| Humor Non-Fiction posted March 27, 2009 | Chapters: |
1 -2- 3... 
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Continuing adventures of the newlyweds.
A chapter in the book Chasing the Elusive Dream
The Saga Continues
by BethShelby
By the fourth day after the wedding, my groom and I were starting to realize being married wasn't "a piece of cake." After the horrors of moving into a roach resort and fleeing the scene for more suitable quarters, we were soon confronted with a new challenge.
Embarrassed, my new husband confessed he was having a substantial cash flow problem. Luckily, I had a little money stashed away from having finally broken my piggy bank just days before embarking upon my life as a married woman. My plan was to save it for a rainy day, but the storm clouds were gathering.
The morning paper carried a few new listings for apartments, so we found a pay phone and started calling. The last one we called was in our price range but wouldn't be available until July. This was only the 27th of June. There was no way we could spend three more nights in a motel and still have enough to pay for the apartment. The lady on the phone seemed nice. She said her daughter was a newlywed also. "I know how hard it is just getting started," she told us. "I'd love to help you out. Why don't I meet you at the house, and we'll see what we can work out."
Actually, when we got there, we only got to see the outside of the house. The style indicated it was probably built a half-century earlier, but it was in a neighborhood of fairly well kept houses. Mrs. Burnette said she and her husband lived in the larger part of the lower half. The house had two upstairs apartments and an attached side apartment, which were rented.
The tenants in the upstairs apartments, which she intended for us to lease, were in the process of moving out, so she couldn't show it yet, but she described it in glowing terms. She said it consisted of a large furnished bedroom/living room combination with a fireplace and hardwood floors. It also had two walk-in closets and a door from the bedroom opening onto a large deck. The deck was the flat roof of the lower side apartment.
She told us if we decided to take it, she would allow us to spend a couple of days in another house she owned across town, free of charge, until the apartment was ready. In spite of the fact we hadn't actually seen the apartment, we didn't hesitate. We were a bit uneasy, considering what we had gone through the day before, but it wasn't as though we had an alternate solution. We needed a place to live fast.
She gave us the directions to her house and the key. "Make yourselves at home," she told us. "We'll get your apartment ready as quickly as we can."
Wow! This lady was surely an angel sent to our rescue. She must really trust us since she's willing to give us the keys to her house. Excited to see where we would be spending the next few days, we hurried across town. As small houses go, it wasn't bad. It was much newer than the house we'd just seen. We would later learn this house was really her residence. Her husband traveled and lived at the older house when he was in town. The truth was she and her philandering husband were separated the majority of the time. But that is another story.
The first thing we did when we got to the house was to try to make coffee. Unskilled as I was in domestic arts, I almost destroyed her electric coffeepot trying to boil water in it on top of the stove. The cord wasn't attached, and I didn't see a kettle. I realize that sounds unbelievably dumb, but it was my first attempt ever at making coffee, and I wasn't familiar with electric percolators. Anyway, I wised up in time to save it from complete destruction. The tip-off was the smell of the plastic base melting.
The next thing we did was undress with the intention of trying out the bed. This was when we discovered our landlady didn't totally trust us after all. We freaked out when we heard someone walking through the house. We knew we had locked the doors. Then a voice called out "Is something burning in here?" (It takes a while to get rid of the smell of burned plastic.) It turned out to be her son-in-law who lived next door and had a key to the place. He and his wife had come over to use the laundry room and probably to check us out. We dressed quickly and decided to go out to eat. This place didn't exactly feel like home.
Two days later, the landlady called and said we could move in. As it turned out, the apartment wasn't quite the way we had visualized it. The furniture was old and shabby. A sagging sofa and stuffed chair had slipcovers featuring huge ugly red flowers. The fireplace was closed off and a big rusty metal heater sat in front of it. Both of our walk-in closets were down the hall from our apartment. But our new apartment did boast of one truly unique feature. That was the bathroom.
It was scarcely large enough to hold the old-fashioned rust stained tub, commode and lavatory, but it was the only split-level walk through bathroom we had ever seen. The floor was built up about six inches to make room for plumbing pipes. In order to go from the bedroom to the kitchen, the only route led through the bathroom. It was necessary to step up into the bathroom and then back down into the kitchen, which held a tiny stove and apartment-sized refrigerator. There was also a small table and two chairs. Luckily, we were both thin in those days, so both of us could get into the kitchen at the same time if we held our breath.
Between our bedroom and the apartment next to ours, was a locked door. It was pretty obvious a skeleton key from any hardware would easily unlock it, but the couch sat in front of it to discourage unwanted neighborly visits. The trumpet player and his psycho girl friend didn't move into that apartment until a week later. But that is also another story.
Our landlady now informed us that the deck, which we had looked forward to using, was off limits. We were told to not set foot out there unless there was an emergency, and we needed a fire escape, because we might fall through the roof into the apartment below. In case of a fire, we had permission to climb over the railing and jump, but only if the indoor stairway was blocked.
The old house wasn't insulated, and there was no air conditioning unit. "You may need to get yourselves a little fan," our landlady informed us. The temperature was closing in on one hundred degrees, so this was timely advice.
Still, we didn't complain. It was the only thing available, and we felt lucky to get it. Anyway, we soon discovered a bright side. The roaches in this place were small, brown, and shy, unlike the big black ugly creatures, fearsome enough to have starring roles in a horror film, from which we had so recently fled.
By the fourth day after the wedding, my groom and I were starting to realize being married wasn't "a piece of cake." After the horrors of moving into a roach resort and fleeing the scene for more suitable quarters, we were soon confronted with a new challenge.
Embarrassed, my new husband confessed he was having a substantial cash flow problem. Luckily, I had a little money stashed away from having finally broken my piggy bank just days before embarking upon my life as a married woman. My plan was to save it for a rainy day, but the storm clouds were gathering.
The morning paper carried a few new listings for apartments, so we found a pay phone and started calling. The last one we called was in our price range but wouldn't be available until July. This was only the 27th of June. There was no way we could spend three more nights in a motel and still have enough to pay for the apartment. The lady on the phone seemed nice. She said her daughter was a newlywed also. "I know how hard it is just getting started," she told us. "I'd love to help you out. Why don't I meet you at the house, and we'll see what we can work out."
Actually, when we got there, we only got to see the outside of the house. The style indicated it was probably built a half-century earlier, but it was in a neighborhood of fairly well kept houses. Mrs. Burnette said she and her husband lived in the larger part of the lower half. The house had two upstairs apartments and an attached side apartment, which were rented.
Embarrassed, my new husband confessed he was having a substantial cash flow problem. Luckily, I had a little money stashed away from having finally broken my piggy bank just days before embarking upon my life as a married woman. My plan was to save it for a rainy day, but the storm clouds were gathering.
The morning paper carried a few new listings for apartments, so we found a pay phone and started calling. The last one we called was in our price range but wouldn't be available until July. This was only the 27th of June. There was no way we could spend three more nights in a motel and still have enough to pay for the apartment. The lady on the phone seemed nice. She said her daughter was a newlywed also. "I know how hard it is just getting started," she told us. "I'd love to help you out. Why don't I meet you at the house, and we'll see what we can work out."
Actually, when we got there, we only got to see the outside of the house. The style indicated it was probably built a half-century earlier, but it was in a neighborhood of fairly well kept houses. Mrs. Burnette said she and her husband lived in the larger part of the lower half. The house had two upstairs apartments and an attached side apartment, which were rented.
The tenants in the upstairs apartments, which she intended for us to lease, were in the process of moving out, so she couldn't show it yet, but she described it in glowing terms. She said it consisted of a large furnished bedroom/living room combination with a fireplace and hardwood floors. It also had two walk-in closets and a door from the bedroom opening onto a large deck. The deck was the flat roof of the lower side apartment.
She told us if we decided to take it, she would allow us to spend a couple of days in another house she owned across town, free of charge, until the apartment was ready. In spite of the fact we hadn't actually seen the apartment, we didn't hesitate. We were a bit uneasy, considering what we had gone through the day before, but it wasn't as though we had an alternate solution. We needed a place to live fast.
She gave us the directions to her house and the key. "Make yourselves at home," she told us. "We'll get your apartment ready as quickly as we can."
Wow! This lady was surely an angel sent to our rescue. She must really trust us since she's willing to give us the keys to her house. Excited to see where we would be spending the next few days, we hurried across town. As small houses go, it wasn't bad. It was much newer than the house we'd just seen. We would later learn this house was really her residence. Her husband traveled and lived at the older house when he was in town. The truth was she and her philandering husband were separated the majority of the time. But that is another story.
The first thing we did when we got to the house was to try to make coffee. Unskilled as I was in domestic arts, I almost destroyed her electric coffeepot trying to boil water in it on top of the stove. The cord wasn't attached, and I didn't see a kettle. I realize that sounds unbelievably dumb, but it was my first attempt ever at making coffee, and I wasn't familiar with electric percolators. Anyway, I wised up in time to save it from complete destruction. The tip-off was the smell of the plastic base melting.
The next thing we did was undress with the intention of trying out the bed. This was when we discovered our landlady didn't totally trust us after all. We freaked out when we heard someone walking through the house. We knew we had locked the doors. Then a voice called out "Is something burning in here?" (It takes a while to get rid of the smell of burned plastic.) It turned out to be her son-in-law who lived next door and had a key to the place. He and his wife had come over to use the laundry room and probably to check us out. We dressed quickly and decided to go out to eat. This place didn't exactly feel like home.
Two days later, the landlady called and said we could move in. As it turned out, the apartment wasn't quite the way we had visualized it. The furniture was old and shabby. A sagging sofa and stuffed chair had slipcovers featuring huge ugly red flowers. The fireplace was closed off and a big rusty metal heater sat in front of it. Both of our walk-in closets were down the hall from our apartment. But our new apartment did boast of one truly unique feature. That was the bathroom.
It was scarcely large enough to hold the old-fashioned rust stained tub, commode and lavatory, but it was the only split-level walk through bathroom we had ever seen. The floor was built up about six inches to make room for plumbing pipes. In order to go from the bedroom to the kitchen, the only route led through the bathroom. It was necessary to step up into the bathroom and then back down into the kitchen, which held a tiny stove and apartment-sized refrigerator. There was also a small table and two chairs. Luckily, we were both thin in those days, so both of us could get into the kitchen at the same time if we held our breath.
Between our bedroom and the apartment next to ours, was a locked door. It was pretty obvious a skeleton key from any hardware would easily unlock it, but the couch sat in front of it to discourage unwanted neighborly visits. The trumpet player and his psycho girl friend didn't move into that apartment until a week later. But that is also another story.
Our landlady now informed us that the deck, which we had looked forward to using, was off limits. We were told to not set foot out there unless there was an emergency, and we needed a fire escape, because we might fall through the roof into the apartment below. In case of a fire, we had permission to climb over the railing and jump, but only if the indoor stairway was blocked.
The old house wasn't insulated, and there was no air conditioning unit. "You may need to get yourselves a little fan," our landlady informed us. The temperature was closing in on one hundred degrees, so this was timely advice.
Still, we didn't complain. It was the only thing available, and we felt lucky to get it. Anyway, we soon discovered a bright side. The roaches in this place were small, brown, and shy, unlike the big black ugly creatures, fearsome enough to have starring roles in a horror film, from which we had so recently fled.
She told us if we decided to take it, she would allow us to spend a couple of days in another house she owned across town, free of charge, until the apartment was ready. In spite of the fact we hadn't actually seen the apartment, we didn't hesitate. We were a bit uneasy, considering what we had gone through the day before, but it wasn't as though we had an alternate solution. We needed a place to live fast.
She gave us the directions to her house and the key. "Make yourselves at home," she told us. "We'll get your apartment ready as quickly as we can."
Wow! This lady was surely an angel sent to our rescue. She must really trust us since she's willing to give us the keys to her house. Excited to see where we would be spending the next few days, we hurried across town. As small houses go, it wasn't bad. It was much newer than the house we'd just seen. We would later learn this house was really her residence. Her husband traveled and lived at the older house when he was in town. The truth was she and her philandering husband were separated the majority of the time. But that is another story.
The first thing we did when we got to the house was to try to make coffee. Unskilled as I was in domestic arts, I almost destroyed her electric coffeepot trying to boil water in it on top of the stove. The cord wasn't attached, and I didn't see a kettle. I realize that sounds unbelievably dumb, but it was my first attempt ever at making coffee, and I wasn't familiar with electric percolators. Anyway, I wised up in time to save it from complete destruction. The tip-off was the smell of the plastic base melting.
The next thing we did was undress with the intention of trying out the bed. This was when we discovered our landlady didn't totally trust us after all. We freaked out when we heard someone walking through the house. We knew we had locked the doors. Then a voice called out "Is something burning in here?" (It takes a while to get rid of the smell of burned plastic.) It turned out to be her son-in-law who lived next door and had a key to the place. He and his wife had come over to use the laundry room and probably to check us out. We dressed quickly and decided to go out to eat. This place didn't exactly feel like home.
Two days later, the landlady called and said we could move in. As it turned out, the apartment wasn't quite the way we had visualized it. The furniture was old and shabby. A sagging sofa and stuffed chair had slipcovers featuring huge ugly red flowers. The fireplace was closed off and a big rusty metal heater sat in front of it. Both of our walk-in closets were down the hall from our apartment. But our new apartment did boast of one truly unique feature. That was the bathroom.
It was scarcely large enough to hold the old-fashioned rust stained tub, commode and lavatory, but it was the only split-level walk through bathroom we had ever seen. The floor was built up about six inches to make room for plumbing pipes. In order to go from the bedroom to the kitchen, the only route led through the bathroom. It was necessary to step up into the bathroom and then back down into the kitchen, which held a tiny stove and apartment-sized refrigerator. There was also a small table and two chairs. Luckily, we were both thin in those days, so both of us could get into the kitchen at the same time if we held our breath.
Between our bedroom and the apartment next to ours, was a locked door. It was pretty obvious a skeleton key from any hardware would easily unlock it, but the couch sat in front of it to discourage unwanted neighborly visits. The trumpet player and his psycho girl friend didn't move into that apartment until a week later. But that is also another story.
Our landlady now informed us that the deck, which we had looked forward to using, was off limits. We were told to not set foot out there unless there was an emergency, and we needed a fire escape, because we might fall through the roof into the apartment below. In case of a fire, we had permission to climb over the railing and jump, but only if the indoor stairway was blocked.
The old house wasn't insulated, and there was no air conditioning unit. "You may need to get yourselves a little fan," our landlady informed us. The temperature was closing in on one hundred degrees, so this was timely advice.
Still, we didn't complain. It was the only thing available, and we felt lucky to get it. Anyway, we soon discovered a bright side. The roaches in this place were small, brown, and shy, unlike the big black ugly creatures, fearsome enough to have starring roles in a horror film, from which we had so recently fled.
 Recognized |
|
This is a continuation of "The Adventure Begins" which was posted earlier.
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