Shorty Doesn't Live Here Anymore

It seems my nine month ordeal is nearly over. On Saturday Shorty and girl Shorty packed their bags and the landlord came to collect his keys. Tomorrow Shorty returns to pick up the rest of his belongings. When he leaves, I call the landlord who sends someone to change all the locks. I never thought I'd see this day. I sure will miss the little scamp.

Shorty got Served

Two Sheriffs stopped by today to serve Shorty his Notice to Vacate orders. It's about time! He has to out by Sunday. Shorty told me he intends to comply with the orders. I'll believe it when I see it.

Story developing...

Dueling Pyros

Shorty update: He's still here.

He tried to burn the house down yesterday. The good news is we now know the smoke detectors work. The bad news is he broke my toaster, although that was a completely unrelated incident. The fire started when he tried to cook french fries in a pot on the stove. Not to be outdone, I left my straightening iron on all day while I was at work. There were no injuries.

But that was yesterday. Today brought a whole new chapter in the Shorty saga. It had already been a crazy morning and I was trying to get ready for work. When I came out of the bathroom, there were two policemen in the hallway. "Ma'am did you know your front door is open?" I did not know that, but it didn't surprise me. Just last week I had gone upstairs around midnight and found the front door open, not just unlocked, but wide open. I looked around but there was no one in sight. I'm way beyond caring about such trifles. There's not much point in locking your front door when the kind of people you're trying to keep out have keys.

The police had shown up as a result of the morning's activities, for which I was only partially responsible. I was still asleep when I heard the landlord come by and started pounding on Shorty's door. After a round of yelling, he announced he was going to enter the room and throw Shorty out. Then I heard him fumbling with some keys. He tried about seven different keys unsuccessfully and then started cursing under his breath. Since he can't do anything right, I was forced to enter the fray, discreetly opening my door and handing him the correct key which, as the previous tenant of that room, I had held on to for just such occasions. I ducked back into my room, as the landlord burst in on Shorty and his lady. More yelling and some shoving followed. In case this story isn't suspenseful enough, it's helpful to know that Shorty's girlfriend is prone to seizures brought on by stressful situations. And in case this story isn't trashy enough, it's helpful to know that she was mostly naked at the time. The fight didn't last long. Likely the sight of Mrs. Shorty's semi-nude, drug-ravaged body caused the landlord to recoil and flee.

When the police showed up, I assumed the landlord had finally decided to do something about this crazy situation, but no, it was Shorty who called the police to report that he had just been assaulted. I cooperated with the investigation by providing the landlord's phone number and a phone to call him on. I was really embarrassed that the police were going to see how messy my room was since I had to go in there to retrieve my phone. Not that there was evidence of any arrestable offences, but they wouldn't be able to help but judge the occupant of such a disaster area. Fortunately, the officer stuck to questions like "How long have you lived here?" instead of "Is that any empty cottage cheese container on top of that pile of dirty laundry?" as I dug through my purse. While the hot cop used my phone to call the landlord, the other cop listened to Shorty's tale of abuse and discrimination. From the side of the conversation I heard, I'm beginning to suspect my landlord is even more unscrupulous than I thought. He denied most things, didn't have any answers for simple questions, and refused to come back to the house. I hoped the cute officer would ask to jot down my number so he could "follow up", but he didn't.

In the end, nothing was resolved, no charges were laid, and no deviants were evicted. On a positive note, Shorty still doesn't seem to suspect me of plotting against him, even describing me to the police as "a nice girl". I'm pretty sure nice girls don't live in places like this.

Trash Day

So not a great start to 2009. I spent the entire first day of the new year in darkness. The power was out in Bayfield for 23 hours. Compared to other people we were in pretty good shape. We had a wood stove and a fireplace. We had a battery-powered radio. We had a kerosene lamp, lots of candles and flashlights for every family member. We had lots of board games... It was the single longest day of my life. My family is great, but I was never so happy to have to go back to Wal-mart. Had the buses not been running, I'd have hitchhiked back to Halifax.

My brother sent pictures of his holiday adventures in New Zealand, which caused me to briefly reconsider joining him there. Over Christmas he went skydiving, hiked on a glacier, and helped build a house for Habitat for Humanity. I watched a bunch of Road to Avonlea reruns and ate two boxes of chocolates.

When I did get back to Halifax there was no heat upstairs so the bathroom and kitchen were absolutely freezing. I had to wear my winter jacket and hat to the bathroom. I let the shower run hot for ten minutes to warm up the room before even going in. This disregard for conservation went against everything David Suzuki ever taught me but it was really, really cold. The situation has since been resolved, but only after four days and two calls to the landlord.

Tomorrow is Trash Day. I hope to take out the trash. And by "trash" I mean Shorty, and by "take out" I mean wave good-bye to from the front step. Shorty has a date with the Tenancy Board tomorrow and I'm hoping it doesn't go his way. I don't really know what a Tenancy Board is but I'm told they may be able to get rid of our pest problem. The landlord seems pretty intent on getting rid of him, so fingers crossed. Chances are Shorty won't be coming home happy. I'm bracing myself for a day of cursing, yelling, and stealing the likes of which I haven't witnessed even at Wal-mart. Just two months ago, there was seven people living in this house. Now only the three toughest/craziest remain. The third roommate, the NSCAD student has had it easy because she has been gone for the last month. She returned last Monday from Christmas break and her greeting to me was "Is there a crack ho living in the basement?". Now, I understand her point of view; there is a crack ho living in the basement and that's definitely an important topic but she could have opened with "How are you?" or "Did you have a nice Christmas?". Whatever. Shorty's cracked-out lady friend seems to have moved in and while she seems docile enough, I am keeping all the sharp knives locked in my room, just in case.

Moving On

I hate when people interfere with my schedule so I was pretty pissed at work today when my lunch break had to be postponed because the guy who got caught stealing hundreds of dollars worth of DVDs (mostly Indiana Jones) decided to go insane and try to stab people with a dirty needle. Similar events happen often enough that I question the wisdom of having the security office/interrogation room/beating area so close to where we're expected to eat lunch. There's always some lunatic standing between me and my food. One time a crackhead ran through our lunch room trying to escape and often our friendly lunchtime conversations are punctuated with screaming and cursing from the hall. Today, Indiana Crackhead was finally subdued enough to allow for my safe passage to the fridge. I shot him dirty looks as I went by but I covered my name badge in case he was lucid enough to add me to his list of enemies. If only all the shoplifters behaved like last week's Hemorrhoid Guy, whose only crime was stealing a tube of Preparation H. When asked if it would have been less embarrassing just to buy it, he answered "Yes. Yes it would" and shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench reserved for the guilty.

Not that I don't cherish my days with these weirdos but I've decided to end my two and half year relationship with Wal-mart. My tentative last day is December 20. Since a million things could happen between now and then, I have only told a few people at work I'm leaving because nothing would be more embarrassing than having to stay after I hand in my resignation, tell off my boss, and punch a customer in the face, which is how I intend to go out.

My plan to have Shorty help me with my finances is going well so far. I think I'll probably move out of the house around December 21 and I have no intention of paying any rent for this month or the next. To be honest, I've pretty much gotten used to Shorty. He's not really a huge problem anymore, but that's not the story I'll be telling the landlord. Because he promised me Shorty would be gone the first of November, I sort of have a case. Most likely though, he won't give me a second thought, and I won't have to tell any story at all. For once I will take advantage of his negligence. I've been living free for ten days, only 40 days to go. Now all Shorty has to do is continue to refuse to leave and stay crazy. If the last four months are anything to go by, this shouldn't be a problem.

Survivor

Shorty has survived past his November 1st expiration date. He clearly isn't going anywhere. So I decided I will. I have a plan. It's ambitious and here's the twist: the success of the plan depends on Shorty staying. More details at a later date.

So just when I thought I could stop thinking about Shorty, I discover another layer of intrigue. He has started receiving frequent letters from a mystery woman. The envelopes are festooned with heart drawings and declarations of love and that's just on the outside. They are the kind of letters you would fully expect to contain naked pictures. Could this possibly be the pregnant girlfriend who wanted him dead? I guess it's possible. The letters arrive from Truro (ewww!) so there's half the mystery solved, but still. Because love letters are kind of adorable and old-fashioned, I took a thirty second break from loathing Shorty to say "Aww, that's so sweet!"

I'm always shocked to learn my enemies have friends and loved ones. When I saw that my boss had over a hundred friends on Facebook, I was sure they must all have added her by mistake but on her wall there were messages of good will and invitations to social gatherings. What is wrong with these people?

Plucky Criminal Continues to Dominate Blog

If the readers of this blog are anything like my family and co-workers, they want to know about Shorty. Everyone I know asks about Shorty before they ask about me. Even my mother. I don't blame them; Shorty leads a more interesting life than I do. I don't know how a minor inconvenience became a pivotal character in my life. He's the Joe the Plumber to my Barack Obama. He has become something of a legend in my family. Relatives gather around the phone when I call to hear about his latest exploits. So here are some Shorty Fun Facts to ponder.

• He is bilingual.
• He has extensive knowledge of Halifax's sex trade + he has a criminal record. This is pure speculation, but I believe he is/was a prostitute.
• He is the go-to guy for stolen bicycles. I thought the theft of my old roommate's bike from the storage room was a simple crime of opportunity, but anything about stealing bikes Shorty doesn't know isn't worth knowing. Says Shorty, moronically unaware that I can clearly hear his conversation, to one of his buddies, "I can't keep all the bikes I steal in this room. If I did, there would be twelve bikes in here".

Before handing over my rent cheque for October, I demanded the landlord give me a definitive date for Shorty's eviction. I got my answer: November 1st. And because my landlord is a conniving bastard I confirmed: 2008. I can't wait! Will it actually happen? Will the police be involved? What will Shorty take from the house as a souvenir? Will he sneak back into the house that night seeking revenge? Stay tuned.

Back Online

I'm finally back online after two weeks without the internet. I've been going crazy not knowing what's going on in the world. I made one trip to the library on Spring Garden. I had a computer booked but I still had to kick off a wild looking man who I'm pretty sure was looking at porn. Things are not looking good for my own computer so I have stolen my brother's. We don't expect him back from Australia for at least a year so surely that will be enough time for him to forget he ever owned a computer. He'll probably buy a fancy new one over there anyway. In the last communication I received from him, he said he was learning to play the didgeridoo and that wallabies roam his campus. It sounds like he's living my dream. Jerk.

My house is filling up with students. Our current population is five, which includes a Japanese physics major, a young German man who doesn't understand the washing machine, a NSCAD student who's going through a bad break up, me, and Shorty. I smell a sitcom! Shorty has triumphed over many obstacles and somehow remains living in the house. Last week an insane fight broke out between him and the landlord over an unpaid phone bill. It very nearly came to blows. I dislike them both equally so I had no favorite to win. I was hoping for some kind of resolution but Shorty is still here and things are still volatile. But the situation is not without advantages. I've really been playing up the trauma I've endured living with Shorty. The result: I haven't paid rent in three months and no one's asking any questions.

I've also lost five lbs on the Shorty Diet. All you need for this diet is a Shorty. He will eat all your food so you cannot. When you wise up and start locking up all your food, the diet continues to work because every time you want a snack you think about all the hassle it will take to find the right keys to all the cabinets and end up saying "Screw that, I'll just have some gum".

Shorty's shopping spree at Wal-mart has also opened up some interesting new challenges at work now that I know the security guards a little better. They are constantly in need of volunteers. Whenever a woman is caught shoplifting, a female staff member has to go sit with them in the security office until the police arrive. It's basically a half hour break. The first couple of times were a breeze, the culprits scared 14-year-olds. The older she-thieves are a bit more challenging. One woman offered me a twenty dollar bribe to distract the security guards. Another time, a crackhead demanded to know if I was going to testify against her. And most recently, a drunk woman, who assaulted both the security guys, kept getting up from her bench and casually wandering around casing the exit like she was going to make a run for it. I was a nervous wreck by the time she finally got dealt with. I keep doing it though. I like their crazy stories.

I got a fake promotion. I use the term promotion loosely because there is no increase in pay, just an increase in responsibility and hassle. I'm now in charge of the accessories (purses, luggage, socks, belts etc.) department. Today I was given my own knife for cutting open boxes. This is a big deal. Not just anyone gets a knife. The knife distributor woman is very stingy. She also told me I had to watch an instructional video before I could use the knife. It's a good thing I didn't laugh because she was serious. I didn't have time to watch the video today so she made me promise twice that I would watch it tomorrow.

Take Your Shorty to Work Day

It's not that Shorty's not a nice guy. He clearly is; he has invited most of the homeless population of Halifax to the house to do their laundry and have baths. I am not quite so nice and am getting very fed up with this stream of strangers using the facilities and stealing my stuff. This morning I just wanted to get out of the house so I actually went to work early. But, by some magical Shorty time warp, he was already at Wal-mart when I arrived. He must have been there for some time too, because the police had already arrived. Ever since Shorty moved into my house, I have fantasized about setting him up, casually mentioning how easy it was to steal from Wal-mart (he doesn't know I work there), then tipping off security if he ever showed up. But I ended up not having to get involved at all. Shorty got caught all on his own. I wasn't really all that surprised. I was kind of expecting it.

Later, when I asked our security guy about Shorty's fate, he said the police were taking him to booking on an unrelated matter. Unrelated matter? Why does that not surprise me? Neither the shoplifting nor the unrelated matter were enough to hold him, unfortunately. He arrived home at 2am in a mood I would describe as jubilant, cracking shoplifting jokes as he parted ways with his pals.

Last Saturday he stole my shampoo, conditioner, shave gel, razor, and toothpaste. What if I'd had a job interview or something the next day? It was bad enough that I was going to see "Mamma Mia" with Janet but if she noticed that I was especially unkempt, she was too polite to mention it. And on the topic of grooming, Shorty has a new summer haircut. I guess he finally decided to accept that he's bald. He must have read my blog. I was surprised to find how much of my distrust was based on his ridiculous hairstyle. It was probably 50% theft my personal belongings, 50% skullet.

2 bike locks for my kitchen cabinets: $15.00
Bracket, screwdriver and padlock to lock bathroom from the outside: $20.00
Knowing my stuff won't be stolen or covered in hippie dirt: Priceless

I really hope this is my last post about Shorty, but I can't promise anything.

Oh Shorty!

The non-ironically self-nicknamed Shorty continues to mess up my house and he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. I have been dropping hints that our other roommate is an angry and vengeful person and that when she returns she may have a problem with him. She's actually very kind and tolerant but I'm willing to sacrifice her reputation for this cause. I want that greasy troll packing his bags.

A grimy film appears on every surface he touches. A while back I did a thorough cleaning of the kitchen and when I was done I wrote on our whiteboard: "Kathleen, thanks for cleaning the kitchen. It looks great! I'll try not to mess it up." Not only do I get to pretend someone appreciates me, but Shorty will think someone appreciates me, and with the amount of marijuana he smokes he may think he wrote it himself. It's a win-win.

So far he has stolen crackers, toilet paper, and my mini fridge. I had hidden the crackers on a really high shelf, out of Shorty's reach but I was stupid to think I could keep munchies off a pothead's radar. He better watch himself though; he doesn't know about my subtle system of kitchen crime and punishment. It goes something like this:

He borrows flour or sugar - I mutter to myself, stomp on the stairs, and slam doors. He borrows chips or crackers - I give him a stern verbal warning to stay away from my food. He borrows Nutella or brownies - I smother him in his sleep.

To take my fridge, he would have had to remove the sign I had taped to it which said "Kathleen's Stuff". Everything I know about conflict resolution told me that I should not act on my first instincts which, in this case, were to scream "Never touch my stuff, you toxic elf!" and then threaten to call the police. But I'm not really sure how to get my point across. You can't reason with hippies. They're illogical and infuriating. He probably thinks we're sharing. He would probably think a fair trade would be my fridge for some revelation about the meaning of life he made during a drug-induced hallucination. Well, no thanks.

As far as I can tell, he doesn't have a (legal) job and spends most of his time in his room. But what could he be doing in there all day with just a radio, a futon mattress and, presumably, my mini fridge?

The phone rings constantly with the urgency of someone in need of a fix. Conversations with his woman often contain phrases like "Even if I'm in jail and you're in jail, we'll always be together" and "What did your parole officer say?". There have been other conversations with his "associates" that consist mostly of a string of obscenities, with the gist of the message being "I don't have the money."

I have moved "being robbed in my own room" back to the top of my list of fears for the first time since 2004 when I was staying in a particularly sketchy hostel in the King's Cross area of London.

Oh, and he has a skateboard. He uses it to get around even though he also stole our other roommate's bike. Can I really stay mad at a 41-year-old man who travels by skateboard?

Adventures with Shorty

For the last two months, there has been a subletter in the house. Although she was a quiet grad student, her inability to follow simple recycling instructions made me angry. I was also unimpresed with her poor dish washing skills. I'm not sure what she did to them that made her think she'd cleaned them. If I had to guess, I'd say she always used either soap or water, but never both. I just don't know how you can be so bad at something so simple. I was relieved when she moved out. Having recently met her replacement, I would give anything to have her back.

Last Saturday at 1'o'clock in the morning, Shorty moved in. I heard a commotion and went into the hall to find a dirty little pothead with a skullet moving into the room across the hall from mine, the room that smells strongly of gas and which I was planning to seal off with towels and duct tape at the next possible opportunity. In his early 40's, Shorty arrived by bike from the bad part of Dartmouth and I quickly realized my stories of mice and gas leaks were not going to discourage a man who can probably sleep through gunfire. He has a pregnant girlfriend who, by the sounds of it, is not at all happy to have been impregnated, especially by him. He can't live with her because she's "crazy, real crazy". I have identified all possible escape routes from the house in case she shows up with a shotgun and hormonal rage.

With me visiting home this week, Shorty will be all alone in the house unsupervised for five days. I didn't have time to train him before taking off. As best I could, I tried to Shorty-proof the house before I left. I locked my door, checked the smoke detectors, and put a sign on my brownies in the fridge: These brownies are not "special". Still, I shudder to think what I will arrive home to on Tuesday.