Postcard from the Edge
Last year, tenants from hell terrorized our neighborhood. I live in a residential neighborhood. It a secluded bit of suburban tract housing on the edge of an open space reserve, populated (predictably enough) by people who want some peace and quiet.
One house on the street, kitty-corner from mine, has been rented out for years. When we moved in, frat boys lived there. They tormented the neighbor immediately next door to them (who, like me, works from home) with their parties and shouting and what-have-you. Tired of all the disruption, the neighbor complained and had a hand in getting them moved along.
Next, a woman moved in with her two kids. I thought, well, at least they'll be more settled down than four beer-guzzling college students.
Boy, was I wrong.
The woman held lots of parties for friends who would often spend the night - sleeping on the front porch! Music would blare from the house at all hours. Cars would tear down the street, horns honking, in the middle of the night. She'd have screaming matches with her teenage daughter and lock her daughter out of the house. Once she went away for a week to leave her daughter in the house with four seedy guys who, when the police came by, said they lived there.
If anyone asked her to turn the noise down a notch, she would become abusive. We had to call the police a number of times. She would always lie to the police, about anything and everything, including about the fact that her kids lived with her. The police said the inside of the house was not fit for children to inhabit. I worried about the kids.
Calling the police made her accelerate her abuse. She would yell and kick the door on one neighbor's house, scream abusive language at another neighbor, and even her daughter took to calling Kathy and I names. (What? Were they all raised by wolves? Oh, I must stop slamming wolves!)
Last Easter, the police had to come out several times. One visit ended up with a bit of a raid and a number of her gentlemen friends (I use "gentlemen" lightly) were led away in handcuffs. I was pretty sure there was drug use going on at the house and I wondered about the comings-and-goings of people at all times of the day and night.
Yet, the landlord, who lives in another state, would not evict the tenant. It didn't matter how many police reports were generated; she didn't want to go through the hassle of finding a new tenant. As the situation escalated, the neighbor who was the brunt of the worst of the abuse organized a response. Twelve of us agreed that if the landlord did not evict the tenant, we would individual file suit against her (based on a city ordinance about fair expectation of safety).
The tenant yelled, threatened and verbally attacked us every step of the way (and she even came back after the eviction to cause trouble) but by June, she was gone. The house went up for sale. Because it's a slow market and the house had foundation problems, it took a long time to find a seller, but recently it sold.
Just yesterday, Kathy and I received a postcard from the realtor, proclaiming the house sold. It included this personalized message:
"All's quite in the neighborhood now. We are pleased to announce the sale and closing of (address)! Work has begun on the house. We brought you a wonderful new neighbor. No more wild parties and police raids. We also have other clients who are looking for homes in this neighborhood. May we send you a marketing analysis of your neighborhood?"
Now that's good marketing! We certainly got a much-needed laugh from the message. And if we were interested in selling (which we are not) you can bet we'd consider this realtor to help us out.
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