You’ve no doubt noticed that things have been a bit quiet on
the blog of late…and for that, I deeply apologize. As in the case of past absences, there is a
long and involved tale explaining my extended disappearance…so I invite you to
turn out your lights…that’s right…lights out…everybody… (Okay, it’s really not all that scary…I just got carried away.)
A few days into the month of June, the ‘rents and I received
a visit from the real estate broker who’s served as the intermediary in our
dealings with the landlord. The landlord
lives quite a ways away from our rented digs in Athens, and so relies on this
woman to handle all matters regarding the house. Well, that’s the official explanation—I’ve
long suspected the guy was just an asshole.
He gives new meaning to the term “absentee landlord.”
Or perhaps I should say “gave.” After exchanging pleasantries in that typical
fashion of Southern ladies, the broker drops the bomb on us. My parents weren’t able to come to an agreement
regarding renewal of the lease—they wanted the landlord to assume the financial
responsibility for the truly decrepit condition of the outside pipes on the
property, which he patently refused to do despite owning the house—and so the
broker agreed to let us rent the place on a month-to-month basis since we had
demonstrated that we were damn fine tenants in the four years we’d been living
there. Apparently, however, we weren’t that damn fine—she was there to inform
us that he had decided to sell the place, and we had sixty days to vacate.
My mother didn’t take this news well at all. She’s never liked the house from the moment
we moved in (or so she says—“Your father insisted
we rent this dump”) but she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about packing up all
our shit and relocating…mostly due to the fact that we no longer have the
strength or stamina to successfully accomplish this goal. Nevertheless, we had to go; fortunately for
us, my sister-in-law would be in the Athens area to help us find a new Rancho
Yesteryear. My nephew Davis would be
spending his first week at summer camp in the North Carolina area, and this
allowed Katie to donate her much-appreciated time to find new lodgings.
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| The new Rancho Yesteryear. |
We set our sights on a place in Winterville, Georgia. Located in a peaceful community that brags
about its status as “the City of Marigolds,” it’s about twenty minutes from the
old Rancho Yesteryear…and though it’s a bit smaller than the old digs (and
sadly, the rent is more) Mom fell in love with the place. (Particularly since it’s equipped with a
fireplace. Yes, I realize having a blazing
fireplace down South is insane, but I never claimed my mother wasn’t crazy.)
We also made plans to be out of the old place by the first
of July…because we were damned if we were going to give that essobee any more
of our rent dollars. Sisters Debbie and
Kat flew in to perform above and beyond the call of duty, and had it not been
for their efforts we’d probably still be in the old place…sitting around naked. We got most of our crap out on June 30—we
even had the guy who moved us the last time return for an encore (he saw me
when he came over for an estimate and shouted “I remember you—the guy with the
DVDs!”)—and though we technically stayed over an extra day to have a cleaning
crew come in and tidy up, the real estate broker did not charge us any extra
pro-rated rent. (For reasons that are
still unexplained, the landlord did not allow her to list the house for sale
and we kind of think by that point the broker had run out of f**ks to give with
regards to the joint.)
Even with the amount of help we received in the move (for
which we are most appreciative), things were not always smooth sailing. For example, we couldn’t take our AT&T
U-Verse with us to the new home (even though U-Verse could be real putzes at
times), so we had to look for a new television provider. We went with Dish (only because there was a
Dish dish already in the yard of the new place), and not only had problems with
the installation (the first guy couldn’t find the house) but learned to our
chagrin that they block many of the Atlanta Braves ballgames on the
weekends. (When I called to ask about
this bullsh*t, the customer service rep swore to me this was not Dish’s doing. Apparently
she did not think I was capable of researching this issue online.)
The Internet problems were just as bad. Dish doesn’t offer Internet access; instead
they farm it out to Windstream.net…who did not get a glowing recommendation
from the guy who finally installed our Dish equipment. (He didn’t have trouble finding the
house.) The Windstream people left a
wireless modem on the carport of the new house, and while I stupefyingly managed
to hook up the equipment, they had to send a second guy out to complete the
installation because the phone jack wasn’t connected. (They did not tell me this in the “Hola! We
were here while you were out!” note they left with the modem.)
But the biggest clusterfudges involved our trash and
sewer. We had to contract trash pickup
to a private concern because we now live south of Pixley, and on the first day
of collection they drove right by the house.
(I thought at first that I didn’t get the cart and all our crap down to
the curb in time…but when they passed us by the second week without taking the
refuse I had to call the trash people and inform them of their mistake. To their credit, the guy who came out to collect
our garbage was quite nice and most apologetic.)
Then the pizza de resistance. Saturday, July 4th, sewage-y water starts
backing up in both the tub in the main bathroom and the shower stall in the
smaller bath off my Mom and Dad’s room.
It’s brackish, smelly water, filled with leaves…and it would have to
happen on the freaking Fourth of July; we call our new landlady, who tells us
she’ll have her guy out to look at the problem as soon as he returns her call.
So we couldn’t use the plumbing for nearly two days, and
staying in a hotel while the crisis abated was out of the question because we
had already done that due to a similar
problem that occurred during the last two days we spent in the old house. (We were inches away from saying “this is not
our problem” but we felt it wouldn’t be right when the cleaning people came
in.) You haven’t lived until your
eighty-three-year-old father is having to squat waste solids into a trash
bag-lined bucket, which he then stored in a closet located on our new
carport. Mom and I eventually had to take
Dad’s “deposits” to a dumpster at a nearby Golden Pantry—whose manager
graciously agreed to let us dump our trash during the Great Trash Abandonment
Crisis. (We now refer to the carport
enclosure as “the dookie closet.”)
The landlady had to send “her guy” out because the new house
is equipped with a septic tank. The
septic tank guy mentioned to us that he had told Landlady of a troublesome pipe
that needed replaced in April (which turned out to be the reason for the July
Fourth backup) after ruling out that the problem was caused by some torrential
rains that fell during the days of our move.
The pipe was replaced, but at the risk of making a horrible pun that
woman is officially on my sh*t list. (I
might be able to control my bowels but asking elderly people to do so is
outrageous.)
These are just a few of the highlights of our moving
adventure. We’re gradually returning to
a sense of normalcy, and though I wish our problems with both Dish and
Windstream weren’t a continual headache both Mom and Dad are quite happy at the
new Rancho Yesteryear. (There’s a stand
down the road that sells farm-fresh produce, and the ‘rents are positively
giddy with the vegetables—Dad: “These tomatoes taste like tomatoes!”) I’ll
miss living in the Classic City (what can I say—I’m a city boy), but I suspect
our new adventures in Hooterville will provide much wacky fodder for the blog.
At any rate, I hope to resume normal blogging here soon at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear. Thanks for your patience during the unplanned
leave of absence.
