Message From the Scum of The Earth

Last updated on January 26, 2022

In school, we got tormented with Latin phrases, many I learned and forgot but some I still remember to this day.

Fortes fortuna adiuvat – Fortune favors the strong/brave

Being strong or brave often means taking a risk. No risk -no fun! Will the brave not just have luck but also be entertained? And what makes us strong? Pain? Love? Hunger? The knight in the fairytale is willing to slay the dragon, and in exchange, the king will allow him to marry the princess. Is it insanity or bravery? Perhaps a mix of both? Maybe the promised reward affects our courage more than anything. If the princess is pretty enough and the kingdom is a nice one, it might be worth risking your life.

There are many ways to be brave in this world. Speaking up, or taking care of people in a hospital during a pandemic. So much boldness can be found in this world and is so often overlooked. Some might think we showed bravery when we were homeless, and maybe we did. Thinking of ourselves as gutsy feels good, but I fear we were just naïve.

Did we dare life? Did we put our well-being in the hands of the universe and the universe couldn’t help but feel sorry for us fools?

Much of what I will share from now on could be defined as luck. It must seem that fortune found us in unbelievable ways and came in many forms. Or did we chase the rainbow and the reward was just a logical consequence?

Our characters, and our love for each other, got tested many times. We didn’t seem to notice it back then. We acted the way we thought we should. A result of our upbringing more than anything else.

Saturday, at lunchtime, I walked over to the house, and to my surprise, I found an answer from the scam artist in my email inbox. He was asking me to call him, which amused me endlessly but it also angered me.

He introduced himself. His name was Gary, and he had read my email. He assured me he was not THE SCUM OF THE EARTH but a genuine landlord, and he wanted to talk to me on the phone. The number he gave me started with a Memphis area code, which, as we all know, doesn’t mean a thing. Nevertheless, I was interested. What would he tell me, and how far would this charade go?

As always, my curiosity got the best of me, and without taking the time to play different scenarios back and forth in my mind, I dialed his number. After a few rings, a man answered.

I wasn’t friendly and had no intention to be. I was annoyed. I made sure he knew right from the start that I wasn’t willing to believe him, no matter what he would tell me.

“Hear me out,” he said and then he asked for my phone number, which I had blocked before I had dialed. “In case we get disconnected,” he waited a few seconds for my reply and when I didn’t answer, he continued.

“Do you have something to write?” he asked, and I told him I had a notebook beside me, wondering what that was all about. He explained that my email to him had hit a nerve. “I can tell you guys are honest people,” then he talked about his own situation.

The house he had offered us was either for rent or for sale, whichever would come first. It was an older place. The previous renters had moved out six months earlier. Now it was empty, and he could no longer afford to pay his own mortgage and the one for the empty house. He had bought the property in 2005, had planned to work on it, so he could sell it with a profit or rent it out so it would pay for itself. When Hurricane Katharina hit Louisiana and so many people were forced to relocate quickly, he rented it out to a couple and their two Rottweilers.

The couple stayed in the house until 2009, then the husband fell sick and they moved back home to Louisiana. The house was empty ever since and in need of some Tender-Loving-Care, just what I had promised we would give the place we could call home.

When the recession hit, everything changed for Gary and his family as well. His construction business took a hit, he took some financial beating and found himself stuck with two mortgages. He could no longer afford to pay for an empty house.

“I call my realtor and tell him the house is no longer for sale if you want to rent it.” I listened to him, let him talk. What was I supposed to do? Laugh or cry? Should I believe him? This guy was offering us a house on a silver platter. Something smelled fishy.

When it sounds too good to be true, it most likely is!

“The rent is $100 more than we can afford and we don’t have the money for the deposit either,” I blurted out, hoping he would now end the conversation and I wouldn’t be forced to make a judgment.

“I knock $50 off the rent,” he confessed he couldn’t go lower because of the mortgage payment. “I will show you the paperwork.” Was this guy for real? The landlord wanted to show me his paperwork? Wouldn’t it normally be the other way around?

“We can work something out about the deposit.” There it was, the bait. A house, a yard for the dogs, no deposit. It sounded heavenly.

“Write the numbers down and call them.” He gave me the phone number of his wife, his boss, and a friend of his, and before I could tell him that I wouldn’t call them, he continued.

“It’s a good place to live, in a great neighborhood, but it’s an older home and it needs some work.”

“I call you back,” I finally mumbled.

“Give me your number, please,” and for the life of me, I don’t know why, but I gave him my phone number.

I walked back to the kitchen and when I told my husband about the phone conversation, I saw in his face my own emotions.

“He gave you phone numbers as a reference? Are you serious?” I didn’t know what to say.

“Let’s call his wife and his boss,” my husband suggested. “Just for the fun of it,” and so we did.

I called his wife. When she answered and we talked, I instantly felt a connection. We had a long conversation. They had two kids, one dog, one cat and before we realized it, we both shared with each other parts of our life. Two strangers on the phone, trusting each other against the odds. We let our guards down, showed parts of our soul. I shared with her how scared we were, and she understood.

“We are so tired. This is wearing us out.” I had admitted it for the first time. Lately, it had felt like it was too much to bear.

“If you guys play with us and our emotions, you jeopardize our future.” That’s what I feared the most. The part that we could not control. My husband had followed the conversation and when I hung up, we looked at each other.

“So I guess we are moving to Memphis.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement he made. He didn’t sound confident either. Then he took my phone.

“Gary, my wife talked with your wife,” I heard him say, then the two men chatted for a few minutes. They talked about the condition of the house and what needed to be done. When they hung up our faith was sealed.

We would move to Memphis, Tennessee.

It felt good to know where we would be going but we were not sure about our decision. Gary and his wife sounded honest, the house was real, but it all felt surreal. If it would turn out to be a scam, then it was the perfect one. This one would throw our lives up in the air.

We went with our gut feeling and followed our instinct. My husband would take a job with lesser pay, but in a city where we could afford to live in. Neither one of us was thrilled about the city or the state, but quickly we became excited.

What did we have? What did we need? And would my friend keep her promise?

We had a laptop, tools, sheets, pillows, and comforter, but no mattress. We had a sewing machine, towels, an air tank, but no cleaning supplies. We would have two coolers full of food, a rice cooker, a sack of rice, spices but no plates, glasses, and only one mug. We had an iPod and speakers, books to read, and cookbooks, but not much to cook with. We had clothes and shoes, but no hangers. We had dog beds, leashes, and dog bowls, but were out of dog food.

In the afternoon, Gary called. “The house is no longer for sale.”

Alright then?” I whispered it quietly, but he heard me.

“I know you are worried. Call me every day.”

A few hours later, we told my best friend about our change in plans and verified for the last time that we would leave by the end of the week, either Thursday or on Good Friday in the morning. She was surprised but also thrilled. Memphis was so much closer, we could meet and visit each other more often.

We settled on Friday morning because there was too much to do in the kitchen. A last-minute order for Boudin balls and Andouille sausages had come in, and it was a massive one. A Cajun restaurant was stoking up. We would have to work overtime, all hands on deck -at least the hands that were willing to work.

“So what else do you guys need?” and then the two of us went over my list. She was so enthusiastic and genuinely happy for us.

She got up, opened drawers and cabinets. An older pot, a frying pan that had seen better days. Old knives, two plates, two mugs she never liked. She had shown them to me when she got them. We both giggled like little girls.
“Here, take the wok,” and I smiled. We had been talking about Asian cooking classes for years but had never followed through.

“You need a mattress,” she said and I nodded. Sleeping on the floor didn’t sound tempting at all. We went into the office room, wanted to see if we could find a blow-up mattress on Craigslist, and when I booted the computer up, my friend handed me her credit card.

“You want me to go shopping for the mattress?” I chuckled, but not for long.

“I want you to run a background check on Kurt,” she looked embarrassed when she told me.

“That’s about time, don’t you think?” I felt so much relief. Finally, she had come to her senses.