Occasional Words from the Resistance

…from the desk of R.E. Vanella.

Like a Woodpecker With a Headache

The house at 1410 Quotidian Street was not the nicest on the block. It was in a category neighborhood people referred to as run-down. Not dilapidated or unoccupied, but in some manner of general disrepair and lazy upkeep that usually suggests one of two situations; an elderly or infirmed homeowner who lacked the resources or ability to manage proper maintenance, or occupied by a renter. In this case it was the latter.

The home sat on a small lot of about a quarter acre in a subdivision just minutes from town. A small rancher built in the post-war ‘50s, 1,050 square feet including closet space. Two bedrooms, one bath. The original asbestos sided exterior was safe enough under a dozen or more layers of paint, the outermost being powder blue. The blue had a dirty green tinge from years of needles, wet leaves and assorted debris from the small maple and the three arborvitaes in the front yard to the left of the three plain concrete steps that were at the beginning stages of decay. The evidence of which, white cement dust, was accumulating down back in each corner where the steps met the path met the house’s foundation. The lawn was also small, patchy and dotted with Broadleaf Plantain.

The couple found these accommodations sufficient, but difficult. In a better world the twins wouldn’t have to share a small bedroom and an extra half bath would make life less stressful especially between 05:30 and 07:30 each weekday. To add to the anxiety the landlord was as completely disinterested in property management as he was interested in making sure the rent was paid by the first of each month (five day grace period was a hard line). The landlord was a corporate tax attorney who owned 17 properties scattered across several suburban neighborhoods in proximity to the town. It was less a flourishing side business and more a portfolio diversification plan. In fact the twins’ father could vaguely recall the landlord mentioning once several years ago the liquidation and reallocation of an underperforming something or other. It seemed absurd to ask the landlord to elaborate. The father could barely keep $1,000 in a savings account. The truck needed perpetual repairs and both twins now sported tiny stainless steel brackets and wire in their mouths to ensure their teeth didn’t end up looking like weather-beaten, vandalized gravestones.

It’s been even more difficult lately. Four years ago the father was the chief electrician at Fitzwater Polymers. FP is a medium sized outfit that produces composite parts for car interiors. You may be familiar with the edging that covers the seams of your car’s headliner. They make those. The dad didn’t directly fabricate the product. He kept the factory running. This role is responsible for inspection and maintenance of all plant and machine-tool electrical systems and supervision of all journeymen electricians and technicians, so said the official HR job description. In late 2011 an announcement was made that the production of all lines of the Snap-Fit Liner Edges™ would be relocated to Galle, Sri Lanka. While some corporate activities would remain in the town, all production and production support would be eliminated.

The father was crushed and confused. Of course he didn’t know the details of the 2009 Asian Subcontinent Unified Commerce (Kampur) trade pact. He wasn’t entirely sure where Sri Lanka was located. What he did know was that the $72,850 per annum household budget had evaporated. He was able to find work in the electrical department of the House Warehouse (redundancy illustrative), a one-stop shop for all of your home, hardware, landscaping, construction and janitorial needs, so says a newspaper insert every Wednesday and Saturday. This position mostly consisted of answering questions about wire nuts and helping carry boxes of new wall sconces made in Bangladesh. The pay is $11.15 per hour.

There used to be a bit of extra money to pick up the landlord’s slack. If a door needed replacing or the washing machine needed a new belt, the dad could handle things on his own. Fifty dollars here or there and an hour of his time was less stress than pinning down small-town landlord, esquire. Now that time and that money had vanished and the condition of the house gradually worsened. For nearly three months the crumbling window in the laundry next to the kitchen was covered by a blue tarpaulin fixed in placed with heavy-duty gray tape. The toilet was out of commission for two and a half weeks this past April. Four people, one home, no working can. I’ll spare you the details. When the ceiling of the living room sprung a leak due to a clog in the downspout adjacent the row of arborvitae the mother made a call to his Lordship. Unfortunately she was informed that the attorney and his wife had taken their boys on a ski trip to a resort north of Calgary until two weeks from…

The mom of the twins did find part-time work keeping books at a local doctor’s office. That provided only temporary relief. The certified letter said the they should be advised that in 90 days at the expiration of the current lease the rent would be increased by $235 per month. Apparently that ski resort was luxurious, the father thought. It was one evening later that week near the twins’ bedtime when the father determined to burn 1410 Quotidian Street to the ground.