G. is extremely lucky as a tenant.

The apartment in Frankfurt's Nordend, in which he lives with his loved ones, does not belong to any of those nasty residential groups that are only concerned with returns.

G. reads about it almost every day on the Internet and congratulates himself every time on not having got caught in such an anonymous living machine.

You know what that means: constant renovations that cheer up the rent, but never a contact person if there are problems.

They appear regularly in the old building where G. lives.

Sometimes the intercom doesn't work, sometimes there is water in the basement.

As a tenant of the municipal housing company, G. would only be one of more than 50,000, at Vonovia, Germany's number one apartment giant, even only one of a good 400,000. He is one of four with his landlady, Ms. H.,.

What an advantage.

Instead of losing time and nerves in the queue, G. has the direct line.

Nice thing!

Actually.

If Mrs. H. were just a little bit more service-oriented.

The landlady can always be reached, but always in attack mode.

Your tactic: First counter every request with a reproach.

If the thirty-year-old heating system goes down, they say: "What have you done again?"

If G. reports that the hundred-year-old front door does not close, a passive aggressive “How did that happen?” Flashes on his mobile phone display.

Once, G. had started up his brand new food processor, not only did the fuse blow as usual, it also smelled burnt.

"You really always break something," Ms. H. responded.

Afraid of the landlady

G. didn't want to let that sit on him.

He noted that there was a certain backlog of renovations in the house.

As usual, Ms. H. gave in at some point.

Nevertheless, G. is now almost a little afraid to contact her.

He admits that he always thinks about it three times, although of all the tenants in the house he still gets along best with the lady.

The other day there was a bomb alarm in the neighborhood, and among the 25,000 who had to leave their apartments, there were also Ms. H.'s tenants. Bomb, contact blackout and downpour - the situation was not easy. G. fled to his brother with his wife and child. As soon as he got there, he received an SMS from his landlady. "Maybe she discovered a heart for her tenants after all," he thought and almost had a guilty conscience because he had recently blasphemed that the landlady would now blame him for the bomb in the neighborhood. But because of the acute threat to her property, Ms. H. couldn't feel sorry for the residents. "G., is the house intact? Could you have a look? ”He read and was certain: As a tenant of a corporate apartment, he wouldn't have such a bombastic relationship.