Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

Editor’s Note:  For those of you who haven’t been following Rita’s posts religiously – a Near-Room is a word for a sublet Rita has created by curtaining off a portion of her modest apartment’s living area.

The Near-Room / $300 a month

Continuous adventures with the nearroom…

“The latest tenant was a boy called Adam. He came to see the place with his father and they acted very respectable. According to them, Adam was 18 and needed a room to go to Seattle Central and look for a job, and his dad was on his way to North Carolina, leaving right away. His dad gave me $300, saying he’d mail the rent for the next month. He also said he gave Adam money for food and left, leaving Adam here with his backpack.
Adam didn’t seem too interested in school or looking for work. He spent whatever money his father gave him on going out and partying. In a few days all that money was gone. Then Adam started eating my food rather casually. I told him, “You can’t eat my food.” He said, “I have no more money and my dad won’t give me any.” I said, “Go to a food-bank then,” and gave him a list with days and addresses of all the nearby food-banks.  But his highness didn’t feel like going to a food-bank, he continued laying around sleeping or playing video games all day, whenever he wasn’t hanging out with his friends. And he continued eating my food. I told him again, “You can NOT eat my food. Not a crumb, not a drop! Go to a food bank.”
One evening as I was working on my computer, drinking tea and eating cookies, he approached me, “Can I have a cookie?” he asked. I replied, “Absolutely not.” It did ruin my fun, however, and I became very annoyed. He wouldn’t give up, “Why not?”
“Because I told you a thousand times to go to food-bank and you never did. You have to make at least some effort, you can’t expect things just given to you!”
He made sorrowful puppy-eyed face and sat on the couch and commenced staring at me. I finally blew up:
“What are you doing? I’m not giving you any cookies! It’s almost midnight! Leave me alone and go to sleep.”
“I can’s sleep; I slept all day.”
“Not my problem.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“It’s midnight; I’m tired, I’m busy! Get out of my face, leave me alone!”
He went to his nearroom and I turned off the computer, grabbed a book and went to bed – he totally ruined my enjoyment of tea, cookies and HTML.
A couple of days later he disappeared. I was very happy about that. But then my daughter Eva came over and asked, “Where is your roommate?”
“I don’t know.”
We went into the nearroom and exclaimed, “His cell phone is here and his wallet too!”
She picked up his wallet and pulled out his ID, “He’s not 18. He’s going to be in March…”
“Crap! Those assholes lied to me!” I exclaimed.
“How long was he gone?”
“Four days, I guess.”
I realized I was supposed to act responsible, so I called Adam’s dad. I told him Adam was missing, and his wallet and phone were here. His dad said, “I’m sure he’ll be fine, don’t worry about him.” That was that.
Adam did show up in a couple of days, looking dazed. He said he’d been at a rave, and that’s why he left his wallet and cell-phone at home, so they don’t get stolen.
He was clearly hungry and high and had a very bad cough. I let him eat some spaghetti with me since I didn’t want him to drop dead, but told him to get his shit together, stop partying, start going to classes and to food banks. He said okay.
Next morning when I got up and went to the bathroom it stunk of weed.
I stormed into the nearroom. It was time for him to get up and go to school anyway. I yelled, “Adam, get up!” and louder, “Get up!” and yet louder, “Get the fuck up!” He didn’t stir. I had to leave to go to an appointment.
He did wake up in the afternoon. I immediately started yelling at him:
“You can’t smoke pot around here! You’re not even 18! You’re illegal! And you must get up to go to school! This is an ultimatum!”
He said, “Okay.”
Needless to say, this situation continued until his rent was up, which was yesterday. He was hanging out with his friends, stoned as usual, and wouldn’t respond to my calls and texts demanding that he gives the keys back. So I went on Facebook and sent emails to all his father’s contacts with same last name asking for help. Luckily Eva and her friend stopped by, so Eva’s friend called Adam from his cell phone and caught him by surprise and asked him where he was, he said at McDonalds at Westlake. So we drove there and got the keys from him.”  – Rita

Photo by Rita Andreeva

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One Response to “Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva”

  1. yacman Says:

    Rita should set up chairs in the corner of her apartment and charge admission to watch.

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