It has been a rough 4 weeks. It really has. I try to stay
positive; that is generally my nature and for that I am very lucky. And it is,
in fact, the only way that I have been able to traverse the bumps, ruts, and
sometimes very large sinkholes that I’ve have encountered on this new road I’ve
taken over the last 3 years. But there are times when I feel there is nothing
left to do but curl up into a fetal ball and cry like a baby. As much as I try
to defeat those moments with positive or funny thoughts, they sometimes get the
better of me....and I think maybe that’s good. Sometimes crying is cleansing...
and perhaps as good for the soul as laughter. I had one of those moments last
month and will not feel the need to be “cleansed” again for a very long time.
I returned to my apartment one day to find myself locked out. I
was really at a loss until I peered through the keyhole and realized there was
a key in the lock on the other side. That meant only one thing. Crazy Emmanuelle (the woman I don’t know who I sub-lease from) had returned. No
warning, nothing. And she was inside MY apartment and had locked ME out! I
knocked on the door and was greeted by a half-crazed french women, spewing
forth venom like I have never heard.
In a nutshell....and in a delirious mixture of French and
English, she let go on me. I had changed her apartment, moved her things (take
note: she did not call it cleaning ), this is like rape, slept on her bed,
broken her mugs, this is like rape, I trusted you, this is like rape, this
apartment was in perfect order when I left....ya da, ya da, ya da. To make a
very long story just a bit shorter, I tried to explain to her that I packed her
things so I wouldn’t break them because it was impossible to move around, I
cleaned because it was filthy and I couldn’t find the floor...or the
chairs....or anything else, there were bugs in the furniture, worms in the
wood, bedbugs in her mattress, and moths flying out of her closet like the
flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz (well I didn’t actually mention the monkeys
but....). Our conversation was reduced to a screaming match and I began the
attempt to pack my things, throwing everything in whatever box or suitcase I
could find. This was difficult at best because I was shaking like a leaf from
both anger and frustration, and she had thrown my things in piles all over my
room. In desperation I called my friends Simon and Gérald, both of whom arrived
within minutes. We piled, carried, searched, packed and eventually, after they
too were subjected to her wrath, I ended up in the street with all my
belongings piled up around me.
The really lucky thing about this whole rotten situation was
that as Crazy Emmanuelle screamed and ranted, people began to arrive. First, of
course, Gérald and Simon. Then came Patrick from downstairs who caretakes many
apartments in the neighborhood, including mine. He doesn’t speak English but offered to show me
right then and there, all the apartments available in the neighborhood. His
wife arrived, offering her support. Frank from upstairs showed up and was
visibly upset. He called Alain, his boyfriend, who is the landlord of the
building. Alain arrived toute suite , gave me my two kisses and kindly asked
how I was doing and then marched over to CE and began to ream her out. It was
fast, angry French so I couldn’t understand but Simon and Gérald came running
up the steps to get the scoop. He basically told her that she should be
thanking me, the apartment was despicable when she left it, I was paying the rent so I could do
what I wanted (she apparently had not been paying), from now on she was getting
no breaks from him no matter what sob story she concocted, she should get a job
like the rest of us, and once again, she should be thanking me.
Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but I’m still on the street
with no place to live. I looked at all of Patrick’s apartments but none were
right and I had no intention of living in the same neighborhood as Crazy
Emmanuelle. Finally, Frank remembered that his apartment on the other side of
town (he keeps it in case he and Alain break up...they've been together 12 years) was not occupied for a few weeks and he offered it to me. Alain
offered a space in the garage for my things, we put my few pieces of furniture on the street for some other poor soul to snap up, and he walked me over to my new,
temporary apartment. And within a day, I had a house-sitting job for a friend
in the country for one week and a mansion-sitting job for the month of August
at a most beautiful old villa on the hill.
I didn’t cry (okay, just a little....my lips quivered) until a
week later when I heard that CE was telling everybody that I had stolen 12,000
Euros worth of antique jewelry from her apartment. That was the straw that
caused the aforementioned infantile behavior. Once, when I was 13, I shoplifted
a ring from Scissors Department store because “everybody was doing it “and I
wanted to see what stealing was like. I felt so bad I took it back the next
day. And another time I found a tube of mascara in the bottom of my shopping
cart as I was loading my car at Target. I was in a hurry and didn’t take it
back. But cross my heart, that is the extent of my thieving! And so, after
being accused of an act I’m not even capable of, I curled up and cried for 5
hours. I looked like hell the next day but I think I felt better.
Last week, I wrote this story but in much more detail and with
decidedly more venom. I didn’t feel good about it. I really didn’t even want to
write about it. I took my computer into town to send the story to the newspaper (the mansion doesn’t have internet) and my computer was stolen off the
bus. Needless to say, the article didn’t get sent.
My computer is my lifeline. It allows me to write these
articles, it keeps me in touch with friends and family, I need it to find a new
apartment, and most of all, I can use it to call my kids. It also contained all
my passwords to all my accounts and private sites.
But again, (I hate to sound like a Pollyanna) there were many
lucky sides to this new predicament. I had been on my way to have lunch with my
ex-landlord Liliane (we are now friends and meet once each week) and she drove
me all around town trying to find my Macbook, I had just backed up my computer
the night before onto my portable hard drive, and my friends Tony and Bénédicte
took me out to their house and let me use their Macbook so I could change all
my passwords, email my insurance agent, and begin the process of finding a new
computer. I did not cry (my lips didn’t even quiver). I think I had used up all
my tears the week before. I did however, continue to repeat the soothing mantra
that I used the week before, “I will not give up and go home, I will not give
up and go home.”
Yesterday, Tony and I were having lunch and he offered to go
with me to Crazy Emmanuelle’s to retrieve the few items that got left behind in
all the confusion. She did not answer the door but while we were standing on the
landing, Alain heard my voice and came down to chat. He gave me a sleeping bag
that I had left in the garage and invited me to a party in September. Then
Patrick came down. I thanked him for all his earlier help and said “vous êtes
très jolie.” He laughed a little and said, “de rien.” At that moment, I
realized I had not told him he was very kind, I had told him he was very
pretty!
So the positive and truly lucky moments in all of this are:
I have friends who care about me. That’s worth more than anything.
I have an invitation to a party.
I have my sleeping bag...which really is comforting when you
have no place to live.
I’m living in a beautiful mansion right now.
Frenchmen have a sense of humor.
The sky is still blue everyday.
I’m still in the south of France.
But man, I could really go for some Nueske’s bacon! (the absolute BEST bacon in the world) and maybe some of those powerful sleeping pills that got left behind.
Dealing with housing is hard enough. Having to do so in a hurry and on the heals of a major dust up with a crazy person is so much worse. Being accused of stealing would be maddening. And losing your Macbook on top of all that? Five hours of crying seems incredibly reasonable.
ReplyDeleteWow Delana! I can't believe what you go through - life should not be like this - ever!!
ReplyDeleteJust tell yourself that soon it's all going to sort itself out.
By the way I got my transfer paper for the iron on designs from Carrefour - hope that makes you smile!
Sharon
Blummin' 'eck! What a drama! I seriously hope that things get better for you and from the sound of it - or the reading of it - they are. Bonne Chance xxx
ReplyDeleteYou are one fabulous story teller, Delana! I felt like I was right there beside you, wanting to both laugh and cry at poor Crazy Emmanuelle as she ranted.
ReplyDeleteOH, to lose our comuputers! It's like losing an entire office, all our photo albums, and our lifeline of communications all at once! Great job, Pollyanna, on keeping it together through the storm!
Wow. Terrible! But well written, as usual. We must plot our revenge!! On the other hand, silver linings and all that....
ReplyDelete:)
Bedbugs, worms, oh my! Wow, wow, and wow. Like the previous comments, I'd say your story is well-written - but I'm amazed at your fortitude. I would have been long gone before CE could kick me out with all of the cleaning and stuff you had to do to make it habitable. But then again, you're way more fearless than I.
ReplyDeleteDelana, I wish you the best as you move on in your journey. This may be the best thing - you'll see.
You know Lisa, 5 hours of crying does seem reasonable. I should have taken the opportunity to go on some sort of bender...alcohol...shopping...I don't know. Save thought for future disaster. By the way...I watched you face cleansing video. Cracked me up and just made me realize more....I gotta meet you one day!
ReplyDeleteSharon..I guess if that's the worst of life...I'll take it. Thanks for the tip. Off to get myself a project.
Julie-it's called writer's revenge. It's what we get to do! If she ever looks up Crazy Emmanuelle (fat chance since she has no idea she's a nut) on google, she'll be reading her story.
But Phil...it's all about draaaaaaamaaaah!
Jo- thanks. I know, the panic of losing that computer was horrible. I'm so glad I backed it up the night before. Lesson learned.
Cynthia-in fact, it's all good. Here's Pollyanna again...but it's amazing what good seems to come out of momentary misery.