How's the Section 8 Going?

I'm down to Day 40 of my 60 days to search for a place to live. Not much luck so far so I continue to paint for therapy.  I called one apartment complex whose list I've been on for years, to let them know I had voucher-in-hand.

"Great, hmmm, you're down to number 33 on our list.  That should be 4 or 5 years, but I must warn you, we are obliged to take last year's fire victims first."

In my earlier post, The Hungry Games, I wrote about competing with 26 others for whatever affordable housing becomes available.  It's simple supply-and-demand: there are too many of us searching so landlords can demand incomes 3 times the rent;  deposits of first month plus around $1500 plus $35-50 credit check; 5 or more years of verifiable rental receipts; references; credit rating over 650; no criminal; no smoking; no drugs; NO DOGS.  That's my deal-breaker.

Everything which COULD house BC and me seems just out of reach.  If only they'd let me pay the extra $100 or so, but in reality most one bedrooms run around $12-1300 so I'm not even in the ballpark.  I found one place which is only $1 over my $874 limit for that particular zip code. They do accept dogs for a $350 deposit plus $25 extra a month, and wanted doggie references, too, but Bosco can't spell. Section 8's were welcome to apply. The photos didn't show much and for some reason all photos online now make the rooms look like Fun House mirrors; and the location was left vague with merely downtown.

I composed a groveling email with my particulars, which sent me back emotionally to almost 10 years ago when I was trying to find a place to park my RV while marketing my dog treat mixes.  No decent RV park would rent to me at an economical, monthly rate because my RV was/is too old (which is why I'm parked on private property; read My Karma ran over My Dogma).  I wandered and groveled worse than now, divulging more personal information than I'd have liked, until someone finally said, Yes. I fought to remain positive, then and now.  I even bought a side chair in Goodwill for $7.50.  It's inside the teardrop; takes up half the space. "If I don't find a place, it's yours," I've already promised 3 people, because I'm really hoping I can keep it.

In my email I explained the only thing I couldn't provide was the rental history from a property management firm or professional landlord because I've lived on private properties in my RVs.  I can supply 10 year's worth of references from private property owners, if only they'd consider me. I shamelessly touted my volunteer work and Steering Committee membership because I'm hoping that makes me sound more credible.  I almost supplied my GPA.  This is, after all, The Hungry Games.

A very nice 40-ish sounding man called and we had a long chat.  We spoke easily and he didn't sound the demanding sort.  He and his wife lost their home in last year's fire, so while their new home was being built they'd been staying in one of the apartments in the six-unit building they owned in Medford. It was during that time they'd appreciated the two Section 8 tenants they'd taken a chance on were not only timely with the rent, but quiet and respectful of others.  We all know what (many people) expect when they hear Section 8.

The apartment was a one-bedroom, about 600sqft.  He gave me the address and told me to take a look and see if it fits my needs.

"Oh, is it open?  Will I be able to peek through the windows?"

"The curtains are closed so you can't look inside, but it's just like the posted pictures."  He said the place was small but the bedroom was large, which is fine with me.  After three RVs and the boat I don't want a big place.

I Googled the address and recognized the location: not far from Hope Village. I recently read that this 10-block or whatever section of Medford just happens to have the highest concentration of poor people in the nation, I never heard of that study.

But, I told myself, you can find an oasis in the desert, so I went the next morning.  It was in one of those older neighborhoods of the 1950-60's with modest little homes, before the body shops and Charter School moved in.  The apartment building looked like an old motel with three sliding patio doors on each of two levels.  There was a long, sloped staircase leading to the second floor (one lucky woman had the 2nd floor front corner, so at least had some plants outside her door). Mine would be in the middle on the bottom.  There was no 'front door' other than the sliding glass.  Nothing but a little concrete path leading off to the three downstairs units, but they were opposite nice bushes along the fence butting against the school.

Carport parking was advertised; maybe someplace to park my teardrop?  "Where is it? I asked one resident with a bundle in his arms, who nicely stopped on his way upstairs to speak.

"It's back there - the gate's unlocked - but nobody uses it."

"Where do you park?"

"I don't have a car...I'm just coming back from doing laundry (a couple blocks away)."

Ah-ha.  I walked around the building - or tried, because the back side was about 2 feet wide backed by an overgrown, weedy looking chain link fence.  On the other side was a house and business with stuff all over, but I wouldn't see it from the ground floor.

I drove around the neighborhood when I left, and looked warily at one man shuffling along.  "What a hypocrite," Amy screamed; but it's one thing if people down on their luck are trying to climb back up; it's another if someone refuses help.  There wasn't any place to walk BC that wasn't concrete or blacktop; there was traffic; and no park was around.

But what if someone from Hope Village said to me,

"Oh, I don't know...there's no patio to sit outside...where will I walk the dog...not really what I wanted..."

What would I (like to) say?  "Hey, you're lucky to find something.  You're not exactly in a position to be picky."

My mind wrestled as I drove home until I remembered an incident almost 30 years ago in Portland.  It was after Tino died and I needed to go back to work.  Beginning to get discouraged, I was offered one job in my old field for a manufacturing firm, at a decent salary and the 'boss' seemed nice.  But I'd have to share a bathroom with 30 men, I cried to Mom on the phone, whiner-baby.

"Honey, just because someone offers you crap doesn't mean you have to accept it."

It was as if being smacked upside the head, both then and now.  I turned down the position and soon found my right job.  It's the same thing now, I told myself; so I called the fellow and said thanks but no thanks, using the excuse that I thought it might be difficult to live in the middle of town in their sweet little place after living on this farm for so long.  Sounded better than Hell, no!  I told that story to my gal-pals several days later.

"That's all you're going to find," one piped up and the other nodded in agreement.

"Gee, thanks for the encouragement."

"Well, it's true!  There's no housing anywhere!"  

I know that appears to be true, "But all I need is ONE homeowner willing to rent to me.  And that was only Day 5.  If it was Day 55 I might make a different decision."  They weren't convinced and indeed, it was hard to believe my own words, but what's the alternative?  Throw in the towel?

I'm wiser and calmer on day 40, but that first week or so was tough.  I felt the pressure of the 60 days while scanning ad after ad of unachievable homes.  God, what a mess I've made of my life, I'm trying not to think.

But I've been doing some figuring, too.  Let's say my share of the Section 8 will be $275. I'll still have to pay for electricity, Wi-Fi (I don't even know if I have to buy cable to get that); BC's rent...that must add up to at least $100, so I'll pay $375 for what I described, except...

...I only pay $350 now and that includes electric and unlimited Wi-Fi, in the middle of wide open spaces.  I've no lease but no time restriction, either.  Plus I'd have to buy furniture all over again.

So where's the incentive, other than some pie-in-the-sky opportunity I read about to possibly PURCHASE something for myself in the future with the Section 8 help. The only glitch with that: I need to have rented for at least one year using their voucher.

Ahhh...the Lady or the Tiger?

P.S.  A follow-up post