[Editor's Note: A couple of months ago we asked readers to (anonymously!) send in a 500-word essay on why they think they're the "Worst Person in Portland" with the winner receiving a $300 grand prize. What we got was an outpouring of self-loathing, passive aggressiveness, and misguided narcissism... in other words, so much fun! However, it made us contemplate what it actually means to be "the worst." Is it the obvious evil that humanity commits against each other—robbing old ladies, kicking puppies, and the like? Or is it the common, everyday evil that each of us hides within our souls? While you ponder that philosophical question, check out one of our runners up in our "Portland's Worst Person" contest, who will receive a nice consolation prize. (Well, nicer than he deserves, anyway.) Take it away, terrible person!]

I, Landlord
by "Henry"

I'm an on-site landlord for a major property management group here in town, and have been running seven small (15-44 unit) buildings in Southeast for more than 15 years.

I used to be really happy with my job. It was challenging sometimes, and I had to be creative with marketing promotions, unit turnover, advertising—all that crap. But it was a fun job and kept me occupied and relatively happy.

Then things changed. I got bored, basically. Every Craigslist ad I posted advertising an open studio apartment got 50 phone calls in the first hour—and my job became pretty much meaningless. A monkey could lease out an apartment in this town. I lost all interest in apartment management, and life in general. It was affecting my family life and soon I sank into depression.

Sometimes people are born the worst, and sometimes people have worstness thrust upon them. I think I'm more of the latter.

So I decided to make my job interesting. This was right around the time when housing discrimination was becoming an issue, so I wanted to see what I could get away with. At worst, I'd get fired. At best, I could get my life back.

At first, it was pretty harmless: If a top-floor apartment at a certain building came vacant, I'd only rent it to someone from Minnesota. And—sure enough—I felt better about my life when the top floor of that building was mini-Minneapolis.

My next target was transgender people. Portland being what it is and the rental market being what it is, I filled up the entire east wing of a building on SE Stark with transfolk in less than three months. I could feel my depression being whittled away.

In 2012, I got cocky and tried to populate a small apartment complex on Burnside with only black people. And 11 out of 19 units ain't bad if you consider Portland's demographic.

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