I haven’t been able to muster the energy to write about it.
I was so sure ghetto mama, the fruits of her loins and their charming friends would be kicked to the curb by now that I’m still regrouping.
Friday was their official last day to pay up before a judge could order them out. I called Juan on Thursday to tell him all the paperwork was in order. He asked me to call the court to find out what he was supposed to do next, because he has a hard time understanding English.
I did. The oh-so-helpful bureaucrat I talked to said he needed to file an affidavit but that she couldn’t tell me how to do so. After 15 minutes of getting nowhere with the power-tripping, Fargo-accented psycho on the other end of the line, who at one point actually suggested that if Juan can’t speak English maybe he ought not to have rented his house, I gave up. This is not my fight. I don’t have the intestinal fortitude to spend hours on the phone with condescending idiots when I’m not the one whose house is being hijacked.
I called Juan and told him to get a Spanish-speaking lawyer. Someone to help him navigate the court system.
He said he understood, and he thanked me. I thought he’d be filing papers first thing Monday morning.
I was wrong.
Saturday, mid-morning, I got a phone call from the good neighbors informing me that Juan and Laura were outside talking to ghetto mama. They overheard her yelling about how she just needed a few more hours to come up with the money. There was a lot more talking, and Juan went into the house at one point and came out with an envelope. He returned a few hours later. He and Laura went into the house and exited shortly thereafter.
Laura smiled and waved at me as they walked to their car.
I think they paid him. I think he’s letting them stay.
I understand that if he’d just booted them he’d be out thousands of dollars. I get that.
But I thought the help I have given them, and the fact that I told them about the guns and how they have trashed his house and how I’m afraid to let my kids go outside and how the garbage in his shed is starting to smell like sewage and how the police are there all the time, I thought all of that might persuade him that they had to go.
I was wrong.
I’m starting to lose faith in my fellow human being.