Bix, an eloquent and well-reasoned post entitled "Catgut Showdown, II" is gestating in my brain stem, waiting only for a suitable fit of procrastination in this weekend's coming article-writing frenzy to emerge, fresh and loaded with haunting new insights about human nature. But at the moment I have a little too much time before my next piece is due, which means I am mired in a luxurious and evil state of totally unproductive toenail-picking that is a result of my editor's magnanimous gift of an extra week added onto my deadline, something I find paralyzing and unnerving. I much prefer to be under the gun at the last minute than wallowing in ample time for waxing poetical. If you have ample time, you've got to be good. Scary prospect.
Anyway, that means I can't write anything about science or chicks, no matter how hard I try. Instead, I'm going to make some fragmented notes. And then I'm going to take a bath.
Last night, I indulged in just the kind of activity that people who move to new places are supposedly always doing, if you believe poppy mid-90s movies and some of that decade's better TV shows. I left work, got into my Volvo, and drove around the twilit Wilton Manors landscape blasting every loud song I have on my iPod. I was attempting to dramatically blow by my house and continue on eastward to stop at the edge of the sea, but was stymied by Ft. Lauderdale's confounding "intercoastal" waterway system, which seems to be specifically designed to combat these kinds of melodramatic gestures. So my dim vision of myself backlit heroically against a dark and roiling ocean took a backseat to the decidedly less romantic reality of me sheepishly driving along palm-lined back streets searching for a thru route back to the Federal Highway. (That's what they call "US-1" down here, oh you hapless yanks.)
In the spirit of mocking myself, I reprint a throwaway item from this week's New Times, which features yours truly as the very hapless new kid that I am. Don't be fooled by the mysterious "Tailpipe" persona, however--he only lightly edited what was actually my litany of landlord woes:
New Times writers, cynical bastards, couldn't help enjoying the spectacle last week as the newest of their members tried desperately to find housing in South Florida's sick landlord/tenant beatdown. After the laughter subsided, the 'Pipe was drawn — by the sounds of whimpering — to the new employee's cubicle, where she held a crumpled lease document, looking utterly defeated. Only after full payment of her application fee, she explained, did she realize the rental agreement in her hands was filled with draconian clauses intended to take a tenant for all she's worth. Curious, the 'Pipe gave the language a look-see and was astounded at the creativity of its author. To wit:
"If Lessee defaults in the payment of rent, fails to promptly perform any provisions of this Lease, abandons the Premises or otherwise fails to comply with the terms of this Lease, the entire rent for the remaining term of this Lease shall be immediately due and payable."
Translation: Known as an "acceleration" clause, this means that if the tenant screws up in any way, he'll owe up to the entire year's rent to his landlord all at once.
"Lessee agrees to pay the cost of collection and all attorney's fees incurred by Lessor to collect any rent due hereunder or to otherwise enforce the terms of this Lease, whether or not suit is instituted, and including all appellate proceedings."
Translation: The tenant pays both his and the landlord's litigation bills, even if the landlord loses.
"Promptly upon demand by Lessor, Lessee shall deposit with Lessor such additional sum as may be necessary to replace any amounts expended therefrom by Lessor so that there shall always be a security deposit in the sum first set forth above. It is mutually agreed that Lessor need not keep the security deposit separate, segregated or earmarked..."
Translation: The security deposit — a refundable sum that, by Florida statute, is supposed to remain untouched in a separate account as security against tenant misbehavior — becomes the landlord's personal perpetually refilling piggy bank for anything he says the tenant must pay for.
"Lessee acknowledges and agrees that utility expenses relating to water consumption for the rear bathroom in the attached duplex unit shall be borne by Lessee."
Translation: The tenant pays the live-in next-door landlord's water bill.
So, the 'Pipe wondered, are any of these clauses actually legal?
Yup — they all are.
"Generally speaking, this lease isn't that bad," says Bart Ostrzenski, a co-founding partner of Ostrzenski & Stricklin, a Fort Lauderdale law firm. He agreed that this lease was "overbearing," but he balked at saying it or any other South Florida rental agreement could be illegal.
"The things that are patently illegal are very few," Ostrzenski says. And there's nothing keeping landlords from including even those few: "As far as being punished for putting something in a lease document — I cannot think of a single term where that's even remotely a possibility."
The acceleration clause? "Completely legal," Ostrzenski says.
The attorney's fees? Ostrzenski says that no judge would ever honor it (isn't that the definition of illegal?), but there's nothing wrong with the landlord trying.
The piggy-bank security deposit? "By statute, it's required for the lessor to keep the security deposit separate," Ostrzenski says. "But I believe it can be agreed not to do it."
The next-door water bill? Legal as an 18-year-old.
Even a bona fide illegal clause such as the one about attorney's fees are "effective until deemed void," Ostrzenski says. And getting to court is well nigh impossible. Fort Lauderdale real estate attorney Geoffrey D. Ittleman says that most lawyers won't touch a tenant's case with a ten-foot pole: "Attorneys really do not want to represent tenants, because the law just presumes, and the court system presumes, that if there's an eviction process, the guy just isn't paying."
So like the now-quivering real estate bubble, tenant-eating lease clauses are just a fact of life in South Florida, Ostrzenski says. "Rentals right now are very competitive. Landlords can pick their tenants, they can pick their leases, and they can generally screw everybody."
South Florida in a nutshell. Y'all come visit soon, y'hear!
Those shameless rats! I can't believe they can get away with that... fleecing some unwitting recent college graduate who can barely read (her specialty is WRITING, after all). The thing to do is round up a posse and go after bad-guy landlord with sticks and stones. If I were in the neighborhood, I would be in there with you, and so--I trust--would all of us at Catgut Central. (Where we apparently endorse vigilante justice against evolutionary psychologists, Danish cartoonists and many more.)
Posted by: turkum | February 17, 2006 at 05:03 PM