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.”
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