“When it matters the most, the only person you can rely upon is you. Everyone else has their own ass to cover.”
MP3: 15MinPhi Alone
Welp, it’s official: after nearly 5 years of being a rather decent tenant at my current place of employment, I’m back on the rental market. 5 years. Outside where I grew up, that’s the longest I’ve ever spent at any one place of residence. This also happens to be the first place that didn’t come furnished (a real benefit of living in a transient tourist town where few lived long term is no one moves furniture, including bedding), so this is the one real place I really got to customise to my liking, both when and especially after Hot Russian Ex departed. I put in a lot of work here both to save money long term, but all kinds of creature comforts and decorations and mementos gathered over the years: All LED lighting (cuts my lighting bill by 90%), insulating every crack in the floors and windows, upgraded shower head and kitchen sink nozzle, insulated out line for the water heater, not to mention all the crazy wiring I had to do to get most of the electronics here working. Even have the cheapest (for better AND worse) Internet subscription possible, more than half of which is paid for by the downstairs neighbours. All in all, one of the best rental settings a man could ask for: close to everything including transportation and freeways, a kick ass courtyard, and a decent landlord, all for a decent price given the current market.
All of that is going away. All over a fucking Karen. Actually, calling her a Karen is an insult to Karen: this is a Shrieking Shiela.
“Prompting the local LEO’s to visit at 3 on the morning.”
If you’ve listened to the last few shows, you’ll know what Incident I’m referring to. To save time, let’s just say I’ve been recently accused of the worst crimes to humanity possible outside of murder and rape. Overnight I went from a homebody that mostly kept to himself, only really conversing with those I live amongst in passing, usually while ferrying groceries or repairing my vehicle, to literally Hitler himself. Speaking of that which I am accused, another thing I hoped to never have to do is exactly what I did a couple of days ago: I filed a police report against thy neighbours, documenting precisely what happened the night of The Incident. Yes: it is serious enough to warrant that kind of action. Which brings up a very interesting question: now I don’t have children so I can’t empirically answer this, but if I did and someone that lives in close proximity verifiably did something physically horrible to them, I’d at the very least physically have this person removed and prosecuted as soon as possible if not taken personal action. At the time of this writing, no legal action is being taken on me, which leads me to two trains of thought: 1. They have some sort of legal or criminal background or issue therefore they can’t go to the authorities, or 2. They know damn well they’re lying and would at the least end up with a charge of filing a false police report, or hell, 3. Probably both. The lady (and I use that term looser than her chastity belt) responsible for all of this was smoking that night, and since I’m no qualified toxicologist I can speak to what was in that vape pen of hers. I’m just saying that, even given the stakes on my end, I shouldn’t be the one taking action more seriously than the “mother” that apparently isn’t.
“Bet Gina of ChildOfTruth.com wouldn’t have this issue with her future kids.”
Either way, doesn’t matter: I’m the man in this equation, and a lone one at that: every factor has it’s double edge. Meaning no matter what, I’m the only one capable of being responsible for whatever happens. So despite anything I say or any evidence I bring up, the blame is squarely on me, something I learned a long time ago but apparently I haven’t learned that lesson hard enough; hopefully this will be the event that truly bakes that one into the ol’ Bacontainer in my head once and for all, along with quite a few other lessons. Another of which: don’t have neighbours if you can help it, let alone hang out and drink with them. A caveat: if you’re a man, only hang out when there are other guys there if not only guys: every issue I’ve ever had here was started and inflamed by a woman, that is not a joke or hyperbole. I’m not kidding when I say the place I choose to lay down even shallow roots will have a border defended by at least the range of a 5.56: the most volatile thing in the world is other human beings, and frankly I’m tired of dealing with them on my front door, whether it’s crazy women (but I repeat myself) or the men they inevitably end up calling to handle whatever problem they started.
“Yes, I’m saying women are different than men.”
Which brings me to the landlord, who given his name we’ll call The Man. The Man and I have known and interacted for over 5 years now, longer than I’ve even laired here. Over the years, we’ve both gone through quite a bit: sometimes together and sometimes separate. Tenants disputing at gunpoint and having SWAT called in at 3 in the morning. Trash bins being set on fire next to gas lines. My car being broken into for the first time since I ever held a drivers licence. Not all negative: we’ve helped each other move heavy appliances around, fix several things on the property, I even did some landscaping free of charge. What I’m saying is that he knows me, even picked me out of several people, all of which had more formal paperwork and rental history than I did at the time. He’s seen how I interact with the people on the premises, and in particular the many children they have here. He has the rather clean record I have here for nearly 5 years, save for a few sex noise complaints. We’ve been on good terms for almost this entire time. Hell, the one and only time I ever missed a payment was back when we wrote checks and Hot Russian Ex wrote one under the wrong account, and that was only by a day. You would think that The Man would take this into consideration when and if an Incident like this should occur. You would think that perhaps after all of that The Man would at least ask for my side of the story before laying any kind of judgment, let alone consider anything I had to say. Hey, that’s what I thought: oh, ye of too much faith! Granted he was not in the premesis and there weren’t any cameras to bear here (which would’ve torpedoed this entire fucking catastrophe), even The Man isn’t immune to Clown World. According to him via my accusor, I have a spotty memory augmented by whatever drug and alcohol I was consuming (are cigars a drug now? Asking for a friend). I was the aggressor and the predator, and God forbid could it have been the other way around because I have testosterone and they don’t. Doesn’t matter: guilty as charged, without the possibility of proving any kind of innocence, all in the name of “safety”.
“This is getting more true by the day.”
That tells me a few more things I should’ve known before now. Yes, I have appealed to continue living in the unit I have made rather worthy of calling home: why leave if I don’t have to, why not fight for it if I have at least a shot? Given I’m writing this, you can guess how that went over. Granted I’m not being thrown out with my stuff by the local sheriff: I’m being given a decent amount of time to find another place to live. But that gavel came down rather quick, before I even had time to share my side of the story, which leads me to ask: if you’ve already made your decision, why in fucks name would you bother asking me what happened? What that means is that, when it comes down to it, nothing of our previous history matters: he sided with Shrieking Shiela & The Vaginas, and now all of that investment I’ve made here is going down the toilet. Understandably he has his liabilities to cover being the land owner here: that’s my point. When it comes down to covering your ass, the only person that’s going to do it at all costs is you; relying on anyone else is flimsy shielding at best. Another thing I think plays a factor here is that, for pretty much the entire time I’ve been here, I’ve been paying close to if not below market value for my unit, though I did my part to help make up for that by keeping his expenses keeping me here low, whether that was more efficient use of utilities or repairing things without his assistance. What better opportunity to get this abject freeloader out and some higher paying tenant in? Helping that theory was him saying that Shiela was his “best” tenant, who lives in a recently renovated unit: draw your own conclusions. While I’m not saying this is the driving factor, I can see this being one reason why he would get rid of one of his most reliable tenants to date.
“Let’s just say I’ve been through worse than this.”
Not all is lost however. I’m still gainfully employed for the time being, with business picking up. My vehicle is running the best it ever has having recently performed maintenance on it (along with a new radiohead: suck it contact tracers!). So despite the rental market being a bit bare at the moment, I can still get by, and again I’m not exactly being dragged out here; I never said The Man was a bad guy, he merely is protecting his own interests. Where this goes is anyone guess at this point (hey, I’ve been homeless before, in ski country during winter to boot!), but with a bit of luck and planning, maybe I’ll wind up in an even better place. But even if I were to somehow manage to keep this place, why? Why would I want to stay at a place where the resident tenants hate my guts, although they now know not to fuck with me (I’ve said it before but it bears repeating: humans today feel so secure they don’t realize what danger they’re getting themselves into until it’s almost too late. It took this for them to figure out how dangerous I can be when pushed, and that was a light showing.) why would I want to live among them? The Man has been very fair up until this point, and has other rental properties I could ask about and likely will: why not keep my options open? But why keep myself under the same guy that sided against me without so much as an appeal? Hell, for all the faults it has, at least the legal system gives you an arraignment process and your day in court before you’re judged by your peers or the judge himself. Hell, aside from my own nefarious purposes, why live anywhere near these people at all: why not completely uproot and move to a different city or even state? Not sure myself. All I know at this point is that no one will ever have your back more than you will, even with the best of histories and previous backings: not your landlord, not your neighbours, not even your own family sometimes, let alone your significant other.
“Ask me how I know!”
Guess I needed World War 3 to break out here for me to learn that lesson permanently. Are you gonna wait for your experience until it happens to you?
“Had the idea of carding women like this when I turned 18. Might have to make that a policy now.”