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“That’s right.”
“So you’ve met Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you about her son?” she asks.
“The doctor?”
“There isn’t really a son.”
“Oh. Okay. So, what can I do for you?”
“I’m hoping you’ll help me out,” she says. “You see, Evelyn should really be in a care facility. Not for any reason except that she has a hard time keeping reality straight. But there’s no money for a care facility, see, so she’s on her own. I try to look out for her, but I can’t always know what’s going on because I’m not there. So, if you could just keep an eye on her, it would help a lot. I’ll give you my number so you can call if you ever need to.”
“Do you know that this building is infested with cockroaches? That Evelyn’s apartment is infested?”
There’s a long silence. Then, “Yes. We were hoping that the fumigation would help.”
“She’d be better off in a care facility.”
“I know, but there’s no money for that. There isn’t even funding for me to look out for her. I do that on my own.”
I tell the case worker that I’ll do my best. I can check in on her from time to time. But, I have to be honest and tell her that we’re not planning on being around for long.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says.
I’m not. I can't wait to get out of here. I can barely stand it.
The next day, I stop by Evelyn’s and visit for a few minutes. The day after that, our sixth day on the job, we go around and hand out late notices to everyone who hasn’t paid rent, which is about half the complex. Scott and I divide the notices up and start knocking on doors, since according to the rules we need to hand them directly to the renter. Everyone has a reason for not paying: they’re getting paid soon, they lost their job, they forgot but will have it tomorrow. Unfortunately, it’s not our choice. The late notices have already been issued by the management company, meaning that they have already charged each late-payer a fifty dollar fee. That fee has already been applied, and we’re just handing out the notices to inform people of it. If it were up to me, I would give these folks extra time. What good does it do to charge them extra money, anyway, if they’re already having trouble paying? But that’s up to the management company, and we’re just the middlemen. We explain that, but it doesn’t stop people from trying to convince us to give them one more day.
One woman tells me that she didn’t pay because her stove is broken and has been for three months. She keeps complaining about it but nothing ever gets done, so she’s not paying rent until it does.
“Come see,” she tells me, and I follow her in.
I’m not prepared for what I find. The floors are covered with empty pop bottles and chip bags and dirty rolled up diapers; a baby is sitting on the floor with a pacifier in its mouth, and dirty dishes and garbage are piled up all around it. Cockroaches are crawling all over the walls and the floor and the coffee table. I’m in shock.
“Come on,” the woman demands, and I follow her into the kitchen, where dishes and dirty ashtrays and grease-filled frying pans cover the counters. She grabs one of the frying pans from the counter and smashes a cockroach on the wall.
“You—ah—” I stammer.
“So look.” She shows me the element on her stove, which does not heat up when she turns it on.
“Okay, I’ll tell them that’s why you didn’t pay,” I say, backing up for the door. “I’m sure they’ll understand and have it fixed right away for you.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” she calls after me.
I practically run home to find Scott, but he’s not back yet. I go looking for him and find him at the other end of the complex, talking to a guy fixing his car out in the parking lot.
“Scott, I need to talk to you!” I call out. I feel hysterical. He comes over and I tell him I can’t do it. I cannot stay here. I cannot live here until we get paid.
He wraps his arms around me. “Okay.”
The one idea we come up with to get out of this situation, our one chance, is to get a loan to pay first and last month’s rent on an apartment. We look in the phone book, find a personal loan company, and call to make an appointment. On the way we go over our story: we just moved here and have jobs as off-site apartment managers (little white lie) and we will earn enough to pay off the loan (another white lie) within a month. We just need two thousand dollars to get by until then.
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