Apparently, the only response he could come up with was a mark on the cover page in red pen giving me an "A+" but saying that I should use spell check. That's actually pretty clever coming from a college dropout with attention deficit disorder. Ha ha ha.
Seriously, thought, he had no retort. I've cleaned up after him so many times I should call myself "Mini Maid". The front porch is a beer and cigarette wasteland because he's a smoker with no job and spends countless hours sitting there, contemplating his self-created situation. What can he possibly be thinking about? It's not about getting a job because he just started looking!? And he's been unemployed for months!
Anyway, after about a year and a half of watching the porch turn into a big outdoor ashtray/garbage dump and after he and I had a conversation about how it's a bad idea to make a place that's easily accessable to the landlord look like crap. He seemed to understand. And then he continued to put his cigarettes out on the floor.
After leaving a garbage can out there, I finally got fed up and cleaned up out there. Swept, picked up the beer bottles and cans and wiped down the chairs which were covered in ash. I thought that he would take the hint and keep up with it, which is much easier than what I did. He subsequently lost his job and got a DUI, which apparently means creating a mess of everything else around you, including the porch. It's now worse than what it was before. And this is one of the many reasons why he makes me sick.