Wednesday
Dec312008
cold shoulder and an exit: a (former) faux-squatter's odyssey
Wednesday, December 31, 2008 at 9:50PM
And after the months of summer swelter, after the trip to Europe, after the fauxnados and lack of hot water and 3am tango dance parties, it all had to come to an end, and it very shortly did just after the September rent checks had been collected. One bleary-eyed morning, first cigarette of the day just barely lit and dreams just barely evacuated, I opened an email entitled, with much subterfuge, "Good Morning."
Translation: Party = over.
After that came the meeting, about 3 weeks into the month, in the upstairs apartment. I sat cross-legged on the floor while my landlord and her ex explained their plan. First: rent was tripling. Second: tenants would be required to sign a 3 to 5 year lease and Third: all that money and commitment would be going to fund a big loan from the bank which would, in theory, restore the building to glory; or something more glorious than what we'd grown accustomed to. Which all sounds sort of nice on paper, but when you dug past the surface, we were basically being asked to fund a building rehab, one we'd have to live through as workers tore the roof, the plumbing and the electrical apart and rebuilt them, and the perks, like hookups for laundry machines, were shitty amenities compared to the free machines in the basement which had quickly been abandoned to time and flood waters after I moved in.
The girl who lived upstairs said very excitedly she was eager to stay, discussing her many plans to swing a ridiculous rent, while I waited my turn and told them I'd be out by the end of November. Long enough to stay and experience the hellishness of Halloween in the Bottoms and find myself somewhere half-decent to live, ignoring their insinuations that I couldn't afford such a rent and silently wishing them good luck in finding someone dumb enough to float that much a month for that many years for a place that boiled in the summer and froze in the winter and would eat through your bank account with ease if you let it.
Then came October, when rent went up double and I grudgingly paid it, and adjusted to the obnoxiousness of Halloween, where the Bottoms swells with every hick and juggalo from every distant county coming to wander through any of the four haunted houses that operate every year. That was the month of the surprise renovation, when someone came in and tore the common room down, from the drop ceiling to the walls and doors that gave it its shape, a week-long odyssey of pounding and thick plumes of century-old dust pouring through the green door that separated my space from the common space, coating everything in a 20 foot radius. That was the month that the temperatures dropped from fall to winter, that people began getting walkthroughs of my space, that I started throwing everything away.
By the time November started, the girl upstairs had apparently given up on the dream and packed her pick-up truck several times over to move somewhere new, leaving me a building all to myself. I'd blast music all night until the sun rose high enough to climb over the gallery walls and let me know how early it was, I'd crank the TV, I'd smash things to bits to fit into trash cans and contemplate setting fireworks off in the gallery, only stopping short when I realized burning the building down would probably count as a black mark against me in looking for a new apartment. The cold got colder, and I dialed the reborn furnace down to 53 degrees, refusing to turn it on until my skin began turning black. Fingerless gloves and several layers were the dress code of November. Heavy hoodies and jeans, sneakers all the time and a heat lamp perched next to me at all times, plugged into a three cord extension cord so it could easily move from deskside to couchside to pianoside, until it was time to sleep and I'd unplug it and sleep in front of its bright orange eye, feeling my face like sunburn while the rest of me curled around myself to fight the cold that crept in from dozens of holes.
It was, to say the least, horrible. And to say the most, it was two of the singularly most unpleasant months I've had in a few years, those long drawn-out hours where you come to believe you're never going to not live like this, coated in dirt, assaulted by cold, wandering 6,000 square feet of ruin and decay and praying for simple amenities like heat, walls and windows that open.
When it got cold enough to dip below 53, I learned, with a series of anguished cries from the basement, that the boiler didn't even work. It would struggle every 10 minutes or so, like a car enging trying to turn over, and then go silent. By now I'd found an apartment, miles away in terms of distance and comfort, a place that lacked amenities like a walk in bank vault and 15 foot tin ceilings but included such perks as free working heat, television reception and a balcony. So I spent most of November throwing out pounds and pounds of old possessions, crap I'd been dragging behind me since I was a kid, crap that came across several state lines and several apartments and still sat untouched and unknown in boxes. And while I didn't commit the kind of life-altering massive purge I still dream of, it's as close as I've come to shedding my packrat tendencies and the boxes and boxes and trips and trips of stuff that accompany it.
One last encounter with the landlady, who walked into my space without a phone call or a knock, "I assumed you wouldn't hear it," sealed the deal and the Friday after Thanksgiving I was all moved out, leaving behind tons of shit for someone else to deal with. Joys of life without a lease, life without a deposit. When all my stuff was finally off the truck and glommed in my living room, I moved several boxes off my couch and sprawled across it in the middle of the afternoon, sighing contentedly. It was smaller, the doors stuck, the toilet wobbled and I was beyond 4am dance parties, but I felt like a hobo finally come in from the cold.
In the past week *** and I finally got resolution on our ongoing title
dispute over the building. We now have clear title and that decision
will have an impact on you both in regards to our rental agreements.
When you both first moved in I made it clear that this would happen at
some point in some form. The discounted rate that I offered
originally will end after this month.
I am at this time gathering bids and information and will have a
clearer picture of exactly what direction *** and I will be taking
with the building soon. I would like to meet with both of you to
discuss all this, but I would like to wait a week or two so that I
have all the information and can give you clear answers.
Translation: Party = over.
After that came the meeting, about 3 weeks into the month, in the upstairs apartment. I sat cross-legged on the floor while my landlord and her ex explained their plan. First: rent was tripling. Second: tenants would be required to sign a 3 to 5 year lease and Third: all that money and commitment would be going to fund a big loan from the bank which would, in theory, restore the building to glory; or something more glorious than what we'd grown accustomed to. Which all sounds sort of nice on paper, but when you dug past the surface, we were basically being asked to fund a building rehab, one we'd have to live through as workers tore the roof, the plumbing and the electrical apart and rebuilt them, and the perks, like hookups for laundry machines, were shitty amenities compared to the free machines in the basement which had quickly been abandoned to time and flood waters after I moved in.
The girl who lived upstairs said very excitedly she was eager to stay, discussing her many plans to swing a ridiculous rent, while I waited my turn and told them I'd be out by the end of November. Long enough to stay and experience the hellishness of Halloween in the Bottoms and find myself somewhere half-decent to live, ignoring their insinuations that I couldn't afford such a rent and silently wishing them good luck in finding someone dumb enough to float that much a month for that many years for a place that boiled in the summer and froze in the winter and would eat through your bank account with ease if you let it.
Then came October, when rent went up double and I grudgingly paid it, and adjusted to the obnoxiousness of Halloween, where the Bottoms swells with every hick and juggalo from every distant county coming to wander through any of the four haunted houses that operate every year. That was the month of the surprise renovation, when someone came in and tore the common room down, from the drop ceiling to the walls and doors that gave it its shape, a week-long odyssey of pounding and thick plumes of century-old dust pouring through the green door that separated my space from the common space, coating everything in a 20 foot radius. That was the month that the temperatures dropped from fall to winter, that people began getting walkthroughs of my space, that I started throwing everything away.
By the time November started, the girl upstairs had apparently given up on the dream and packed her pick-up truck several times over to move somewhere new, leaving me a building all to myself. I'd blast music all night until the sun rose high enough to climb over the gallery walls and let me know how early it was, I'd crank the TV, I'd smash things to bits to fit into trash cans and contemplate setting fireworks off in the gallery, only stopping short when I realized burning the building down would probably count as a black mark against me in looking for a new apartment. The cold got colder, and I dialed the reborn furnace down to 53 degrees, refusing to turn it on until my skin began turning black. Fingerless gloves and several layers were the dress code of November. Heavy hoodies and jeans, sneakers all the time and a heat lamp perched next to me at all times, plugged into a three cord extension cord so it could easily move from deskside to couchside to pianoside, until it was time to sleep and I'd unplug it and sleep in front of its bright orange eye, feeling my face like sunburn while the rest of me curled around myself to fight the cold that crept in from dozens of holes.
It was, to say the least, horrible. And to say the most, it was two of the singularly most unpleasant months I've had in a few years, those long drawn-out hours where you come to believe you're never going to not live like this, coated in dirt, assaulted by cold, wandering 6,000 square feet of ruin and decay and praying for simple amenities like heat, walls and windows that open.
When it got cold enough to dip below 53, I learned, with a series of anguished cries from the basement, that the boiler didn't even work. It would struggle every 10 minutes or so, like a car enging trying to turn over, and then go silent. By now I'd found an apartment, miles away in terms of distance and comfort, a place that lacked amenities like a walk in bank vault and 15 foot tin ceilings but included such perks as free working heat, television reception and a balcony. So I spent most of November throwing out pounds and pounds of old possessions, crap I'd been dragging behind me since I was a kid, crap that came across several state lines and several apartments and still sat untouched and unknown in boxes. And while I didn't commit the kind of life-altering massive purge I still dream of, it's as close as I've come to shedding my packrat tendencies and the boxes and boxes and trips and trips of stuff that accompany it.
One last encounter with the landlady, who walked into my space without a phone call or a knock, "I assumed you wouldn't hear it," sealed the deal and the Friday after Thanksgiving I was all moved out, leaving behind tons of shit for someone else to deal with. Joys of life without a lease, life without a deposit. When all my stuff was finally off the truck and glommed in my living room, I moved several boxes off my couch and sprawled across it in the middle of the afternoon, sighing contentedly. It was smaller, the doors stuck, the toilet wobbled and I was beyond 4am dance parties, but I felt like a hobo finally come in from the cold.
file under in the bottoms
in the bottoms
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