After a month at Widget Wonders, R is broke. She has spent her meager savings trying to keep up with the rent and utilities, but on $12.50 an hour in the year 2023, it has been nearly impossible. She’s been perusing Apartments.com for a few weeks and sees something doable.
213 Sheridan Street, Rottenton – Charming one-bedroom basement apartment.
Antique claw foot bathtub with indoor plumbing. Working fireplace. Paneling,
wall-to-wall carpet in spacious living room. Pets allowed. Tenant pays all utilities.
$500/month, no credit check.
On Saturday afternoon, R goes to check the place out. The landlord, a short Indian man
with a confident grin, is waiting for her. From the outside, the place is unimpressive with its peeling white paint and dilapidated porch with loose boards.
“You must be R,” he says in a thick accent. He reaches out to shake her hand, smiling
from ear to ear.
“My name is Mr. Patel of Patel and Patel Management Company. Come, let me
show you around the apartment.”
R hears a siren from about two blocks away.
He leads R down a flight of stairs, past shelves full of tools and gadgets. The walls of the
main room are covered in poopy-brown paneling and the carpet is avocado green. There is indeed a fireplace, but it appears to be the only source of heat.
“This is your living room. Over here,” he says as he leads her through a heavy wooden
door, “is your bedroom.”
The floor and walls in the tiny bedroom are made of concrete with a large, tattered, pink
oval rag-rug in the center. There is just enough room for a twin-sized bed and a bureau.
Next, Mr. 2
Patel shows her the bathroom, where she sees the dirty, white claw foot bathtub and a pedestal sink with a makeshift medicine cabinet over it. What about the kitchen?
On the far end of the living room are a stove and refrigerator with a large sink meant for
washing clothes nearby.
R hears more sirens.
“What are the other tenants like?” R asks.
“Well, we have a few students, an older couple, a mother with her little boy. A little old
lady lived here in this apartment for twenty-two years. She passed away a week ago, right over there by the tool bench.”
R sees a tool bench in the corner, fully stocked with equipment.
“Who uses the tool bench?”
“Oh, the man upstairs likes to come down here and tinker from time to time. He doesn’t
bother anyone.”
Yeesh! But at this point, R has little choice. Soon the rent on her present place will come
due, and she can’t afford another month. Besides, the claw foot bathtub has character.
And who knows? Maybe the tool guy will turn out to be cool and end up being her future husband.
Between the two of them, maybe they will be able to afford to get out of this hell hole.
R and Mr. Patel hear the steps creaking. A tall man ducks his head slightly to avoid the
overhang at the bottom of the stairs and introduces himself. He is bald and pear-shaped, and by his speech pattern and demeanor, he appears to have some sort of learning disability. He is wearing a tattered grey t-shirt with “Stud” across the chest.
“Hi, I’m Johnny,” he says. “I like to come down here and work with the tools. I don’t
bother anybody.”
Double yeesh! Well, R is job-hunting while working at Widget Wonders, so maybe this
will be a temporary thing. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Who said that? Nietzsche?
Kelly Clarkson?
“See, I told you he doesn’t bother anybody,” Mr. Patel forces a big smile. “What do you
think, R? Would you like to live with us?”
R thinks about the way he said “us,” like she would be moving in with some sort of
dysfunctional family. Of course, Mr. Patel doesn’t live here. He probably has a nice place in the suburbs.
“I guess I’ll take it.”
“Congratulations, R, you won’t be sorry. First month’s rent and security deposit will be
due by this coming Friday. You can move in on Saturday.”
Mr. Patel and R leave Johnny to his own devices and climb up the warped steps. He bids
her good-bye and R clutches her Hello Kitty tote bag tight as she walks halfway down the block to her car. A police car whizzes down the street perpendicular to Sheridan. Once in her car, she locks the doors and cries. A scruffy old man dressed as a mime taps on her window.
She pulls away abruptly and sees him doing the stuck-in-a-box thing in her rear-view mirror. That’s what she is. Stuck in a box, in a basement in a town called Rottenton, New Jersey. The honors graduate of Grey Wolf Mountain College’s English Literature program and Sprockets Associate at Widget Wonders doesn’t see a way out anytime soon.
What are the chemicals they spray that slowly dissipate and fall onto the surface of the earth? That’s a question you must never ask, all you need to do is breathe in very deeply, and you will be okay.
