An Errant Raid
Auburn, AL
August 7, 2021
“I wish I were calling with better news.”
This isn’t usually the first thing a father wants to hear when he answers a Sunday morning call from his son.
Alexander is between semesters at college, and is spending his summer in Auburn. He’s working most nights, helping out at a bowling alley and entertainment center not far from campus.
The lease on his apartment extended thru July, so his housing expenses were already paid. We renewed the lease for another year, starting the first of this month. Alexander will remain in the same building but, for a variety of reasons, must switch apartments.
His mother and I had planned to come here last week to help him move, but the Apartment Managers told us he’d need to wait another week. Only tenants moving out of the building were required to leave last week. Those transferring within the complex needed to stay where they were till this weekend.
The eleventh-hour change was annoying, particularly since we’d made hotel arrangements for last week, and could find no rooms available now. That’s OK. We decided to stay with our son, which will save us some money, and make it easier to help him move.
Then, last Sunday, when Alexander called, we learned that the move might be even easier than we’d thought.
“Uh oh”, I responded to Alexander’s warning of bad news, my coffee cup anxiously paused just a couple inches from my lips. I eased it onto the table, and asked a question I was sure I didn’t want the answer to.
“What happened?”
“Well”, he said, “I came home from work last night around midnight, and thought I’d been robbed.”
“What do you mean?”, I asked, now standing up.
“There was nothing in the kitchen, my bowling balls were gone, and my clothes were taken from the laundry. The refrigerator was empty, and nothing was in any of the cabinets. It was only when I noticed that everything was cleaned and the thermostat was reset that I realized the people from the Apartment came in and took everything out.”
“What?!? Why?”
“Apparently they thought my lease was up, and that this was no longer my apartment. Fortunately, my bedroom was locked, so they didn’t go in there.”
“So they just came in and took all your stuff? They didn’t even try to call you first? Or after they walked in and saw someone obviously was still living there?”
“No.”
“Where are your things now?
“They threw them away.”
“Threw them away?!? They didn’t even store them someplace?”
“Nope. They said they threw it away. I went to the dumpster, but it was filled with tons of black garbage bags, so I have no idea which are mine.”
“This is unbelievable! They had no right to do this. Yesterday was the 31st, so you were even still under lease. What did they say when you talked to them?”
“They said it was a mistake.”
Yes. And the Pacific Ocean is a puddle. We spoke to the manager, but getting thru to him was like Custer trying to get past the Lakota Sioux. After accidentally stealing our son’s stuff, this guy couldn’t even muster an apology. His people did manage to recover some of what was taken, but by no means all of it. We’re still seeking fair compensation for the rest. But the warrior whose tribe besieged our son’s camp remains obstinate.
So we decided to go around him, and write directly to Sitting Bull and the other chieftains in the corporate office, describing to them the offenses of their local raiding party. We’ll see what type arrows come back our way. With any luck, we’ll reach a treaty, retrieve some wampum, and go in peace.
Meanwhile, our son still has to move, so we are here to help him do that. He is relocating upstairs, to another unit in the same complex, where his new roommate has lived the last year. When we walked in Friday night, it had all the elegance you’d expect from a place occupied for twelve months by a single college guy. But with an added touch of cesspool chic.
Dishes filled the sink, and pans covered the counters, all encrusted with what appeared to be the remnants of some Mesozoic meal. Assorted debris spread and piled across the floor and around the adjacent living room. The aroma suited the scene. The place looked like it was abandoned in a hurry, as if it had been occupied by someone in the witness protection program, whom the mob had just found.
Alexander was at work that night, but had already moved what possessions he still had from his bedroom in his old unit to that of the new. His new roommate is out of town, and won’t return till next week. Rita surveyed the carnage like Pope Clement assessing the sack of Rome. She got to work, and began rebuilding.
Within a couple hours, she had the living room organized, the kitchen sanitized, and the apartment presentable. Her son will at least start life in his new place with a clean slate.
Alexander contacted his new roommate, who said we should feel free to move a “few things”. When he returns, he’ll be stunned the place is so presentable (and navigable), and that much of the previous detritus has been put away. He’ll probably question where he is, check the room number twice, and wonder what happened to the place he left.
Or, he may just shrug his shoulders, and assume Apartment management broke in and stole all his stuff.
JD
