Open door policy

The people who live in the apartment beneath mine moved out recently with no notice, leaving the apartment abandoned. I started noticing official looking envelopes from the cable, phone and electric companies taped to the door that would eventually fall on the ground because nobody was there to get them. I don't know how often this happens with apartments but it can't be that uncommon. I can think of all kinds of reasons why somebody might want to break their lease and sneak out in the middle of the night. One day, I looked at the door and it didn't seemed to be closed tightly. This, I thought, might not be normal. Here's what happened (NOTE: Certain elements of the account listed below might not be, um, entirely factual)...

• DAY 1: I call the management office to tell them about it and am told "Thanks, we'll take care of it."
• DAY 2: I get home kind of late, notice the door still looks slightly ajar, and call the after hours emergency maintenance number for the complex. I'm told "Thanks, we'll take care of it."
• DAY 3: The door still looks the same and I start thinking maybe it is closed but just doesn't look right. I push the door to see what happens. The door swings open to the abandoned apartment. I close it but can't lock it because it's a deadbolt that can only be locked with a key or from the inside. So I call the management office to tell them about it and am told "Thanks, we'll take care of it."
• DAY 4: I call the sheriffs office and explain the situation. The dispatcher replies, "So you're locked out of your apartment?", which isn't remotely close to anything I said. The dispatcher asks why I hadn't called the apartment management so I explain...again...that I had already tried that. The now-annoyed dispatcher says "Well, why would you call us?" I reply, "Oh, I don't know what I was thinking. What could possibly take place in an unsecured abandoned dwelling that would be of interest to law enforcement? Forget I said anything. Sorry to bother you." And I hang up.
• DAY 5: Curiosity being what it is, I decide to take a look around the apartment (I have a thing for vacant, abandoned buildings that I should write about some time), sort of hoping to not find any dead bodies. There's definitely nobody living (or dead) there but they didn't take all their stuff. There is a small chest of drawers, a suitcase, two DVD players, and some cups and dishes. Plus, there's electricity. Odd.
• DAY 6: I wonder if I should help myself to the DVD players and if that would be considered stealing. Seems like they don't really belong to anybody right now. These are Schroedinger's DVD players, although I don't think that's the name of the people who lived there.
• DAY 7: Forget it, I don't need any more DVD players.
• DAY 8: I find myself in a state of, oh, let's see, I'll call it digestive distress. I really don't want to befoul my sparkling clean bathroom with a potential bowl choker (Too much? Yeah, I agree. Sorry about that). It occurs to me that there is a perfectly good bathroom nearby...
• DAY 9: Thinking of the previous day and how much money I spend on my water bill every month, I take all my dirty dishes downstairs and use the dishwasher.
• DAY 10: I shave, take a shower and brush my teeth in the downstairs apartment.
• DAY 11: Coming home with a heavy load of groceries that I'm too tired (lazy) to take upstairs, I put them in the downstairs fridge. I later cook and eat dinner (and wash the dishes, of course) there.
• DAY 12: Having cut expenses, I now start brainstorming ideas on how to turn a profit.
• DAY 13: I place on ad on Craigslist, offering the unit for a very reasonable hourly rental rate to unlicensed professional gentleman's companions as a place to ply their trade. I get a lot of replies but many concerns regarding the privacy and safety of the location. I reassure them that the cops have told me personally that they have no interest in visiting any time soon.
• DAY 14: I am now the proprietor of a brothel. Not sure if this makes me a pimp or a landlord, I decide on the title of Pimplord.
• DAY 15: The DVD players come in handy.
• DAY 16: I go downstairs to do a load of dishes and find a bunch of dudes sitting around the living room, waiting. The bedroom door opens and eight of them are invited inside. Gross. I don't wait around for the dishes to finish.
• DAY 17: A truck shows up to deliver a donkey. I didn't think to charge extra for pets. Shit.
• DAY 18: The noise from downstairs is making it very difficult to sleep at night. Since I can't exactly complain to management or the cops, I take the money I'm making and check into a hotel.
• DAY 19: There is now so much intense and varied prostitution-related activity going on that I no longer feel that it is hygienically safe to visit the downstairs apartment. I don't even bother to collect the day's rent.
• DAY 20: Three big guys in suits and dark glasses are waiting for me when I get home, with an interest in what's going on. I tell them about it and show them around. They're very impressed with the amenities, the proximity of the pool and how convenient the location is to retail shopping and restaurants. They're somewhat disappointed that there isn't a fitness center but I point out that there is a racquetball court, which pleases them. They make an offer to buy me out, consisting primarily of not giving me any money but allowing me to retain use of my limbs and internal organs. I gladly accept.