A Travellerspoint blog

April 2012

The story of Eric

So, I went back to Ottawa with my hat in my hand. Kind of disappointed, but still ready to write another chapter of this crazy thing that I'm doing with my life.

I rented out both the condos, and moved into a house on Craig Henry Dr. that I thought was going to be at worst, tolerable. Turns out my roommate was batshit crazy and couldn't handle a few dishes in the sink or perhaps (more likely) the fact that I was single and didn't want to have sex with him. Ever. In my life. Period. No exceptions.

You see, he's not allowed to see one of his own children because of violence and he confessed to me that he was in some sort of anger management program.

Girls, is this a red flag or not? Yes, I think it is.

Eventually, he found a fat ass, disgusting, stupid face, girlfriend, and I found a moderately cool, cute, skateboarder boyfriend. As you could have probably predicted, the problems that he had with me escalated as of that point.

Every day it seemed there was a new problem that he had to discuss with me.

He'd throw my dishes around the house, if I didn't wash them five seconds after I used them. He'd throw other people's clothes in the garbage if they didn't take them out of the dryer fast enough. Sometimes, I'd be afraid to leave my room, because he was yelling at his son (who he only sees half the time and sometimes forces him to sleep on the pullout couch in the living room) and I was afraid to get caught in the crossfire, or afraid he'd start yelling at me too for some reason.

One day, I left to house sit for Aksana in Gatineau and didn't tell him. After about 10 days without going home, he emailed me right around Christmas time, saying "Get your shit out of my house in two days or else". Wait a minute, I paid for the whole month of January already, you can't do that. Oh yes he can.

I of course, did not sign any sort of lease, and was paying him cash, so I had no way of proving anything. You see, the room was so cheap, that I agreed to a whole host of crazy circumstances. So I emailed back, "Yes, of course, no problem. Just give me the money back for the rest of the month." He then sent me a cryptic message, which didn't specify whether he would exactly give it back or not. So whatever, I can't do anything about the money, I just have to get out.

I go over there and everything is ready to go, lined up nicely in the hallway, but Eric still hasn't given me any money back. It's about 11 p.m. and I ask him where it is, and why he can't get it from the bank. "IT'S NOT THAT SIMPLE LOUISE!" he yells at me. Oh, why not? Because you spend it all on insane amounts of drugs every weekend? And this is not libellous because I smelled the pot smoke permeating the house every Saturday and Sunday morning after coming home from work. He says that "some people" are coming to bring him the money in just a few moments. I should wait for them, and then I will get it back. So, I plop down on the couch and do not move any more stuff out of the house until they get there.

Eventually, they arrive. Do you know who they are? They are the PEOPLE HE RENTED MY ROOM OUT TO ALREADY! In the middle of the month. They are moving into MY ROOM TWO SECONDS AFTER I AM MOVING OUT. From the living room, I can hear them ask Eric if they can pay him tomorrow. "SHIT NO!" I yell, I'm not leaving until I get the rest of my rent. Eric flippantly tells them to just ignore me and I get up and start following him around the house yelling some more things at him.

Soon, Karl is getting in on it and Eric starts freaking out "I'M HAVING AN ANXIETY ATTACK" he yells. Karl gets all excited because who doesn't want to see Eric have an anxiety attack? And he sort of chases him into the kitchen. At which point, I do not see what happens, but later Karl says that he closed the fridge in Eric's face after he tried to open it as some sort of distraction to rid himself of anxiety. After this incident, Eric promptly announces he is calling the police! Karl and I are like "YES PLEASE CALL THE POLICE!" I dunno I guess he thought I was scared of the police or something? So I called his bluff, the police come, and I tell them the story about how I think Eric probably thought I had just left all my stuff there and skipped town. The cops understand and make Eric pay me back the rest of my rent, which was only $200 or so, but it was the principle of the thing, you see.

So, a few weeks earlier, one of my students, who is a funny muslim lady, asked if I would move in with her, for free, in exchange for teaching her English. I brought my stuff over there, just happy to be out of the cold in January.

Posted by baixing 17:00 Archived in Canada Comments (0)

The story of Anna

After living with Eric, I came to the relative calm of Anna's house. Her real name is Amneh, and she lives just behind the Ikea. So here is a nice situation for me. Free apartment for basically just conversing with people, helping with homework.

Of course, as always, there's a catch. Actually many catches: <ul><li>There are three teens/20-somethings also living in the house. </li><li>Islamic rules dictate that I cannot let any boys sleep over.</li><li>Islamic rules also dictate that I cannot drink outside of my room. Anna disagrees with the consumption of alcohol in her home, but she says it's OK as long as she "doesn't see it".</li><li>I soon begin paying rent anyway, because I realize that I am never there, and do not in fact help Anna with her homework at all. </li></ul>Anna and I discussed all of these things before I moved in. I thought that I had understood and we had agreed on them.

However, one fateful night, Karl came over and we each had two drinks and watched a movie until 11 p.m. There might have been some making out, but nothing obnoxious, OK boys and girls? Karl went home before midnight, as his Cinderella-like habits dictate.

The next day, I came home from work and Anna says, "I have to talk to you". She began rambling on and on about how her "heart hurts" and I "can't pay her enough money" to do this in her house and how she feels "so guilty" that I am doing all of these terrible things in her home.

OK, so I'm sorry, I didn't realize, I won't do it anymore.

I mention that her daughters had boys over when she wasn't home and I didn't know that there was a "no boy" policy. Then, she gets even angrier and I think she thinks I'm making it up. She demands that I tell her who these boys were and which daughter brought them home!

Honestly, I can't remember, that's how unimportant bringing a boy over is to me. She tells me she will ask her daughter and eyes me suspiciously.

Then she goes on and on about how I do not wash the dishes properly, and how I need to get my own dishes, because "I am making her children sick" with my disgusting habits.

I had just come home from an overnight shift and as usual, I'm insanely tired and don't want to have a discussion about anything, let alone how I am the spawn of satan and will go to hell for all of my misdeeds against Allah and her pristine family life. Anna has been married at least six times, I will remind you.

OK, I'll bring my own dishes, and I will wash them myself and keep them in my own bedroom, Anna.

At this point, I begin making plans to move in with Karl. Of course he thinks it's a great idea, and i tell Anna I'm moving out on May 1.

After this point, everything starts to go downhill. My things go missing, people start eating all my food, the girls are ignoring me, especially Yasmine, so I'm assuming it was her that I got in trouble with all my "blabbing".

I even find some crazy disgusting dishes in the drawers and cupboards, leading me to think that I might be slowly chased out of the house? Perhaps I am being set up by Yasmine? I have no idea.

Another day sometime later, Anna asks me if I could please "tell her whenever I go downstairs", because her sister's stuff is down there and she doesn't know what happens to it. I don't know, something got lost in translation. Downstairs is where I do my laundry once a week, by the way.

It all sort of comes together for me, one Saturday morning. Again, I am tired after a long night shift. I rode my bike home and attempted to park it under the car port because it is starting to rain. I do not want to get my fancy bike wet and rusty. Prior to this, I had been noticing that the van is parking closer and closer, in such a way that I am finding it harder and harder to park my bike under the car port anymore. When I come home on this particular Saturday morning, I find a giant wall of tires impeding my way. There is no way I can fit my bike in there anymore.

I am sad. Why would anyone want to do this? Do they have something against me, or against bicycles? I'm hardly ever there, so I don't know why they would have anything against me, and my bicycle never did anything to anyone, so I don't know what they might have against my bicycle.

I must leave now eight months after moving in with Eric and four months after moving in with Anna. Now, I am going to have a new house, back in my old South Keys neighbourhood. I just hope there are no problems at Karl's place. At this point in time, it is kind of already looking like a disaster... Stay tuned for more drama, I'm sure.

Posted by baixing 17:00 Archived in Canada Comments (0)