Posts Tagged ‘sublet’

Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

February 19, 2011

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

Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

December 5, 2010
Editor’s Note:  Our Artist Hero stuggles to pay the bills.

Room Entry

Latest Adventure

“I put an ad on Craigslist advertising my ‘near-room’ for rent. Near-room is called that, because it’s not a real room, but a section of my living room I separated by bookshelves and hung a curtain for the entrance. The bookshelves don’t go all the way to the ceiling, leaving about a foot. (Photo attached)
A guy from NY replied. He turned out to be a right hand to the producer of the Christmas Story that’s being put up at 5th Avenue Theater. (When they say ‘right hand’ I imagine it covers everything, I mean EVERYTHING one does with one’s hand, right?)
We talked on the phone, the NY producer sent me a good company check, right on.
Then the day comes of the tenant’s arrival.
W. doesn’t call me from the airport like we agreed and finally calls me from downtown, completely and utterly drunk. I had to repeat like ten times how to find 3rd Ave. from 3rd Avenue. Finally he did and got on the bus. A bus driver called me a bit later asking where the hell to dump that drunk. I figured I might as well walk over to the bus stop and meet him. He was standing there, swaying from side to side, calling me on the cell phone. I told him to turn around, which he finally did and announced right away, “I am real. And I love you. Where is the party?” I ended up taking him to this gangster rap club down the street – that’s all that was open in the CD after midnight. He proceeded to make friends with very shady black dudes, who kept hitting on him for drinks and trying to sell him drugs and women. They tried hitting on me, but I told them to buzz off. I was bored and worried. Finally I announced to W. that we are leaving. He stumbled out and followed me to the gas station where we bought more beer, cigarettes and wine.
W. appears to be very dedicated: he leaves here around 9am and doesn’t get back until like midnight. He talks of how much work it is to do inventory of merchandise and to enter the credit card slips. I can’t possibly believe that it could take 4 hours before each show, and with a staff member assigned to help him. Yet whenever I ask if there is any part-time temp work for me, he gives me this excuse that the 5th Ave Theater expects him to hire their people only.
They had a run-through and a dress rehearsal last week, I asked to be able to come to either, but he skirted the issue like a slimy eel, just out of the dead horse’s mouth. Obviously, if I were a hot 20-y.o. he’d have gotten me in no problem, but a frumpy overweight middle aged woman isn’t someone you want talking to you in public. Oh well, screw it, I probably wouldn’t like the show anyway – it’s just a copy of that old movie, which is rather pathetic, but then general public is pathetic…”  – Rita

Photo by Rita Andreeva


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