No no, I’m not being wooed off my feet by some hot hunky man. I was ordered to make an appearance in court. My rent is late, but more importantly here and for the clarity of my story, my landlady be whack.
A few months ago she shut my water off, as some of you may recall. Good times! I was using a pail and my dishpan to haul water from the laundry area on the roof, which is just above me. She also shouted at me.
Being screamed at by a Dominican woman is not pleasant. My neighbour, who had turned my water back on, raked her across the coals about the water bit. It was in Spanish but I could pick up some of the juicier bits.
With my rent late again, she decided to take another tactic. A lovely young man showed up at mu door with several very official forms, complete with stamps and everything, demanding 3 months rent. It’s funny if you think about it. Because, if I don’t have one month, I’m not going to magically just produce three.
The chap delivering it was lovely, kind and very attractive. He spoke very clear English and gleefully pumped my hand with a large nodding grin before he left. The forms were all in Spanish, but I clearly understood what she was after.
About a week later I got a message through Whatsapp, all harsh and cold and official. It was in English, so whether it was her daughter or someone else, I don’t know. Attached was a form telling me I had to be in court in a few days to rectify this three month’s rent bullshit, which, by the by, wasn’t true. It’s just what she was asking for.
My landlady showed up at my door later that day, somewhat subdued, saying she didn’t want to kick me out, she just wanted her money. I knew she wanted her rent, I just couldn’t make it clear to her I didn’t have it.
I’ve always assumed she must think I’m lying, that I have the money but just choose not to give it to her. I don’t know why she would continue to shout and bully me, unless, of course, she enjoys it.
I spend several days barely breathing, overwhelmed with fear and dread. The form, which I translated parts of, was from The District Attorney’s Office. I was relieved to find out these ones are nothing like ‘as seen on tv’.
Not only did I have to spend several days without much sleep or support, but I also didn’t have much in the way of food, either. There is not a lot of vitamins in plain white rice.
The office turned out to be rather unassuming, tucked in behind a big chicken restaurant, which, truth be told, would hold a lot more people that the ‘courthouse’. The ‘court’ was a government office that looked as if it wasn’t ever completed in its construction. Walls were mostly drywall and metal frames around doors had no paint or finishing.
When you walk in there are several rows of connected metal seats to the right and a reception desk straight ahead. The seats were like those you would find in a bus depot. I checked in and took my seat directly under the air conditioner. There were a lot of people there, pregnant, old, clearly living with mental health concerns.
There was an internet modem connected with multiple cords, not sure whether it was serving the entire building or just the main floor. There were offices upstairs, as well. There were a few cords connected to the other side, power cords, I think and the modem itself just hung in the air suspended with all these cords. Some had paint on them, a few looked like they had been there for many years.
A young man came in with two friends. All in their 20’s I would guess and the one who had to be there had a massive, weeping head wound I couldn’t bring myself to look at. I could see part of his scalp, split open and seeping from under a bandage. It looked like a machete wound, which is ridiculously common among people and animal. I starred at one of his companions, who had a funky fro all spouting out in corkscrew curls and he was fresh-faced and beautiful.
Matters were not helped when the door to the office directly in front of me opened wide and I could see the chair for the ‘guest’. On the bar just under the armrest were a pair of handcuffs. There were also several armed guards there, but I have gotten a bit better at seeing that.
Our turn came after an hour of waiting. My bum was numb but the air conditioning was soothing and keeping me from sweating through my blouse. I was so scared I could feel my intestines rumbling. We went upstairs and got sat down.
There was a woman behind the desk and a very large man there, armed, in a nice shirt and dress pants. My landlady recognized the mediator or lawyer and made a big song and dance about it. To my relief, the lady didn’t reciprocate.
Immediately, the woman began talking to me in Spanish and I stopped her and said I didn’t understand. She knew a bit of English and said I could have brought a close friend along to help. I actually started to cry when I told her I didn’t have anyone. Pathetic.
Then, for several minutes, my landlady just talked and talked as the other woman tried very diligently to stop her. She volunteered to interpret for me, which is a joke because she has as much English as I do Spanish. She finally tisked a few times and got up to leave.
I followed her down and she said we had to make a new appointment and I had to bring an interpreter. I said, No. You brought me here, you can supply the interpreter. We moved outside and soon I was on her phone to her daughter. The daughter is a decent woman, about 20 or so, but she kept sighing and trying to tell me what to do.
My fear had turned to anger and exhaustion by this point. We went back and forth, with no new appointment and no movement anywhere. At one point, another woman came up and was all hugs and kisses with my landlady. I guess she’s there a lot. Right in front of me, she told this stranger all my business and then the stranger started screaming at me, as well.
Now I shouted at her, to mind her own fucking business and my landlady grabbed her by the arm and marched her off. I stood there a second, letting it roll over me, then I caught a public cab back home and ate rice.
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