Unanticipated problems brought extra stress. With the house now empty, electricity and water were turned off. Lou had always taken these for granted. Utilities were included in the rent, which was mailed to an invisible landlord. With no electricity, Lou’s answering machine was useless. Just as well. The phone line was disconnected anyway.
With no telephone, Lou couldn’t get any calls for typewriter repair. Or from prospective roommates. Worse, he lost the pleasure and fulfillment and everything else he got from his rambling talks with Jax. These conversations were his only proxy of satisfaction for the persistent yearning within. That never went away. Why not just go and see her? No, he knew how that could end up. And why hadn’t she come to see him?
Lou had to sort things out. He grabbed a pen and wrote out his thoughts. To have a working answering machine, he needed a connected phone line and electricity. To get utilities back on, he would need renters upstairs. He couldn’t contact the landlord directly, as squatting in the driveway wasn’t exactly kosher. Finding student renters was unlikely. They would all be situated by now. He would try Switchboard for referrals, and also ask everyone he met. Meanwhile, he could make calls from the ADA office.
What about a bathroom? Until he had roommates, he would use the one at Cascadia Market. Showers? He hoped Doug would sneak him into the YMCA. Food? He had food stamps, but no refrigerator. For the short-term, he could get by on fresh fruit and vegies, granola, bread. He’d buy small containers of milk or yogurt, things he could consume right away. Coffee? Lou would splurge on one cup a day at the Rise & Shine café.
Was that it? Roommates. Bathroom. Showers. Food. He had a plan. Add an occasional hot meal at a friend’s, and Lou should get by for now. Once he had a functioning home and phone, he could find repair work and get back on his feet. The good thing, Lou noted, was that he still had a place to park his home.
The next morning Lou got up with the light of dawn, around seven o’clock, and did his “Hi to the Sun” on the front lawn of the empty house. At least that was one thing he could control. He turned around to go back to the step van, then saw the paper tacked to the front door. Now what? Lou went up to the door and read the paper.
To: Occupants. This property has been condemned by the Lane County Health Department due to violations of health and safety codes. Lou read down a list of issues: lack of essential utilities, failure to repair roof, unsanitary conditions, building code violations yada yada yada.
Well, yeah, thought Lou. The landlord should take care of these. There was a second page behind the first.
To: Occupants. This property is scheduled for demolition starting 72 hours from the date of this posting. All occupants must vacate the premises by that time et cetera et cetera et cetera.
Well, crap crap crap.
The following day, before the sun came up, Lou woke to a firm thumping on his door.
He pulled on his jeans, went to the door, and opened it to face a large policeman.
“Is this your van?”
Lou blinked and rubbed the crusties from his eyes. “Uh, what’s this about?”
“Is this your van?”
Good question. “Why do you ask?”
“Can I see your vehicle license and registration?”
“It’s not a vehicle. It’s where I live. I don’t drive it.”
The cop frowned. “Who is the owner?”
“That’s confidential. Do you have a warrant?”
The cop scratched his chin. “Do you have essential utilities?”
“For a vehicle?”
“You said it wasn’t a vehicle.”
“That depends on the question you’re asking.”
The cop put his hands on his hips and glared at Lou. “Listen, buddy. I don’t know if I should issue a citation for an abandoned vehicle or for violating housing codes. But you need to get this thing out of here or it’ll be towed away and impounded. You’ve got twenty-four hours.”
The cop left and Lou went back to his bed. He was in no mood to greet the sun that morning. Instead, he sat there, hyperstressed over his situation. How could everything go so wrong so quickly? Every day seemed to bring a new calamity. His status now: No work. No money. No place to live.
He might as well add: No girlfriend.
Please please, happy times to come -eh? Gee I love each chapter.