Never Meet Your Hero. Ch.6
As it turns out, to find a more or less tolerable accomodation in a small dilapidated township is almost impossible sometimes.
It’s not even about the rent. In such places it costs peanuts, mostly you just have to cover the utility bills. The thing is, there’s no demand for rental housing there. As is known, no demand, no supply.
Having wasted a whole hour rummaging through all the online bilboards in vain at a cafe where I had ordered some cheap soup just to be let inside, I nearly fell into despair when I finally saw an ad with a picture of quite a nice apartment somewhere in the Old Town. The price, too, seemed quite appealing – it was only four thousand roubles per month. I imeddiately made a call to that number.
“We’ll show you the apartment, but first you have to make a deposit of fifty percent on our bank account. It’s a service payment, you know…”
I found it suspicious and said:
“Well, I could make a deposit, but where’s the guarantee you’re not gonna screw me? What if I don’t really like the accomodation? What if there’s no apartment at all?”
“Am I talking in another language? We are an agency and we’re not showing you anything for free!”
“What sort of an agency are you? Where are you located? Give me your address, I’ll come and make a contract with you, as it should be. Then I’ll pay the deposit. What’s the problem?”
The woman on the other end was already fit to be tied.
“Are you an idiot? I’ve explained you a hundred times that we work remotely! You want me to repeat it once again – for those who are cut off from the world?”
“Well, first of all, you haven’t explained me anything like this, and then, you are being rude. Why get it so personal?” I said calmly.
“Hey, are you going to make a deposit or not? Is it you or me who needs an accomodation?”
“I do need an accomodation, but I also need to know whom I’m paying my money. Maybe you are scammers!”
“Hey woman you are a complete idiot!” the woman on the other end yelled.
I cut off the stream of her hysterical rantings and hang up. That very minute I got an sms on my phone:
“Congratulations, you are blacklisted by all the real eatate agencies and owners of your town! Good luck in finding a good accomodation!”
Shit. I’m fucked, aren’t I…
Feeling like I’d been kicked straight in the face, I tumbled out of the cafe and tottered along the streed having no idea where to go. It drizzled nastily; a cold, penetrating wind brought up a swirling sandstorm over the broken sidewalks, blowing it in my eyes and mouth and furrowing the steel surface of the lake overgrown with sedges. Even the lake with its stiff ducks seemed to be shivering in the cold wind of the freezing Northern summer.
So where am I to go now?..
As ill luck would have it, I got a severe pain in the right side of my lower abdomen. Actually, I’d had that pain back on the train. And I’d been nauseaous, too, as I thought, of the toilet smell. Or the white bread I’d eaten washing it down with the hot boiler water. Suddenly the single thought of white bread disgusted me to the extent of vomiting.
Alone. In a strange town, grey and unfriendly. Called an idiot, blacklisted, bad-mouthed all over. And on top of that, by a grocery store a big black dog barked at me, growling and roaring furiously.
“Shut your trap, will you? I feel bad enough without you barking” I suggested, retreating to a safe distance.
Out the warehouse door came a skinny cute faced store guy in a blue jumpsuit and approached the dog.
“Hey Layma, what’s wrong? I’ve got no burgers for you today. If I had I’d share them with you”
I stole a glance at the guy from the distance. He looked cute. But certainly unavailable. Such cute young guys can never be single.
Besides, I’m too old for such a boyfriend. I’m already thirty years old. And divorsed, too. Without a trailer, though, but it makes no difference.
No one wants a divorced thirty-year-old woman.
Meanwhile, the pain in my side was getting quite unsufferable, spreading all over my abdomen. I struggled onto the road and, twisting with pain, sank on the dusty ground.
A car stopped by. The driver leaned out of the window:
“Are you sick?”
“Yeah” I replied briefly.
The man got me into the car and delivered me to hospital, where I was diagnosed ovarian apoplexy and peritonitis.