Power Trip
Jared Kushner Was My Landlord
A hellish year of no heat, destroyed walls, and unflushed poop
One day in 2014, I came home to find my stove sitting squarely in the middle of my living room. With all my furniture arranged around the perimeter of the room, the appliance looked like a ship run aground at low tide. In its wake was a void in the corner of my kitchen and jagged, fist-sized holes where its pipes had been torn from the wall.
This sight was less of a shock than you’d think. The underlings of my building’s management company, Westminster City Living, regularly entered my apartment without my consent, ostensibly to work on restoring the building’s cooking gas, which hadn’t worked since I’d moved in two months prior. Every time I unlocked my front door, I wondered what incompetent workers had left in my apartment while I’d been gone.
On that day, the unmoored stove wasn’t the only unsightly surprise the Westminster workers had left for me. In my bathroom, I discovered, to my jaw-dropping horror, the ultimate affront: an unflushed shit.
I discovered, to my jaw-dropping horror, the ultimate affront: an unflushed shit.
