Not All Turkeys Have Feathers

In my last post I wrote about Scammers who attempt to rent homes, which are actually for sale elsewhere, to turkeys like me. I vowed to be more savvy.  But quite honestly, following that episode it took a good week before I felt up to searching again. BC was having some trouble with her diabetes and so I focused all my attention on her health.  When I finally got back to looking I found a place on Craigslist almost too good, again, so I went to Zillow to see if it was also listed there and possibly swiped, per the Realtor's information (again, my last post).

I didn't know Zillow handled rentals but sure enough, there it was, with pretty much the same information as on Craigslist, but I was gun-shy so didn't pursue it.  However, right next to the Zillow listing was one for this one-bedroom, one-bath, 750 sq ft, looks like a house but they're calling it an apartment (it makes a difference in my rent allowances) for $995. And it was NOT listed on Craigslist, just on Zillow. Hmmm...if I throw in 40% instead of the standard 30% of income I'd be just a dollar short of the Goverment's allowance.  It would be tight, but I think I can manage the rent plus utilities and insurance, if I stop going to Goodwill.

It looked like an old Craftsman-style home with lots of windows, something I covet as an artist. Look at the potential!  Lots of cabinets, built-in shelves in the living room and not one but TWO window seats, something else I covet. The bright kitchen with the second window seat (not shown) looked larger than my RV.

The listing was posted by a Property Management firm; one of countless which are buying up properties all over the place.  I've been reading different ads around the state by these 'companies' and more than one sounds fishy to me.  As Eviction Moratoriums were ending, there were suddenly all these ads for, "Available soon," and "Recently Renovated" that I figured they were throwing out tenants, slapping on some paint and jacking up the rents, and I wanted no part of that.  Surely there are less ruthless landlords out there, I thought at the time.

Early birds

But my voucher extension runs out on January 7th and they won't grant me another; so if I don't find something by then, that's it, talk about pressure.  Sure, I can re-apply and wait another 4 or 5 years with the hope that the President's plans for affordable housing actually come to fruition by then, but I doubt it.  The Republicans will return and knock down our 21st Century New Deal like dominos.

I forgot to mention that I found the ad shortly after it was posted very early on Saturday morning, but their office was closed for the weekend so I couldn't speak to anyone first.  I knew that if I didn't jump like a house-afire I didn't stand a chance, and maybe, God, this could be the place for me.

Growing up

I clicked on 'Schedule a Tour' but they wouldn't until I filled out an application and paid $45 for their background/credit check.  I considered and reconsidered the validity of all this; after all, Zillow's a reputable website, at least people seem to refer to it without skepticism.  So in the interest of a future article I clicked on 'Apply Now,' and was instructed to check my email for a secure link, which led me to an https address; ga'head, crinkle your eyes, I dove in. Here's the listing, if it's still up.  The rental post I saw, with far fewer photos, was found elsewhere on Zillow.

Unaware of fate

It's been decades since I filled out this kind of application, and I couldn't believe all the information I was providing with the Blind Faith that the Property Management firm was for real, including proof of income, photo ID and a picture of BC. In the beginning of The Hungry Games I mentioned I'd likely have to prove my income is 3-times any rental amount, but I didn't understand the principle. How could my measly Social Security equal 3 times their monthly rent? I was about to find out.

I had to fess up to my Section 8 voucher, hoping they accepted the government's version of what I can afford to rent. In the notes I requested that if they did not agree then not to continue with the application (so I don't lose $45) but they charged my account quick as lightening. I also had to explain that because of the mandatory property inspection demanded by the Housing Office, which could take weeks to schedule, I could not take possession within 48 hours, so I basically offered my firstborn, in addition to the security deposit, for them to hold it while the paperwork goes through, it sucks being desperate.

I left parts of the application vague, and wherever it asked for my reference's information I used my own until I could contact them to verify their permissions. (The application requested rental and personal reference's phone # and emails.)  I figured by Monday morning I could gather the permissions, so I spent the rest of the weekend day-dreaming about what I could do with a home with white walls.

"Don't get your hopes up," Amy kept screaming but I wouldn't listen.  White would certainly be the perfect backdrop to my own colorful furnishings, which I'd finally be able to retrieve from my friend's homes, at least the ones living nearby.

Monday morning arrived.  I was up at 2am, too anxious and wanting to be their first phone call.  I was transferred to a woman in the Application Department, who was very nice and even encouraging.  I asked whether my Section 8 would throw me out of the running but she insisted No, and explained that the Three Times Rule meant three times MY PORTION of the rent equals their rent.

"It will take a few days to process the application," but she told me to go ahead and schedule a tour through their office, which I did.  "We're all full today, but how about first thing Tuesday morning?"  I'd be there, with bells on.

Something told me to take a test run but I didn't feel like it and felt comfortable with the directions I'd Googled.  But early Tuesday morning I double-checked the listing to make certain it was real, found the more comprehensive listing referenced above by accident, and saw a completely different location on the Google map associated with the property.  I heard the rumbling of bells deep inside my gut.

I must pause to explain that Oregon has this maddening practice of dividing streets and moving them to a completely different location.  You have to be from another state to appreciate what I'm saying, since every outsider I speak to agrees it's insane.

So I had two different South Grape Streets to choose from: one in the dumpy, older part of downtown Medford, and the other closer to where the fire swept through last year. That area was predominantly trailers and public housing, so I guessed (correctly) that an older home would most likely be found in Old Town. It was too early to phone to clarify so I left in plenty of time in case I hit the wrong one first, Jesus, do I have to make everything so difficult for myself? I should have listened to my inner voice. I'd have saved this additional distress.

Houses in the neighborhood reminded me of the old 'cottages' down along the 'Jersey Shore, somewhat beaten up except without the sand.  Too bad it was trash day.  Mine was the next to last house on the block before reaching the industrial plant, not shown.  They're not so bad, I told myself. Of course, with my luck the house directly opposite was the worst looking on the street, a true pack-rat; but I lived in that homeless community, too, where my schizophrenic neighbor, often off her meds, trashed her space (opposite mine) while producing magnificent paintings.  I found my neighbors in Community First more loving, friendly and helpful than anywhere else I've lived, even if their homes aren't worthy of Better Homes and Gardens, so I took that into consideration. (Take a peek at the trailer.  I hadn't realized I was in it - the one painting, how fun!)

I tried not to focus on the upstairs window (broken or open?) while I waited for my appointment. A few doors down, a veteran without legs wheeled towards me, musing pleasantly about trying to figure out which recyclables to put out that morning.  One big fellow, who looked like one of those guys we saw on January 6th, got out of his monster truck holding his Chihuahua and smiled as he walked into the house next door.  I smiled back. I thought of my Mother while considering the benefit of living next door to someone who could easily help move furniture.  I brought BC along in case they wanted to see her up close, and finally a little car with the Prop Mgmt's logo on the side pulled up.

Here's an opportunity for a break.  Here's the Rest of the Story.  

I must include one last photo in my turkey series.  Fortunately, I had a volunteer gig at the local performance theater so I left the property for the afternoon.  It was time to prep our four feathered friends for Thanksgiving tables, BC and I will miss them.

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