I moved out of a commercial office at the start of the year.

I told the landlord I was moving out but never got a definite confirmation on the date. Something about how I was supposed to give him 30 days' notice (I'd given only 28, and knew my next-door neighbor would move in the day I was out).

Fast forward two weeks, things are kind of still up in the air, I'd just gotten back from Chicago and am told I need to be out by the end of the day, on the 31st. And that I'll be charged a per diem if it doesn't happen.

$10K in rent over two years—on time every month—and this guy is going to make an issue out of me moving out 2 days behind schedule, one of which was a national holiday.

There are times when moving on makes me sad. This wasn't one of them. Every time I pass my old consulting office, I'm glad I got the hell out of there. I'll take rich over king any day of the week, especially if it means less arguing over $45 security deposits, or how clean I left the space when I moved out. Life's too short.