The worst place I lived was in college; I spent most of my time in the studio, so wasn’t terribly picky, and when I saw a flyer for “$300/month, fully furnished, all utilities incl.”, I said sure. What I got was an unfinished, non-insulated attic in an ancient house that looked like it was going to fall apart (“fully furnished” meant that there was a sofa downstairs.) I was sharing a kitchen and bathroom with monthly renters on the 2nd floor, so there was always some new loony moving in or out, including a 40-something woman who did sage rituals and shat on the floor. She was replaced by a violent drug dealer who liked to set things on fire and draw pictures of me on the kitchen chalkboard getting murdered. Things came to a head when myself and the 1st floor tenants banded together to sneak a building inspector in, who promptly condemned the building as unfit for habitation; the first floor carpet was completely covered in mold and the walls were falling in.
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