On another site, I participated in a discussion about quirky neighbors, odd living situations, etc.
Since I wrote it out, felt it was a shame to waste it, and decided to post it here as well.
I’ve moved around quite a bit, so much so that I still am surprised to find myself in the same house now for over 10 years.
We still get the itch, but have learned to stop scratching at it.
Anyhow:
Almost any college living situation has its’ share of bad stories, so I’ll skip through those, and begin after “real life” started.
My first apartment post-college, was in the ghetto/student ghetto of Kalamazoo, MI. A cool/ not too safe neighborhood, full of old homes that had been turned into multi-units.
The guy who lived downstairs with his wife and kid (in a one bedroom apt.) had a drinking problem, and I had to knock on his door a couple of times when he’d be listening to his trance music (Dead Can Dance, as example) at ridiculous levels.
I always knew his wife and kid were gone, when the music would start up.
His apartment smelled of sweat and garbage.
I had to call the cops once because of the noise.
The odd part of this situation – he was the owner and my landlord.
His wife fed the neighborhood strays, and there was more than one occasion when one pushed in my screen window, and started prowling around my house.
At night.
When I was asleep…
When he didn’t bother to pay the electric bill, and the electricity got turned off, I ratted him out to the housing authority, and packed up my sh*t.
The first apartment I lived in after I got married – there was a truly screwed up woman living upstairs. She would do things like drive her car off the retaining wall on the edge of the property, and it would be nose down in the church parking lot next door, while the back end was blocking our driveway.
One morning, she heard my puppy crying, and discovered we had forgotten to lock our door, so thought nothing of coming into our place, and taking our puppy upstairs with her for the day.
She forgot to leave a note. We came home to a shut door, and an empty dog crate.
We found out that she would sit outside of our place, on the fire escape, and talk to our dog through the window almost every day, because he sounded sad…
We’ve friends who told us that every time they heard Crazy Mary by Pearl Jam, they thought of her.
Our very favorite rental experience by far, still was not without its’own idiosyncrasies.
Our house: converted utility building, possibly a chicken coop, on a farm in the middle of nowhere.
Our neighbors: Cows, and Jehovah Witnesses.
It was actually awesome…
Then there was the young, wholesome looking, smooth talking drug addict that lived next to us in our apartment near the beach in Gulfport, MS. We first met him when he knocked on our door and gave my wife a huge story about needing cash (and only cash will do) to pay a garage to get his car back before he had to be at work.
My wife’s gullible, but not THAT gullible, so we didn’t give him money.
(Sidebar: Is there a reference manual for drug addicts? We’ve heard the “Need cash and cash only to get my car back from garage story” either directly or indirectly several times over the years, by people that live 1000 miles apart…)
Anyhow: 2 days later, the 80+ year old woman who lived next door with her husband knocked on our door. She said she had been waiting for someone to pay her back the money our apartment mate (!!) had borrowed two days earlier, and since they were on fixed income, she was getting desperate.
I fully planned to beat this guy bloody, when I saw him next. A week later there he was, and I stormed out to confront him, only to meet his parents, who were very upset, and I noticed he looked like crap, dirty, disheveled, maybe a bit bruised. His parents were carrying his suitcases. Never saw him again.
Every time I have to shovel my own snow, mow my own yard, pay a plumber, or a roofer, I briefly think about how nice it would be to NOT own my own home. And then I remember…
