Homelessness, Part 3, "The end of being homeless… For now".

Now, at the crest of being homeless for 5 months, and being employed for a month, I am looking for a new apartment, and it’s tougher than should be.

I suppose most of the issue is doing it with being a previous home owner. Since I no longer have had a rental history, having owned my home for 7 years, I don’t have ‘renters references’.

The adventure went exactly like this.


1.) Close to work. 1-10 miles, close enough to walk, bike, or bus in less than 30 minutes.
2.) Price. Something less than one-third my monthly income of $2,800 per month, (so about $1,100).
3.) Security. I want to get away from ‘shared living spaces’, and having a private entrance.
4.) Amenities. Things like “Washer and Dryer, free in unit”, “Seasonal Pool”, “Gym/ Sauna/ Spa”, are common for nearly every apartment complex in the area.
5.) Parking. While I don’t currently have a running vehicle, I do intend to get my pickup fixed, and owning another beater or two, besides a motorcycle.

Apartment #1.

I had contacted this apartment last weekend. It fit perfectly into all the categories. A one room studio for $380, with a private bathroom, with a private entrance, and free washer and dryer, with one car parking spot.

I arrived an hour early (due to the Daylight Saving time shift), and was greeted by an asian woman in her mid 20’s, with hair to her knees, freckled in acne, and wearing purple pajamas.

From the beginning, there was an obvious language barrier. I had asked 5 times for the deposit amount, and was either ignored or misunderstood.  She said “Just showing”, when I asked how much either rent or deposit was.  “Yes, I’ll take it today!  I’ll pay for it right now!”  “No, just showing?”  “…Yes!  I will take what you’re showing me!”…  “No, just showing.”  “It’s very nice.  May I please pay you to rent this nice apartment.”  “No…  Just showing.”

Within moments of her “Just Showing”, I was joined by a hefty couple of 30 year olds, African (not just ‘black’, from their language), who immediately turned up their nose without much of a look.  I made eye contact with the young hostess…  “Just showing?”  She smiled at me.  *sigh*

Apartment #2.
Putting all of my eggs into the first basket wasn’t the most wise idea, I suppose?  I began to search for other apartments and shared living spaces within a 10 mile area on Craigslist.

I called a telephone number to a promising looking home, again, with a locked private room, shared bathroom and kitchen, and it’s own parking space, 4 miles from work. After returning my call a half hour after, we chatted and I told her my situation.  I was an over-the-road truck driver and I owned my home, and I had glaucoma, and I don’t currently smoke weed, and I only drink once per month. She invited me over, told me the address, to which I drove the rented truck to.  I arrived to see exactly as I expected, a private home in an upper-to-middle class neighborhood. A 40-something white woman, scarred facially held back a large pit-bull and stuck out a thin hand for me to shake.  I shook it eagerly and told her my name, and offered her to see my I.D., to which I explained that yesterday was my birthday.  She invited me inside, and I pet her dog eagerly, happy to see such a good looking animal.  She showed me the room, and upon seeing it, I opened my wallet to return my I.D. and fish out the thousand in cash which I’ve had burning a hole in my pocket.

We went on talking, and she showed me the shower and shared kitchen, and I explained my situation, and my intent to buy my own stretch of land, so I could return to smoking weed to attempt to save my eye…  She nodded silently, and said “Well…  this house is a recovery house, and we don’t allow drinking or drugs.”  I explained “That’s fine?  I am a truck driver, and I cannot do those things, anyhow?  I am more than happy to leave for weeks at a time if I want a beer, which will be few and far between, as I typically work 50 hours per week.”  … Again, her face changed, and turned to a scowl. “I don’t feel good about this…  Something just doesn’t seem ‘right’.”…  She returned the thousand to my hands.  “Are you a Christian?”  Apparently my answer should NOT have been “No, I’m a proud Atheist.”  …. She points a finger, “Please leave my home?  NOW?”  *sigh*

Apartment #3.

This one is 5 miles from work, and “Transitional housing”.  No parking. …Jeeze, I don’t even want to stay here for 15 minutes, let alone 6 months?  Cars on the lawn, one without a door. $600 per month?  Plus Utilities?  I waited 15 minutes for the manager…  which turned into 30…  I called on the phone… another 30 minutes goes by…  Nothing.  I called the manager again.  “Sorry, guy?” (“Don’t fucking call me ‘guy’, buddy?”) “I’ll be there in a half hour…  Seahawks are playing the Cowboys”.

“Don’t bother.” ~CLICK~

Apartment #4.

This is the most viable candidate, now…  at 10 miles away, $500 plus $300 deposit, shared with 2 students, and $100 a month for utilities.

I accepted the fourth apartment.  I moved in the 3rd of November, and now, 2 weeks later, I’m regretting it.

The students are more than dirty…  They are completely filthy.

I want to go on a 10 page rant over just how disgusting they are, but really, it’s just a lost cause, as I’m older than the two of them put together…  They are obviously away from their mothers whom have done all of their cleaning for their entire lives.


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