The Adelaide is foul. The scary thing is that I need to find a cheaper place to live. My teaching contract is up in July with no guarantee of renewal. Okay...plan B: move yet again. I contacted the rental agency in regards to breaking my lease a few months early. They have other properties around town, it might mean moving farther away and taking the dang bus to school but if that's what it takes...I got an email today with the proper document to change properties and by change properties the alternative is to change rooms here at The Adelaide. This means a smaller room with no personal bathroom.
I don't mean to sound like a princess but I have already given up the use of a kitchen (my diet of p-nut butter sammies and cereal isn't that far off from my American diet) because of general disgust with the shared facilities. I know, I'm an only child but I don't mind sharing. Shit, you should've seen my last kitchen situation. But my current environment is full on nasty. I've seen my fare share of dirtbag shit but rotting food in the fridge, used dishes in the cabinets, a greasy stench so strong that it makes me want my mom to hold me in her arms? Now you're telling me with the downgrade I have to share a toilet/shower with these 50 yr. old bachelors?
I have tried to refrain from certain details but I shall not hold back anymore. Here we go, at least 3 times a week, I'm awoken around 4am to the sounds of explosive diarrhea being expelled in the toilet across the hall from my door. The same toilet I would now have to use. The dude doesn't even shut the bathroom door. After this experience I wait, oh lord please let me hear the sounds of this motherfucker going to the the sink/shower room to wash his paws...please...but the faucet always remains quiet.
I came home a couple of days ago from an exhausting day at school/work and almost had to pick myself up off the floor because of what I was hoping and praying was someones utter success at mimicking the odor of a forgotten port-o-potty left at a mid-summer Grateful Dead concert venue. The odor was true and unfortunately not engineered.
I met another tenant, same dude pissing in the doorway a couple of weeks back, stumbling drunk in the hallway. He was nice enough, we exchanged introductions as best as the situation allowed, but the next morning as I was changing my laundry to the dryer he cruises in with a goddamn whisky dent on his forehead. Hmmmmm...so that the disturbance I heard in the stairwell last night?
It's time to call on some peeps that are historically versed in situations such as this. Guide me experts...unfortunately Lydia Lunch would most likely push me in a gutter with a shiner for being a pussy and Bukowski would just want to procreate while polishing off bottles of red wine. Any insight Kerouac? H.S.Thompson...you have any words of wisdom to give me from the grave? Guess I'm on my own.
