Fuck you, Jupiter Communities, part I

While I’ve never been waterboarded, I am certain that it is a slightly more pleasurable experience than moving.

Few things are as torturous as packing up all of your material possessions into assorted cardboard boxes, trudging these boxes and furniture into a pricy rental truck, driving to a new location and unloading.  It is a physically exhausting endeavor that is immediately followed by the mental anguish of spending weeks attempting to reestablish some semblance of organization your life and comfort in your new home. 

For weeks, one inevitably feels like a refugee, sorting through a seemingly endless collection of boxes in search of a mundane item.

“Where did I pack the goddamn fucking forks?” I’ve shouted on several occasions after combing through four indistinguishable cardboard boxes marked “kitchen.” 

This disdain for the ordeal of moving to a new home is exacerbated by the fact that I have lived in 13 different places over the course of the last decade. 

My current lease is set to expire on November 1.  Despite my contempt for cardboard boxes, bubble wrap and U-Haul trucks, I am looking forward to moving to my 14th home in the last 10 years. 

Granted, I have lived in much worse places than my current apartment.  Douchebag neighbors, cantankerous geese, a ponzi scheme promoting janitor and the persistent smell of marijuana and crack cocaine in the lobby are only minor nuisances.  My greatest grievance is with the inattentive management company.

Months before I moved into my new apartment, the complex was purchased by Jupiter Communities, a Chicago-based company that manages 40 “communities” across the country.

I have no firsthand experience with the prior management company; other residents have suggested that the former regime was more attentive to minor details, such as ensuring that various aspects of the building function as intended.

::

Weeks after moving in, the fluorescent overhead light in my kitchen stopped working properly.  When I flicked the switch on the wall, the light would take several minutes to turn on.  Sometimes, the light wouldn’t function at all.

The fixture required a new ballast, which is a simple repair.  However, as an apartment-dweller, I do not own a ladder, which would be necessary for reaching the ceiling-mounted fixture.  Furthermore, I refuse to perform such repairs to an apartment; I feel that minor repairs are covered in what I pay in monthly rent. 

The moment I discovered the issue, I walked down to the management office and reported the problem.  The broad in the office kindly jotted down my information and said the maintenance staff would fix the issue that week.  The repair never happened.

Weeks later, I called the management office from work.  The broad on the phone asked for my address and apartment number, explaining that the maintenance staff would fix the light the following day.  The repair never happened.

I ran into the Bible-thumping head of the maintenance staff and explained my problem.  He apologized and pledged to dispatch one of his goons to troubleshoot the faulty fixture.  The repair never happened.

For months, I begrudgingly dealt with the issue.  I cooked countless dinners in a darkened kitchen, illuminated only by the small light above my sink.

Last month, I returned from a weekend excursion at boqueen’s palace and found that the management company had slipped a note under my door.  The letter explained that they would be conducting mandatory inspections of the units, and that a note should be left on the kitchen counter detailing any issue that required attention. 

When composing my note, I used a bright yellow piece of paper and scrawled the message in a thick permanent marker – I did not want the note to go unnoticed.  I imitated the vocabulary of the few maintenance men that I had spoken to.

“KITCHEN LIGHT DON’T WORK,” the note read.

I placed the note on my kitchen counter.  When I returned home from work the following evening, the note was gone.  I eagerly ran to the light switch, in hope of discovering that the maintenance staff had replaced the faulty ballast. 

Alas, the repair had not happened.

I considered the possibility that the maintenance staff did not have a new ballast on hand.  Perhaps they would require a few days to make the repair. 

I waited two weeks.  The repair never happened.

After months of toiling away in my dimly-lit kitchen, I again walked to the management office.  Again, I explained my problem and again, I was told that the issue would be corrected over the course of the following week.

I told the broad that her proposed timeline was unacceptable.  I demanded that the issue be corrected the following day.

“I’ve been dealing with a dark kitchen for over eight months,” I explained. “I’ve reported this several times and you guys haven’t done a goddamn thing.”

“I am terribly sorry, Mr. boke– ”

I cut her off mid-sentence.  “In fact, when came in December to report the problem, you were the persons who took down a note about the issue.”

“I will be sure to notif–”

“And what did you do with that note?” I interrupted. “Did you just throw it out?”

“I apolo–”

“You realize that the lights haven’t worked since last year, right?” I shouted. “That’s right, the last time I cooked in my apartment with the lights on, George W. fucking Bush was still president.  Fix it now!”

I stormed out of the office before the bloated broad was able to respond.  The following day, the repair happened. 

::

The issue with the light fixture in my kitchen is one of the many grievances that I have with Jupiter Communities.  In many ways, the company is the drunken, abusive, deadbeat father of property management. 

::

When I moved into my building, one of the three entrances was perpetually unlocked.  While this was quite convenient for residents that were locked out of the building, it also presented a security concern.  I considered that there might be a correlation between the smell of crack smoke in the lobby and the unfettered access the public, including drifters, were granted to the building.

After six months, the bumbling maintenance staff attempted to correct the issue.   It quickly became clear that the blue-shirted fleet of janitors were not qualified locksmiths.  The door would not open at all.  Residents occupying the middle third of the building were needlessly inconvenienced, forced to walk 300 feet to an alternate entrance.

Seven weeks later, the repair finally happened. 

::

My apartment features on-site laundry: four washers and four dyers are located in the basement of the building.  This is a very important feature when searching for an apartment.  Hauling several weeks’ worth of clothing to the local laundromat is a taxing endeavor, especially during the winter. 

Unfortunately, the washing machines in my building were quite leaky.  Washing a load of laundry would generate a one-inch layer of water on the painted concrete floors of the laundry room.  Wet, painted concrete floors are a quite slippery surface.  On several occasions, I fell on my ass while transferring clothes to the dryers.

The unreceptive management staff showed very little interest in my complaints.  Likewise, several of my neighbors told me that they had complained as well, but the repair never happened.

::

Chicagoland endured some particularly rainy periods last spring.  Mother Nature, who is normally a raving cunt bitch whore, decided to intervene in my situation and render the faulty washing machines useless. 

One particularly rainy evening, the basement began to flood.  Water continued to rise in the basement, threatening to saturate the building’s main fuse box and potentially electrocute everyone in the building, which would transform the residents into charred, smoldering corpses. 

In the wee hours of the morning, the building was evacuated.  Fortunately, I was not present at the time.  My elderly neighbor, Ellen, was instructed to find a suitable hotel for herself, her husband and his oxygen tank and her crippled dog. 

Ellen elected to sleep in her car instead.  Several hours later, the maintenance staff finally learned how to use a sump pump to clear the unwanted water from the basement, and the building was declared inhabitable. 

The rising water had rendered the washers and dryers useless.   For six weeks, the laundry room was closed and residents were force to explore other options for cleaning their clothes.

Certainly, on-site laundry is a luxury.  Yet I had assumed that this feature was included in the price that I pay every month for rent.  Clearly, Jupiter Communities thinks otherwise, as evidenced by their hesitance to outfit the laundry room with appropriate appliances.

Click here for part two.

5 responses to 'Fuck you, Jupiter Communities, part I'

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1. “I considered that there might be a correlation between the smell of crack smoke in the lobby and the unfettered access the public, including drifters, were granted to the building.”

   Puleeze. Who are you kidding? People on the north shore are too preppy to do crack.

   CC

   09.10.09 12:21 AM

    

2. I work for Jupiter, just finished reading Part 1 and have laughed my ass off!!! While it sounds like you got a super sucky managment team, Jupiter should really get people in there that know their head from their butts.
   This won’t surprise you, but Jupiter is also a VERY CHEAP COMPANY….good luck with your next move! (I’m going to go read Part 2 right now, can’t wait!)

   nonameavailable

   10.07.09 03:18 PM

    

3. As a former Jupiter Communities employee, I can tell you Jupiter Communities and its parent company ( Jupiter Realty, I think they sold a large stake of it to someone recently) are run by a bunch a old gas bag owners and a retarded blonde(I’m sure it’s not natural, but boy you think it was) bitch of a president who’s style of managing is on par with that of a manager at McDonalds.

   What a waste of 4 years of my career, I went to work for former partners of that business that left and started their own company because they couldn’t stand to see where the company was headed.

   Jupiter Communities Sucks

   11.30.09 11:38 AM

    

4. Sounds like a real nightmare.

   Next time, Google Jupiter Communities.
   Get the name of the CEO and call him!!!
   He wants nothing more than to find out about
   rotten managers.
   In fact I have sent my managers a link to your blog.
   I warned them they better not allow situations like this. Or, they are out!!!alf

   alf

   08.18.10 12:07 AM

    

5. That’s nothing. In the past 1 1/2 years I was moving to a 3rd. state in a attempt to get away from a abusive husband. I went on rent.com and found 2 of Jupiter’s complexes’s. The 1st had a apt for me to see & it worked. I was told it would be ready in 3 days, so I went & got m.o and paid all their requested fees. Only problem I never got a call back. I called mid afternoon the day before I was to move in & was told she hadn’t given my application to the manager yet but would put it on her desk when we hung up. Mid afternoon Sat. still not hearing anything I called and was told I could move in but they ran my credit and I’d have to pay a large deposit. I expressed my surprise and asked why hadn’t I heard form them & was told ‘she got busy but could move in today. I declined stating if this is how they manage I was not interested. Yeah right, I can move in, I’m a 60 yr old woman who doesn’t know a soul in Phoenix and had a 19′ truck full to the brim. I then looked again and contacted my 2nd choice, Desert Wind, as with I got m.o. & paid all the fees but was told they didn’t have a apt to show me and it would be 3 more days before it would be ready. I was told they ran my credit and it was find I got in on the $99.99 move in special (yet it didn’t pass with the other Jupiter office…dah! Moving day I I’d hired 2 men who answered my craigslist ad and I went to sign my lease when they called in the late afternoon. After the paperwork was done I got my keys and asked for the code to get into the gate. I was told it wasn’t working. In the apt. I was shocked how dirty it was and once in the bathrm there was a strong musty odor. I knew what it was so I found the Lysol Nutria Air & went nuts. I kept one of the men to help me & for 3 days and he went to the office with me the next morning to express my concern about the mold (I’d taken pictures of the night before). It got ugly from then on, very ugly. My request for repairs were ignored and I spent 4 days using rubber gloves to close the flapper in the toilet so it could fill up & I could flush it. All my expressions about the mold & its effects on me (have Hx of asthma) fell on deaf ears. Well, to say I had a few scary moment would be a understatement but no longer could I ignore I was in trouble big time. My 2nd. visit to the medical clinic @ Luke AFB I was having a particularly bad day but far from my worse one. I was rush to another room as soon as the doctor enter the room & heard my wheezing & coughing attempting to get a breath. Immediately I was given oxygen, a breathing treatment, then a 2nd one, a IV of steroids and still not feeling I was OK I was sent to a local emergency room. It was when I said I didn’t want to go they might keep me & I don’t know anyone here to care for my cat I was told “You can die” that was my final straw. I started to apt hunt 2 days later and am moving out. Mind you, They wouldn’t wait until I got my truck unloaded to show them my cat’s shot records and had to pay $90.00 to get shots he already had before they’d let me move in, shortly after they finally fixed my toilet a diamond ring I’d bought 2 weeks earlies was mysteriously gone (of course they said they do checks on their help) I have pictures of the mold & filth, a witness, a military doctor, medical bills & Rx’s not to mention 5 weeks of being as sick as a dog with headaches, burning eyes, coughing and wheezing. I could go on & on but you get the picture…stay away from any complex they manage apparently all their staff needs some serious people skills and training.

   theuniqueldy

   07.27.11 02:52 PM

    

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