So I live in this place called West Vancouver. Have you ever been? It’s beautiful. The scenery is stunning. The community is built from the seashore up the mountains north of Vancouver. Walking or driving or running or biking or hiking or whatever, there are some incredibly picturesque vistas, depending on the time of year and your point of view.
When I moved here from Toronto, I was telecommuting for a major bank and wanted to live in a high security building for my daughter and I, she was thirteen or fourteen at the time.
The reason I needed some high security wasn’t because I was working for the bank. The bikers were trying to recruit me. I know. It happens to everyone.
See, in Toronto, we rented a room to this guy. I’ll call him Chad. So Chad moves in and it’s clear Chad is a dealer. You know, a dealer. I should have caught it. His cell phone kept ringing when he came to see the place. I’m blond. That’s my excuse
He moves in and his cell phone rings a lot and there are always people coming over. The same ones usually. Like friends.
The good thing was I could get weed anytime. It was easy. Just go downstairs and knock on his door and score a bag.
Well, after a while it wasn’t that novel and Chad became a bit of a nuisance. No offense but he was a Russian Jew and he had a temper. He would yell, mostly at his girlfriends and his dog, he was such a punk. And then he decided he wasn’t going to pay the rent.
Well, we cut off his cable television and made it clear he was persona non grata.
His motorcycle was parked in our garage and winter was coming so I took it upon myself to move his motorcycle out of the garage and parked it on the driveway.
When Chad saw his motorcycle parked there, he freaked out.
“You touched my bike!”
“We want to use the garage, winter is coming.”
“You touched my bike!”
He touched the bike and it fell over, sending him into a rage. Now the neighbors were looking out their windows.
“You haven’t paid the rent and it’s time for you to go,” I said.
He stormed off.
Well, things went from bad to worse. All of a sudden we had a mice problem. Really. In the middle of the night, I would hear my daughter, “There’s a mouse in my room!” And sure enough there was. I clued in when one of the neighbors’ daughters, who worked at the pet store, asked me, “What is your tenant doing with all those baby mice?“
I visited the local police department to voice my concerns and do you know what they said to me? Of course you don’t.
They (there were two of them) said,
“What are you worried about?” Not at that same time of course.
“I’m worried about the safety of my daughter.”
“Well, don’t leave her alone,” they said. Really. They said that.
“Well, maybe you can patrol our street a few times,” I suggested.
“The new police chief likes helicopters,” they said. “When we get one, maybe we’ll fly over your place and see what we can do.” And they both laughed.
The neighbors were a nice elderly Italian couple, Romeo and Marcella. They visited at any opportunity and invited us over for espresso and brandy regularly.
“Have you ever had any mice problems?” I asked.
“No. Never. Why?”
“You are having problems with your tenant,” says Marcella. Not a question, more matter-of-fact.
“We can handle it.”
“Marcello is coming tomorrow,” says Romeo, referring to their only son. Now, Marcello is fine but he has a bit of a crazy look in his eyes and drives a tow truck, the interior filled with police scanners.
A couple of days later, Marcello comes over.
“So, I hear you are having some trouble with your tenant,” says Marcello.
“Oh, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
“Does he have a dog?”
“Yes he does.”
“How about we stake it to the lawn?” he suggests, with that crazy look in his eyes.
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
“Listen, the guys need smart people like you,” says Marcello. “We can get rid your tenant. Just let the boys and me move in for a few days and we’ll make sure he goes away. Then you won’t ever have to worry about you or your daughter again.” Really. He said that.
“And then what do I have to do?” I ask, because I’m blond.
“Well, when we need you, we’ll let you know.”
Right. What, to shove someone through a giant auger or something, at three in the morning?
“Thanks anyway, Marcello. We appreciate it. I’m sure this guy will be out soon.”
Well, it just so happens that Chad soon disappears and life returns to normal-ish. See, the laundry facilities and water heater were in Chad’s suite and our lawyer had told us we are not allowed to enter Chad’s suite without his permission – stupid laws. It was nearing Christmas and we continued living in an awkward anticipation.
On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Chad shows up, beaten badly. I mean, he has two black eyes and the bruises that were visible by the way he walked. Someone did a number on Chad. He just glared at me.
Chad moves out with the help of a couple of friends. They were noisy but it was Christmas Eve and he was leaving.
Christmas morning we woke, looking forward to new horizons, when we realized we had no hot water.
Chad had turned off our hot water tank – the pig.
“There is no way we are going to put up with this on Christmas morning,” I said to my daughter.
Chad had changed the locks, so we marched downstairs, with all things, a butter knife, to pick it.
After a couple of useless attempts, my daughter says,
“Let me try.”
I probably rolled my eyes but the door opened the second she touched the lock. We turned up the heat on the tank while we had Eggs Benedict and later hot showers on Christmas morning.
A couple of days later, Marcello shows up.
“So, I hear your tenant is gone,” he says.
“Yeah, he left on Christmas Eve.”
“Huh,” says Marcello. “That’s funny that he would leave on Christmas Eve. What a nice Christmas present that is.”
He winks at me.
“So think about it,” says Marcello. “You know, about the boys and me.”
Oh, I’ve thought about it. I am moving, far away.
And so we landed in West Vancouver with a phone number on a piece on paper that I am supposed to call when I get here from Marcello. Right.
Living in West Vancouver is like being on vacation every day. There is the rain. Some people don’t like it and if you don’t like rain – don’t come here. It’s a rainforest. What do you expect?
Before I moved here, I had no idea there were so many kinds of rain. There is drizzle, scattered showers, light showers, showers, light rain, rain, heavy rain, fat rain. OK, fat rain isn’t official but it’s the kind of rain that soaks you in like, three seconds. From June to September usually, there isn’t much rain. The skies are blue and you forget about all the rain. Well, I do anyway.
Some people never really enjoy life whatever the weather. For them, it’s either too hot or too cold or too wet or too dry, the Goldilocks’ Syndrome. It’s raining right now. Well, you wouldn’t call it rain, more like a swirling mist. It’s like living in a cloud, something I’ve been accused of, a number of times.