I rent a room in a house. Today was my day off, and I was looking forward to spending it at the house, in my room, watching TV. But before I could start, there was a knocking at my door. And before I could answer, the door was opened, by my landlord, who began walking in... drunk.

Actually, his dog walked in first. I put my hands down to usher the dog out, and my drunk landlord started yelling, “Get your hands off my dog!”

I hadn’t told him (or his dog) to come in. In fact, I hadn’t said anything, so my drunk landlord assumed I wasn’t home, and decided that would be the perfect time to enter my room without permission, cause, or notice.

It was all happening so fast.

“What?!?” I shouted, “What are you doing?!? Why are you coming in here?!?”

He gave me an aloof grin, explaining deviously, “I just wanted to see if you were home.”

I was outraged.

An argument ensued, and rather than admit any fault on his part, he had the arrogance to accuse me of being disrespectful. Then, adding insult to injury, he told me that I had to move out.

I did nothing wrong. He was drunk and up to God knows what, entering my room under the assumption that he wouldn’t get caught. And the only reason he told me to get out, was because he was angry, that I was angry, because I caught him.

I called the police, but it didn’t help.

The best thing to do is move, which will be expensive, but fighting my drunk landlord would be more expensive.

It’s hard being so powerless.

It’s hard knowing you’re right, and that being right isn’t enough.