The Tradesmen Apartments

This is the part where we tell you all about who we are, and what we do. But let me warn you, this isn’t just a casual skim-through situation; it’s a commitment! You’ll need a coffee to stay sharp because by the time you’re done, you might know us better than you know yourself. Welcome to the party, people!

The Tradesmen Apartments: where your rent pays for more than just shelter—it buys you a ticket into the adult elite. We’re not just picky; we’re so selective, we make Harvard admissions look like a raffle. We only want tenants who are grown-ups by both age and attitude. 

Let’s keep it simple: if you can’t act right—meaning you don’t pay rent on time, treat neighbors like actual human beings, and know that ‘respect’ doesn’t mean keeping your music at 120 decibels—then don’t even apply. We don’t run a babysitting service or a rehab for bad habits. The Tradesmen is where responsible adults thrive. Everyone else? There’s plenty of room in chaos-ville down the street and we have cameras outside the house to help deter local jackasses. 

Just so you know—this isn’t just a building we lord over like some faceless corporation. Nah, we live here too, right alongside you. We keep a pretty close eye on things, for us, and for you. So, when you leave your trash outside your door like it’s a sacrificial offering to the gods of laziness, guess who’s going to see it? Us. And if you think this place is some public park where anything goes, let me correct you—it’s private, non-commercial, and very much a ‘don’t mess with our vibe’ zone. So, treat this property like you would your grandma’s living room: with respect, caution, and the understanding that we’re watching. Always. 

There will be no subletting—not now, not ever. AirBnB? VRBO? No, sir. This isn’t some spin-off episode of HGTV. Bottom line: this is housing, not hospitality. So, if you were dreaming of becoming the next mogul of short-term rentals, wake up. This isn’t it.

We might be easygoing—most days—but don’t let the chill vibe fool you. We’ve got zero tolerance for disrespect, idiocy, or any behaviors that scream, unkindness. That’s a no-go, whether it’s aimed at someone who lives here, visits here, or even breathes near the property. Now, as for 'lefty lunacy,' I’m just going to say this: keep your politics in your pocket, your nonsense off the premises, and your drama far away from our doorstep. The Tradesmen Apartments is not your stage for chaos—we’re here for grown folks who know how to act like they’ve been outside before. Capiche? 

We’re a multi-family operation doing month-to-month rentals—nothing too fancy, but we keep it real. Now, here’s how it works: if one of us decides it’s time for you to pack your bags—doesn’t matter if it’s via voicemail, email, or text—you’ve got 30 days to get out. We do offer a speedy 7-day eviction, too, depending on reason. No sob stories, no dramatic monologues about ‘new beginnings.’ Just a legal reason and boom! You’re out faster than a bad Tinder date. So, keep it respectful, keep it clean, and you won’t have to experience the thrill of a sudden eviction. Play it cool, folks!

Our tenants average a six-year stay—six years! That’s longer than the lifespan of your gym membership and most New Year’s resolutions combined. You know you’re doing something right when people settle in like they’re aging fine wine. Maybe it’s our charm, maybe it’s the laughs, or maybe it’s just that the outside world is a ridiculous reality TV show. Either way, six years is practically a lifetime in rental years. We should give out loyalty badges or something. Who’s got six years on their lease? You do! 

Let’s talk logistics. Mail? Not happening here. Nope, no letters, no bills, no ‘you may already be a winner’ sweepstakes nonsense showing up on-site. You’re going to need a PO Box. However, packages? Those are cool. Boxes from your Amazon addiction are welcome, USPS envelopes are not. Keep it classy, keep it under control, and everyone wins.

I’m only saying this once: there’s exactly ONE safe spot for packages and it is on the front deck. Just one. It’s not a scavenger hunt; it’s not a riddle—it’s a bin. A magical, clearly designated bin with a camera watching it like it owes us money. If you’ve got deliveries coming, I don’t care if it’s Amazon, FedEx, or your cousin Steve, you better make sure they know where to drop it.

And if you happen to spot a rogue package hanging out somewhere else—don’t just walk by like it’s someone else’s problem. Be the hero of the day. Pick it up, escort it gently to the safe spot, and restore peace to the package kingdom. Let’s not turn this place into a black hole where deliveries go to vanish. Be proactive, people—we’re all in this together.

There are things we do not allow. These are the big ones, the non-negotiables, the ‘don’t even think about it’ list. Now, I’d like to assume most of this is common sense—like not putting a fork in a toaster or texting your ex after midnight. But if any of this comes as a surprise to you, well...we might have a compatibility issue. And trust me, I don’t do well in toxic relationships. Let’s just agree to keep it classy, use our brains, and make this work—otherwise, we might be breaking up before we even start. 

Most of this is good ol’ common sense—the kind you learn from your grandma or, frankly, from not living under a rock. The rest? That’s just my brain clocking overtime to keep this place from turning into chaos central. Don’t mistake my humor for a lack of seriousness, though—I’m as serious as a heart attack about these rules. If we’re cool, if we’re on the same wavelength, we’ll lock it in with a rental agreement so thorough, it could moonlight as a legal thriller. You bring the good vibes; I bring the fine print. Deal? 

I need to meet every single adult planning to move into the apartment—two max, at the same time. Not two and a half or your ‘third roommate who never leaves the couch.’ Two adults, full-sized, responsible ones. Both of you are required to complete applications, sign them, and if accepted, seal the deal with the rental agreement. No loopholes, no ‘But they’re just crashing here,’ and definitely no surprises.

And let me be crystal clear: If you qualify, and initially plan to live alone and move in, you later cannot simply move in your girlfriend, boyfriend, or cousin. An application, credit check, and criminal background check is required before I allow anyone to live here. If you sneak them in, you’re playing with fire and everybody—yes, EVERYBODY—will be out faster than a bad one-star Uber ride. Eviction will be swift, decisive, and unforgiving. So, let’s all be grown-ups and keep this process on the level, alright? If you need a refresher on the rules, check the FAQ. And remember—I don’t negotiate with nonsense.

No pets. None. Not a dog, not a cat, not even that weird emotional support lizard you’re thinking about smuggling in. And before you ask, don’t. Because the answer is still no.

I don’t care if you call it ‘family,’ ‘baby,’ or ‘roommate with scales’—if it eats kibble or lives in a tank, it’s not coming through these doors. So please, don’t test me. Save yourself the heartbreak and save me the headache.
 

No smoking indoors. Period. This isn’t a jazz club in the '50s, and you’re not Frank Sinatra serenading your cigarette. I don’t care if it’s tobacco, clove, or whatever new vape flavor you are into these days—if it smokes, it stays outside. 

So, take it to the deck, porch, the patio, or wherever the fresh air can politely deal with your puffing. Keep it classy, keep it outdoors, and keep my ceilings looking like ceilings—not chimney interiors.

Absolutely NO soy candles are to be burned in the apartments.

This is not your college dorm, and I’m not your babysitter. No excessive drinking, no recreational drug marathons, and definitely no turning the place into a scene from a bad reality show. If your shenanigans start bothering your fellow tenants, your neighbors, or just the general vibe of the environment, we’re going to have a problem.

I don’t care if you have the occasional drink or think you’re a mixologist on weekends—just keep it under control. The moment you start causing drama, noise, or confusion, you’re out. This is a living space, not a crash pad for chaos. So, sip responsibly, party wisely, and don’t make me regret letting you in.
 

Let’s break this down, folks—parking here comes with rules, because this isn’t Mad Max, and we’re not running a demolition derby. You get assigned parking. It’s yours, it’s precious, treat it like your favorite child.

Now, let’s talk vehicles: no loud diesel beasts that roar like they’re auditioning for a Fast & Furious sequel. Hate. 

No leaky junkers turning the place into an oil painting. No ‘borrowed’ work vehicles—if it’s not in your name, it’s not in this lot. And if your exhaust system sounds like it’s angry at the world or woke up on the wrong side of the muffler, fix it. Loud exhaust? Double hate.

Oh, and no car washing here, alright?
 

No working on vehicles on the property. You want to tinker with your engine or replace your transmission? Do it somewhere else—preferably far, far away.

Now, I’ll make an exception for two things: if you’ve got a flat tire or you’re working for me. Because if you’re fixing my ride, you’re golden. Otherwise, put the wrench down, back away from the car, and let’s keep this place looking like a neighborhood, not an auto repair reality show. Cool? Cool.
 

‘Local Tenant Sets Porch Ablaze’: no BBQ grills inside, on decks, or on porches. None. Zero. 

Now, if you’re itching to grill, don’t worry—I’ve got you. The yard is wide open, and I can show you a few prime grilling spots where your burgers can sizzle without the risk of burning the place down. Just keep it in the yard, keep it safe, and save me from an anxiety attack every time I smell smoke. Deal?
 

We rent to good, decent, and friendly people—the kind who say hello in the hallway instead of pretending their phone just rang. Now, let’s not kid ourselves—we don’t need to be best friends, and we probably won't be. Just basic human decency: polite, respectful, and especially considerate of my family’s property.

Treat this place with the care. If I care about it, you need to care about it. No drama, no nonsense, no headaches—for you or for us. Because trust me, neither of us wants trouble, and both of us want peace. Let’s keep it easy, keep it clean, and keep it calm.

You’ve got access to the front yard. Just the front. The backyard is off-limits—don’t even think about it. You can picnic, play games, toss a ball, sled like you’re training for a winter sports championship—have at it. But don’t cause damage, okay? I don’t want to wake up to a yard that looks like a scene from Jurassic Park.

Now let’s talk about the fire pit, because it’s awesome—like seriously awesome. Use it! Roast marshmallows, tell spooky stories, summon the primal vibes of your ancestors. But don’t get reckless. Be safe, use the ashbin, and clean up afterward. Respect the yard and respect the pit.

We don’t have any storage space for you. None. Zero. Zip. I would find some space for you if you really needed it, but you will not have unfettered access, and it will most likely cost more than you are willing to spend.