Due to a myriad of circumstances, one month, Jason's rent check bounced like a twenty pound baby doesn't. So, the landlord installed a lock box on his front door so that he would have to rectify the situation before getting back into his apartment. Unfortunately, she chose then to remember that the window lock was broken and needed replacing. Since this now interfered with her plans, it was repaired immediately. When the workers arrived to fix it, she used her key to let them into the apartment, and I'm pretty sure cardiac paddles were required to revive her after she looked inside.
What she saw was this: a stripper pole on a stage mounted into the ceiling itself, which had required removal of the ceiling fan and light fixture, ten-plus cushy beanbags covering the rest of the floor, and more hardcore porn than you could shake a stick at. The conclusion she came to was this: Jason was obviously running a prostitution service out of his shitty, one-bedroom apartment. Brilliant work, Watson. When making the accusations, she used as further proof the claim that she "always saw young beautiful girls going in and out of the apartment." We decided to take this as a compliment. Jason, as usual, managed to smooth everything over and calm her down, but she was adamant about one thing - the pole must be gone, and quickly.
