#AND THEN DOCKING THEIR PAY IF THEY ACTUALLY USE *CLEAN MOP WATER* AND *CLEAN RAGS* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

troglobite · 2 months

Text

aldkjfalsd

paying more than mortgage costs for an airbnb house that

was not even remotely cleaned upon arrival (MULTIPLE sticky handprints on every surface in the kitchen, dirt IN THE REFRIGERATOR, muddy footprints, carpets & rugs so filthy that we HAVE to wear our slippers & give up on mopping the floors because they get dirty IMMEDIATELY, hair [human and pet, head and pube] on all the sheets and in every corner that has never seen a broom or vacuum, unidentifiable liquids and stains on every door [bedroom and bathroom] and the sheets & comforters)

was clearly not built to code bc it's worse than a 40s house but was built in the 70s (the stairs are definitely not to code and walking through the house quickly is like walking on the deck of a boat out at sea)

was advertised w central air but that was a lie and it only has tiny wall heaters in most rooms and 1 space air conditioner in 1 room

has a window that is so poorly fitted that the worlds largest creatures can come through it and give me a panic attack and nightmares for a week or more, and we had to physically tape it up ourselves

has a fridge that needs a water filter

has multiple smoke & CO alarms that are malfunctioning and/or need batteries

advertised lots of closet space but upon hanging 7 shirts on the ramshackle, not to code, pathetically cobbled together "hanger" in the only closet that won't leave the clothes dragging on the floor, collapsed completely and was unusable (unsurprisingly given the WOOD ITSELF WAS WARPED FROM THE WEIGHT OF *PILLOWS*)

has an UNBEARABLE mold and mildew stench IN THE MAIN BEDROOM ON THE FIRST FLOOR and what looks like a MOLD STAIN ON THE CEILING which is BENEATH THE UPSTAIRS SHOWER

has no batteries, lightbulbs, screwdrivers, garbage bags, or anything else remotely useful in the house for us to use (the vacuum is old as fuck, dusty, busted, and has hair EVERYWHERE, and the broom is literally duct taped together)

the upstairs bathroom toilet is like an escape room or physical/gymnastics challenge to get in and out of

one of the single-room wall heaters is literally BROKEN--turning it all the way down means it cranks and stays on forever, turning it all the way up temporarily turns it off, and it only stays off consistently if set at some middle temperature, but even then it'll still turn on unbidden--and there is no on/off switch

the furniture is nigh unsittable bc it is so cobbled together and uncomfortable

the chairs are basically unusable from how small and uncomfortable they are

the mattress are MISERABLE bc they have the world's FIRMEST MEMORY FOAM on ALL of them

THERE ARE NO CURTAINS ON ANY OF THE FUCKING WINDOWS AND ONLY THREE OF THE WINDOWS HAVE BLINDS. ONLY THREE!!!! THERE ARE ELEVEN OTHER WINDOWS IN THE HOUSE!!!!!!

everything outside is overgrown and in need of maintenance and care and is therefore unusable (there are just random dogtoys in places--inside AND outside)

there's just a used candle. sitting behind the tv.

the tv is TRASH and the volume is the WORST i've ever heard. we've trying fixing it REPEATEDLY. it ALSO is impossible to consistently get HDMI to connect to it/my laptop. i have to unplug and replug it multiple times.

the laundry room REEKS OF MOLD/MILDEW. it's also more of a closet. we have to have the fan on 24/7.

you cannot open the blinds on the 3 windows that have them. they removed the pulleys that allowed you to do that because "it was a pain/difficult to lower them back down" so they just REMOVED THAT OPTION.

the "guide book" for the home is CLEARLY outdated because it HAS THE WRONG INFORMATION FOR HOW TO GET IN THE HOUSE AND UNLOCK/LOCK THE FUCKING DOOR.

and we've only been here since last weds.

i'm wearing an n95 mask sitting in this bedroom because with my HEPA filter going, the room's wall heater turned off (bc that shit looks rank), and febreze odor eliminator sprayed REPEATEDLY in here after dousing the room in lysol upon arrival, the smell of mold is hurting my fucking lungs.

i literally want to strangle the ppl who think this home is in ANY WAY remotely fucking livable--and also, REMOTELY WORTH THE HELLISH AMOUNT OF MONEY WE HAD TO SPEND ON IT.

#and before ANYONE gets on my ass for this shit--WE HAVE NOWHERE TO LIVE #WE SOLD OUR HOUSE & CAN'T MOVE INTO OUR NEW ONE FOR 2 MONTHS #WE ARE NOT GOING TO LIVE IN A FUCKING HOTEL THAT LONG #we had to do that for 2 weeks last summer and that hotel was WORSE than this house that we have to ourselves #literally just i'm so fucking tired of EVERY HOTEL & AIRBNB being horrible #literally there is nothing clean or as-advertised anymore and i'm fucking sick of it #it sounds like such a bougie whiny complaint BUT IT'S NOT!#I REMEMBER A TIME IN MY OWN FUCKING SHORTASS LIFETIME WHEN HOTELS WERE CLEAN!!!!#INCLUDING SHITTY CHEAP ONES AND MOTELS! we just knew to not touch the duvet or the carpet! it was otherwise CLEAN!#and i don't mean Fuck The Housekeepers i mean FUCK THE CEOS FOR SHORTING THE HOUSEKEEPERS' SALARIES #FIRING SO MANY OF THEM AND RUNNING ON A SKELETON CREW #AND THEN DOCKING THEIR PAY IF THEY ACTUALLY USE *CLEAN MOP WATER* AND *CLEAN RAGS*#AND TAKE ~TOO LONG~ TO CLEAN A ROOM #and FUCK ppl who have an airbnb and don't actually do ANY upkeep of the fucking place #you're disgusting and horrendous and i hope you never know a day of fucking peace #for charging through the nose for what you KNOW is subpar GARBAGE #that goes for landlords ESPECIALLY

1 note · View note

mollykittykat · 7 years

Text

The Cupboard Game Pt. 2

AU in which Splinter evaded the contents of the mutagen canister and ended up raising the turtles as a human. No real warnings apply. Mostly family fluff with a teeny hint of angst. (Also available on A03: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10471893/chapters/23136108)

[If sum won coms wat do we do?]

Splinter got the fist text message a mere few minutes after he clocked in, when he was gathering his cleaning supplies and heading off to mop up the coffee spill in the recreation room.

He allowed his sons to send him text messages so long as it was important, although to four year olds “important” easily ranged from ‘I’m feeling lonely’ to ‘the stove was left on’ and everything in between. Though the turtles always forgot to say who was speaking before sending a message, Splinter could usually tell who it was simply by their writing pattern.

This one was from Leonardo. He had an average vocabulary for someone his age, misspelling things and sometimes allowing autocorrect to fill in the wrong word, but that aside he used the phone properly, and was typically clear and concise about his messages.

[Is there a stranger in the apartment?] Splinter’s return text was sent immediately. Normally he waited at least a thirty minutes before replying, not wanting to be caught shirking his duties to pour over his phone messages, but after yesterday’s encounter he was fearful that he had been too quick to deem Michelangelo’s slipup inconsequential.

There was an extensive pause, eventually followed by the long slow “typing…” message that lingered for a while. Though this was status quo for a barely literate preschooler Splinter’s heart hardly beat the entire time.

[No] [Mike want to no just in cays] Splinter let out a heavy sigh of relief, then returned with his own text.

[Remember the fire escape on the fifth floor? It leads to an alley where there is a drainage pipe leading into the sewers. If you can’t hide and must run, go there.]

He knew this would strike a familiar chord with his oldest son. They had gone over a similar escape plan when discussing what they should do if a fire should break out in their small dingy apartment, a news story about such an accident striking justified anxiety into the hearts of his four children.

[The sewers are infested with bacteria, won’t we get sick?] The next text came two hours later, this one obviously from Donatello. The turtle was very intelligent for his age, sending full sentences with proper grammar and vocabulary words that most parents could only dream of getting from a four year old. Splinter finished scrubbing down the sinks, and once they were shiny and clean he took a moment to exchange his supplies in the janitorial closet and reply to the text.

[We won’t have to stay there forever. It’ll just have to do as our hiding spot until we find a new home]

Another two hours and there was a new text. The timing for this one apropos, as Splinter had just settled down for a lunch break.

[I don want to hid in sewer thats dum this were the toylet water goos we shelled not had to hid] [Wy cant we moov to a big tenthose like peepol on tv] Raphael was clearly less patient in his texts, writing runnon sentences interspersed with nonsense words, the meaning behind his statements sometimes a struggle to understand. In some ways he was similar to his older brother, thought there was a tone to his wording that certainly set him apart from the others. It took Splinter a solid minute to realize that “tenthose” was bad spellcheck child speak for “penthouse”

[You mean penthouse? the big glass fancy rooms at the tops of skyscrapers? Penthouses take a lot of money, more than I can make.]

There was a pause. He took a bite of his sandwich as he waited for the child to finish reading the hefty sentence. [Even if u werk 198490829 ours?]

[Even if I work all the hours in the world]

Splinter finished his lunch break and was retrieving the floor buffer and a few fresh rags when another text came in…. though this one was ambiguous whether it was from Leonardo or Raphael. [I do not want u to work all the ours in the world] Splinter couldn’t help but smile at this one, taking a moment to send back an immediate reply.

[Neither do I]

Four hours passed, the phone remaining silent until Splinter clocked out. Putting on a jacket to shield him from the brisk humid wind he tore into the New York streets toward the location of his next job. The overhead sky was beginning to darken, the air thick with the smell of condensation as the forecasted rainstorm rolled in a day earlier than predicted. Splinter sighed, wondering whether or not he should ask for a ride from one of the acquaintances at the docks rather than risk returning to the apartment on foot.

His phone buzzed, the arrival of another text pulling him out of his thoughts.

[Papa heanrm forkn sjklj isnuwant abcdefgabc Mikey] Even if the turtle hadn’t put his name at the end it would have been obvious who had sent the undecipherable key smashing. Luckily, Splinter often found that messages from his youngest son, though impossible to comprehend, were immensely easy to appease.

[I love you too]

He let out a sigh, contentment and exhaustion fogging together into a single undecipherable emotion as he put the phone back in his pocket and continued his way toward the docks, where heavy crates of imports and exports would be waiting for him. It was hard work, but it had an aura of adventure to it and was worth the extra money. This time, however, he knew who would be waiting there. He felt it in his gut; certainty that the moment he was done loading crates Nezumi would bump into him, claim it was a coincidence, then push and prod with his offer once again, and worst of all… Hamato Yoshi was actually beginning to reconsider.

The night Splinter got the turtles, for all of the positive changes it had brought to his life, was a long exhausting night of many conflicting thoughts. The idea of calling the police or notifying a neighbor came to mind more times than he’d ever like to admit, the sight of four reptiles the size of infants, acting like infants, initially striking him as wrong… horrific even. But they weren’t merely acting like infants, they were infants. With every passing second the genetic mishaps showed themselves to be nothing more than helpless children, who would likely be hurt or even killed if word got out about their existence. Not knowing where else to go Yoshi brought them to his apartment. He panicked at every crying fit, he panicked over whether to feed them warm milk or insects from the windowsill, he turned up the television in order to cover up the sound of their fits until the neighbors complained, and then he panicked when the tenants knocked on his door. All night, for many nights, he made the changes necessary to carry on with the secret existence of four infants, soundproofing cupboards and stockpiling supplies. He moved on instinct, an unexpected family in dire need of protection filling his life with a sudden unexpected vigor that he hadn’t felt since his days with Shen and Miwa. Of course it couldn’t last forever. He could only be absent from his waitering job for so long before he met an ultimatum: earn a living, or leave four squirming infants all alone for eight hours on end.

He knew he couldn’t choose the latter, it would put his newfound family in a position of terrible neglect even if he dedicated every hour he had apart from work to tending to their needs. He needed a miracle, and the universe followed through, though not without it’s price.

It was by sheer luck that one day, when he was walking to the convenience store, he discovered Nezumi being thrashed by gangsters who were demanding some sort of overdue payment. Splinter didn’t know much about the situation, but he did recognize when a lone unarmed man was being threatened by hoard of thugs wielding blunt weapons. To this day he still didn’t know whether it was intuition or simple stupidity that inspired him to interfere, but in the end Nezumi got a good glimpse of what he was capable of. As a show of gratitude Splinter was given an offer, an offer that would have him working for only two hours in the dead of night, filling his pockets with more than enough to pay the rent while leaving him full days to take care of his infants sons and ensure they got a decent upbringing.

Underground fights. Serious underground fights settling bloody feuds under the gazes of vicious gamblers. It was illegal and dishonorable and extremely dangerous and yet, so long as he wouldn’t be hurting anyone innocent, Splinter knew he couldn’t refuse. After that, his sense of being was constantly jumping back and forth from opposite sides of the spectrum. During the day he was a father, a good father, watching small children slowly learn to talk, teaching him what he could about language and history and how to keep out of sight. However, when he was in the fighting ring, he was a submissive attack dog beating men that were all muscle and meat into unconsciousness while surrounding crowds shrieked and hollered. It reached a point to where even the simplest fights turned into behemothic bet-hedging schemes, Nezumi leeching off of the ‘“street cred” Splinter never wanted to make a name for himself in areas that Splinter wanted nothing to do with.

Those months contained some of the best and worst moments of his life. Overall, however, he couldn’t say he had any regrets. All it took was one memory of the quartet of two year olds falling asleep in his lap while he read about the antics of The Cat in The Hat, and he could contentedly affirm that… despite everything… he had done the right thing.

Would it be the right thing if he went through with it one more time? It was just a couple of nights in the ring, maybe only one night judging by the purse Nezumi had mentioned yesterday. With money like that he would be able move his family to a small place outside the city limits, somewhere far away from the constant prying eyes of strangers where the turtles could run around carefree like boys should... …. like they deserved to.

When Splinter arrived at his destination he found his suspicions confirmed. There was Nezumi, sitting in a dingy little sports car just off from the docks, windows rolled down a crack to release the smog of a half-smoked cigarette. The moment their eyes met the skinny tattooed scarecrow jumped, startled to see that not only had his target arrived, but he was walking directly toward him. There was the sound fumbling as Nezumi let his cigarette drop to the floor and rummaged around the glove compartment, probably in search for some hidden weapon. When Splinter yanked him out of the vehicle by his wrists it became clear Nezumi probably should have dedicated more time to locking his door than locating his switchblade, and before he could so much as blink he was pinned to the concrete, foot on his back, arm twisted until pain forced him to unhand his weapon.

“Hey hey hey hey!!! Cool it! This trip had nothing to do with you! I’m out here meeting some old friends!” he squealed as Splinter took the switchblade “Coincidence! Pure coincidence! I’m not-“

“How much did you say that purse was?”

Nezumi suddenly stopped, rubbing his sore shoulder as he found himself released from the painful hold. He rose back to his feet, watching his attacker casually toss the swiped blade to himself, a look of calm earnestness on his face.

“You… you’re serious?” “I don’t know yet” Splinter muttered, “Tell me how much I’ll win if I take part in this fight you talked about.”

“Th-… thirty grand if you win the final round. Twenty grand if you get second place and-” “Fine.” Splinter closed the switchblade and pocketed it while giving his answer. Forgetting his swiped weapon, Nezumi took a moment to come to grips with what was happening, a look of idiotic glee on his face when he realized his hopes were confirmed. “The Splinter is back in action?”

“‘Mister Takara.’ Or Daiki if you want to be informal.” Splinter knew he’d regret accepting that “stage name” the moment it caught on. His old self laid across ocean, lost in the passing years, but making his lifelong nickname into a tacky “extreme warrior” title served to twist the knife rather than help him move on. But of course, Nezumi took the correction as a signal to keep their plans on the down low, and still wearing that stupid smile the scrawny little thug placed a finger against his own lips in a gesture of silence and winked.

Decision made and instincts already telling him this was a terrible idea, Splinter turned away and began heading back toward the loading docks. “I’ve got to go. I’m already late.”

“Wait wait wait!” Nezumi rushed ahead, blocking Splinter’s path with outstretched arms. “Tell me when you get off work! I’ll come by and pick you up!”

Splinter shot him a doubtful glare.

“I’m taking you to dinner!” Nezumi explained “It’s on me. You can ask for all the details you want over some hot grub and some wine. Huh? What do you say?”

Splinter’s glare softened. He would have to skip out on the wine, he had a notoriously low alcohol tolerance, but the idea of a good meal swayed him. That, plus a ride home that would keep him safe from the rain, and he couldn’t find the will to protest.

[I’ll be home late] Raphael saw the text at about six, an hour before their father was scheduled to get home. The small turtle slowly mouthed the syllables, getting through the sentence at an agonizing pace before Donatello swiped the phone and read the sentence at his preferred speed.

“Papa’s gonna be home late Leo!” Big dark blue eyes looked up just in time to see the brainiest of his brothers get tackled to the ground, Raphael wrestling to regain possession of the blackberry cellphone. Leonardo, remembering how angry Splinter had been the last time they’d broken a phone by fighting over it, trotted over and took the device from his feuding siblings before texting back.

[time?] [Very late. There is apple sauce and cheese sticks in the fridge. Nuts raisins and crackers in the cabinet. Be in bed by 8.] [Ok] [Make sure everyone brushes their teeth and washes their face too] [Ok]

“What is it?” Leonardo had just sent out the last text before his youngest sibling snatched the phone from his hands, squinting at the letters with his tongue hanging out of his mouth in concentration. “Papa’s gonna be late” Leonardo explained before his brother could finish reading the first word, snatching the cell right back much to Mikey’s displeasure. “We’re gonna eat and get ready for bed without him” “No bedtime story?” Leo shook his head no, a dutiful look on his face as he trotted to the kitchen and opened the fridge door, standing on his tiptoes in order to reach the assigned snacks.

“Don’t worry though! Papa usually makes up for this stuff. He’ll prob’ly bring pizza tomorrow!” Though this reassurance seemed to please the youngest turtle, Donatello and Raphael didn’t look all too happy.

“He shouldn’t be out longer! He needs to sleep more! Thas’ the opposite of what I told him to do!” Donatello said, sounding close to tears as he gave a little stomp of his foot. “Whadya mean he’s not going to be home?!” Raph added, joining in with his sibling’s protests “He’s never home and I miss him!” “He misses us too!” Mikey whined in turn, now crying for reasons he himself didn’t quite understand until Leonardo and shoved an unwrapped cheese stick into his mouth, satiating him.

“We just gotta be patient. We’ll watch TV” Leonardo reassured, as if watching television wasn’t something they’d already done all day to pass the time waiting for their father to get back. Already bored by his brother’s suggestion Donatello peeled back the translucent foil on the window, big ruddy brown eye peering up at the sky.

“Turn it to the weather channel. I don’ like the look of those clouds. Papa really should’ve looked at them before deciding to stay out longer” Raphael wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and found the remote, slowly clicking his way toward channel six. Mikey chewed contentedly on his cheese stick as he yanked some blankets down from the back of the couch, curling up on the floor in front of the screen as his eldest brother delivered the food and began dividing it out between his siblings.

#the cupboard game #tmnt fanfiction #splinter #hamato yoshi

13 notes · View notes