True Life Renter's Story: Duped

Although not an American, this can happen to anyone in North America or elsewhere.

From the beginning, I sensed something was wrong. 

“This place needs work. The exterior has not been painted for a long time.” 

I was heartsick. There were not a lot of viable rental options in the city.

Driving past, I saw infested, thorny, wild rosebushes in the flowerbed. Weeds were growing right through them. The grass was uncut. Tiny, pink and yellow flowers blossomed everywhere. The driveway was full of potholes. The corner of the front door step had been broken.

I could deal with that. Because the location seemed reasonable, I contacted the owner to look at the interior. 

On the telephone, Ms. J. sounded like a polite, pleasant, German woman, who acknowledged the duplex advertised in the newspaper needed tender love and care. It had been vacant for seven months.  

She was sitting on the doorstep, when I drove up. Ms. J., as a person, made a good first impression. She was a clean, well-dressed, elderly woman who was proper, gracious and sincere.

“Let's be friends. I don’t have many friends,” she said tearfully. Ms. J. was divorced and mentioned abuse from her husband. She claimed to be a retired teacher and recounted some of her experiences in country schools. She graciously invited me to join their church choir.      

“My grandson is doing the painting and has to finish the family room. He has a full time job, too.”

The rest of the duplex was painted. The windows were dirty and everything appeared dusty. There was a musty odor throughout the rental unit, but it had been hot.

The living room carpet needed replacing. There was a six-inch gap in the window frame of the living room. Someone had replaced the device that opens and closes the window but had not put the window frame molding back on.  The kitchen window had a one-half by six inch gap just above the sink. All of the screens needed repair.

“The windows will be replaced and the locks changed. It will be ready for you next month. Then, you can live here the rest of your life.”

“The key is in the mailbox,” she told me on the telephone, one month later. “I have another family who wants to move in, if you don’t.”

On entering, everything appeared the same, except that the family room was painted. The closet had a foul odor.

Several days later, Ms. J. telephoned to pick up her rent check and arrange monthly deposits to her bank account.  

When she arrived, she was upset. Supposedly, she had just met with her former son-in-law. They had both been in tears over about his marriage breakup. He was living in the other side of the duplex, where he and his wife had resided.  

“If you need anything, contact him. The windows won’t be replaced until spring, but the locksmith will change the locks.” 

The locksmith never came. If he did, he changed the locks on the other unit, several months later, when the son-in-law bought a house and Ms. J’s grandson moved in, along with his wife and dog. All of them were distinct by their absence. The patio decks faced each other, so it was possible to speak to them. 

Everyone was evasive.

From the first day onward, there were distinct signs of repeated break and entry. My furniture began to show huge chips, cracks, cuts, nicks and scratches. Groceries, household items, clothing and personal possessions disappeared. Many items showed senseless, intentional damage. There was evidence of someone smoking. What they were smoking, one could only guess.   

One morning in the spring, the furnace died. Ms. J. had her grandson's wife call for furnace repairs. Shortly thereafter, there was a rental increase of several hundred dollars a month and an eviction notice.

“Contact your insurance company to pay for loss or damage sustained,” Ms. J. said, when advised of what had been happening in the duplex. “My daughter is homeless.”

Travel Experience: Driving in British Columbia

Early snowfall

“It is snowing!”

Visiting Surrey, B.C. in the mid seventies and accustomed to winter driving, I was excited and not concerned about a bit of snow. I had places to go and things to do. To me, they were urgent. High on my agenda was photography.

From the motel cabin where I was staying, I could see the parking lot covered with snow, but not the highway at the top of the hill. Had I been able to see it, I would never have tried to go out.   

Still snowing, it was actually quite picturesque, as I cleaned off my car. I decided to take some photographs of the snow, later on.

Heavy snow hung like soft, white blankets weighing down the bushes and huge, tree branches. The weather was quite mild and the snow was wet. It glistened with rainbow colors, reflecting the sun rays peeking out from under the dark clouds.

Tackling the hill to the highway seemed no problem as I was driving a full-size car with good snow tires, which normally handled heavy snow very well. It merely slid around a bit. 

Cautiously pulling out on the highway, as another car graciously waited, I suddenly realized I was not going to go very far. Neither was anyone else, as there were miles of vehicles trying to move in both directions. Most of them were just inching along the highway. 

At first, I wondered if there had been an accident because of the huge volume of traffic backed up on the highway. Several cars were off to the side of the highway, but it did not appear that had been any accidents. 

There were no ambulances, tow trucks or police vehicles in sight.

Chatting with several people who were standing on the side of the highway, it did not take me long to learn that the town of Surrey, on the British Columbia mainland, was not equipped to handle sudden, early snowfalls. Their highway maintenance facility was accustomed to coping with massive amounts of rain, not mini-blizzards.

This kind of a traffic jam seemed senseless to me, as there was less than half a foot of snow. For someone from Ontario that was not a lot, but it was wet and slippery. The snow was perfect for anyone wanting to engage in a snowball fight or build a snowman.

I soon realized I should not have gone out on the highway at all, but once I was on it, it was too late. I was in the traffic and could only move forward along with the other vehicles.

I spotted several men pushing and turning their cars around. That seemed futile too, as even if they did get their vehicles moving, there were too many cars ahead of them to go very far in either direction.     

I followed the rest of the cars, moving several feet at a time, hoping that there was going to be some kind of a traffic miracle and that the highway would open up.

That did not happen.

Finally, after driving about an eighth of a mile, I could see that all of the traffic was at a complete halt. I got out of my car and waited, along with many others doing the same thing.

“Ma’am, let’s turn your vehicle around, so you can go back to your motel.”

It was the man in the car behind me who had waited while my cared pull out of the motel parking lot.

“I think that might be a really idea!”

“It is too bad that there aren’t more people who can do that. Most of us are here for the duration.” 

An hour or so later, with his help and that of a number of other men, I turned my car around and inched my way back to my motel. I carefully slid my car down the small hill into the motel parking lot, very thankful to be home. Not everyone was that lucky.

By late afternoon, all of the snow had melted.

Such is one of my early experiences while driving in BC.

Humor, When I Became the Bully: The Process

“Mariah, when did you become the bully?” asked Mr. Gray, a very old man, with a long, gray beard and deep blue, penetrating eyes. “You are the bully, right?”

“Not that I know of, sir,” said Mariah, respectfully. “The last I heard, I was already dead. I do not know when it happened exactly, but it must have been a painless death because I did not feel a thing. I know that there was a hit man or two after me for a while, but I think they failed in all of their attempts. They arranged a few accidents for me.”

“That is true,” replied Mr. Gray, her counselor. “They did try to kill you, several times.”

“They may still be trying as just recently, some young man told me that I was so dead. Of course, I did not think I was, but when they buried my mother a number of years ago, the family locked me out of the wake. Maybe in their minds, they buried me at the grave site and not her?”

“So, you are dead now?”

“I must be. Either that or I am dead to them.”

“But you and I are talking together,” said the elderly, wise counselor. “You cannot be dead yet.”

“Maybe you are dead then, too?” said Mariah, who smiled at the kindly man, but at the same time, she was growing increasingly concerned. “Can someone just walk from the realm of the living into the realm of the dead without knowing or feeling anything? Can the dead talk to the dead?”

“Not that I am aware of,” replied the counselor, smiling at the thought. “You have to go through a process first.”

“What kind of a process?”

“Sort of like what we are doing right now,” replied Mr. Gray. “Where is your family now, Mariah?”

“I have not seen any of them for many years. Maybe they are all dead and I am the one who is still alive. Do you think that it is possible that they all died?”

“I can check into that for you,” replied Mr. Gray, making a note on his black slate. “Check the obituaries for any dead, family members.”

“A while ago, a young man who seemed to know everything about me, said it would be better for everyone if I jumped off the balcony,” said Mariah. “But I didn’t do that, at least not that I am aware of.” 

“No, you didn’t. I can vouch for that. There are some reports stating that you are the bully, though.”

“It sounds to me, Mr. Gray, that whoever was advising me to jump off the balcony was being the real bully, would you not agree?”

“That is possible. Otherwise, why would he suggest such a thing?”

“With the population increase in the world, there is a shortage of decent places to live now. Apparently, he wants my place for himself and his family,” replied Mariah. “Do you think that I should give it to him?”   

“Are you prepared to let them move in with you?”

“I don’t know this man or anyone else in his family. Why would I want to let total strangers move in with me, especially abusive ones, like this?”

“Well, it appears to me that you have two possible options. You can move out and vacate the premises or jump off the balcony.”

“Neither seems very smart to me.”

“Maybe you are the bully then, because you are denying this man and his family the accommodations they want.”

“Is that what bullies do?” asked Mariah. “I have not ever been a bully, so I don’t really know. They probably want everything I own and my money too, not that I am terribly rich.”

“If you succeeded in getting rid of yourself, their problem might be solved. Your accommodations would be vacant and this man and his family could move in there. Everyone would be happy then, wouldn’t they? They would not have to worry about looking after you when you get old either.”

“Maybe that is true, but what about me? I doubt that I would be happier if I was dead. Anyhow, how would these people ever live with all of the guilt of killing someone like me?”

“They would just tell everyone that they got rid of the bully who was keeping them from getting what they wanted. Sounds like pure greed to me. They would not see themselves as being guilty anyhow, as you would have done yourself in.”

“But what does that profit me, Mr. Gray? I certainly do not see any gain in that.”

“You would go where people who are called bullies go and then you could live in peace.”

“I already live in peace.”

“You do not really live in peace if these people are still trying to move into your current accommodations.”

“I still live in peace in my heart, soul and mind. Don’t you think they should arrange accommodations of their own, somewhere else?”

“But your place is so beautiful. Why would they want to find something else?” asked Mr. Gray, with a frown. “It is almost perfect. Even I would enjoy living there.”

“But you would not bully me to take it over, would you? This all seems so senseless to me, Mr. Gray, but now I agree that I am standing in their way to what they see as happiness. I guess that in some sense of the word, I have become the bully.”

“That is when you became the bully, then.”

“It must be.”

“Now, are you going to change your ways or not?”

“Mr. Gray, what would you suggest that I do? How do I not be a bully in a situation like this? Don’t I have 

the right to live, too?”

“Yes, you do. Forgive them unconditionally and the gates to my Heaven will be wide open to you, forever. There are real bullies and then there are people who are called bullies, simply because they do not give in to the real bullies. You are not dead yet, so go on back home and continue to stand up for your human rights.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gray.”    

“I will document our conversation for later reference. By the way, Mariah, I am really glad that we have had a chance to meet today, as it is so seldom that I have a really good laugh in my heavenly realm.”

“It certainly was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gray. Maybe there is justice after all,” said Mariah, as she picked up her coat and purse and prepared to leave. “Suddenly, I feel so warm and full of joy!”   

“I think I will have to call these people to account,” thought Mr. Gray to himself, as he left the room in a mysterious, white cloud.

“So, I am not dead? Did I just have my first encounter with St. Peter? Or was that God?”

With that thought in mind, Mariah woke up.

“I was just dreaming something, but I forgot most of it already. I remember, there was a white cloud."