In talking with my
neighbors and also doing a Google street view search of my house, I recently
learned that my place had always been the office in this trailer park
until shortly before I moved in.
I knew it had been the
office at some point, but I
didn't know it had never been a living space...
...which explains a whole
hell of a lot! If someone was only here doing paperwork and making
coffee a few hours each day, and no one was ever sleeping or
cooking or showering, that explains why there's no insulation,
no heating or cooling system, and why the thermostat was never hooked
up to anything. That explains why the kitchen and bathroom are 1956
originals and were never updated, why the water heater was so tiny,
and why the shower drain is so delightfully fast. That explains
why no one bothered fixing the window cranks once they broke, why
people knock on my door asking for the manager, hang out in my yard
and park their cars there, and neighborhood kids gather there like
it's their damn playground and look confused when I ask them to
leave.
Everything makes total sense
now.
Now I fully
understand that I'm
converting an office space into a living space. Which isn't a bad thing. I think home improvements are really fun. I like learning how things work and are put together.
But when I sell this place
in five years and move into something nicer, I'll know to ask during home tours, “Hey, is this place insulated? Is that thermostat on
the wall decorative, or is it a real one?”
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My decorative thermostat. |
When I put this trailer on the market one day, it'll have insulation, a mini-split heating and cooling
system, operational window cranks, a bedroom closet, and a functional
kitchen and bathroom. And possibly a washer and dryer in a nice
storage shed out back.
It's going to be great!
- Plugged all visible holes with Great Foam
- Hauled several bags of trash out of my yard
- Sprayed the entire interior and exterior with Lambdastar Ultracap and fogged under the underbelly
- Disassembled the lame fire pit and used the rocks to delineate my lot
- Set up a storage bench for UPS/FedEx packages
- Hung curtains, mopped and scrubbed nearly everything, and set up a bed, desk, and clothing racks
- Ordered window screen material, shade film, and replacement window cranks
- Put up a shade screen
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Shade screens are a thing in southern AZ. |
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I picked out these self-drilling hex head sheet metal screws and coordinating washers myself! |
Most recently, I scraped the crusty green carpet off the stairs, installed a new landing, and re-covered both front and back stairs with brown "eco" carpet made from recycled bottles. I still have to install the stair edging/nosing, but they already look SO much better:
- Replace the water heater with a much larger one
- Replace the front entry light with a pretty motion detector light
- Replace a damaged electrical breaker
- Haul the landing wood home
- Secure a loose vent flap
- Chop up and haul away that big cactus that someone cut at the roots and dumped in my yard
I bought my first drill
(a 1/2" 20v DeWalt) and learned how to use that, which is how I hung that giant shade and
fixed my stairs. Why did no one tell me that drilling is so much
fun?? If I had no self-control, my entire house would be full of
holes. I LOVE MY DRILL.
I still have a ton to do,
and I'm trying to pace myself. This year I just want to get those
windows working and basic insulation done. 2019 will be the heating and
cooling system, 2020 will be the bathroom, 2021 will be the kitchen, etc.
In other neighborhood
news, the drug house in this trailer park recently burst into flames.
I came home from work that morning around 02:30, per usual, and all was quiet. I took my shower
and around 04:30 was getting nestled into bed when red and blue lights were suddenly
filling my windows, and police walkie
talkies were buzzing all around. I ran outside to see what was happening, and
lo, Lot 18 was completely engulfed.
Firefighters arrived
shortly thereafter, unrolled their hose, snuffed out the fire, and left within half an hour, before the sun was even fully risen.
No one was hurt or killed,
and fortunately none of the nearby trailers caught fire, and the
whole neighborhood was relieved that the drug house was totally
incinerated. Many residents had been calling for the drug dealer's eviction for a
long time. “That's one problem gone,” my neighbor said.
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The shopping cart made a lucky escape. |
Apparently junkies were
still coming to the place all day, hanging out and fixing their
bikes in front of the ruins, but they've all gone now and it's been marvelously quiet
since. Traffic in and out of the park has greatly decreased since
that clientele has disappeared.
I joined the park's
Neighborhood Watch group in March, and was doing nightly patrols in
my car upon coming home from work, but it got pretty hairy when the
drug house was still intact. There's another meeting this week, and
I'm curious to hear any news of when that mess will get cleaned up.
You know, I've never lived
in a prissy neighborhood, but I've never lived in a true ghetto
either. There are many luxurious trailer parks in Phoenix, but I'd
classify this one as working poor. Some
of the trailers are clean and modest, while some are held together
with raw plywood and have yards and porches crowded with matted old couches and piles upon piles of trash.
I don't know where I fit
in this picture.
I mean I don't fit in
anywhere in the world, really. Heh. My family is
such an odd mix of wealth and poverty. I have a BA and I like things
like high fashion, formal dinners, and ballet, but I prefer manual
labor over desk work and cannot stand snobbery of any sort. I'm not rich or poor or middle class, I'm too weird for the corporate world, not weird enough for the comedy world, too nerdy for the cool kids and too shallow for the nerds. I'm a misfit anywhere I go.
So I attend these Neighborhood Watch meetings on my days off, covered in dust after
doing home improvements all day, with no makeup, a
sparkly hair wrap, and I have no idea if I blend in with these people. I
want to blend in—I don't want to show off my nicest clothes
or make my house stand out as the "rich" one because I don't want
to be targeted for robbery. I'm not rich; I'm just frugal and
childless, so my small income goes a long way.
Many of my neighbors are
quite poor. They've openly shared their past problems with addiction
and incarceration. Several have the gaunt, bony, tattooed frames of former
addicts. The lady who heads the Neighborhood Watch is missing all her
teeth and often smells like booze. Many have very rough voices and
emphysema from years of smoking. Others are permanently sunburned
from years of hard labor with no sunscreen. Their finger- and
toenails are long, chipped, and dirty, their worn pair of sandals are
perfectly molded to their calloused and deeply cracked feet.
And here I come waltzing
in, lily white. Uniformly translucent skin, white eyeballs, white
teeth, smooth hands and feet, neatly clipped nails. I would never
spend money on a manicure or pedicure, but I'm a grooming and
moisturizing freak. Compared to my neighbors I look like a slug
that's been taken out of its shell, all white and soft and squishy.
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What's up, guys? What did I miss at the last meeting? |
Although I'm learning new
words from local parlance, and I think that helps me blend in. “Tweaker” is now a part of my everyday vocabulary both at
work and in my neighborhood. (For my older readers, a tweaker is someone who uses stimulants like cocaine or meth.) I've heard the term in the following contexts, among others:
- "Lock your doors, there's a tweaker lady running around in her underwear."
- "Did you see that lil' tweaker guy trying to help us with a wrench and some string? Like what the fuck are we gonna do with that!" [laughing]
- "Oh man, that couple was tweaking so bad. Their eyes were so dilated."
If any anthropologists are
reading this, listen: If y'all need a mole for your ethnographic
study on the working poor in the Southwestern US, I'm available. I've
got the insider lingo and everything.
I don't think my trailer park neighbors are currently tweakers. They seem more like garden variety alcoholics and potheads. And they may be
poor—they may have a lot of ripped mattresses in their yards, they may
be weathered and wrinkled and missing half their teeth from lack of dental hygiene—but in their
bloodshot eyes is a lot of caring. I've often been heartened by how
much they care, how hard they try to keep things together, and
how often their heart is in the right place. Sometimes they are so
darling and sweet, I want to hug them. Other times, like when they
let their dogs shit on neighboring lots and don't clean up the poop, or
rev their beater cars when I'm sleeping, or trample all over my yard,
or when they point a cigarette at their stringy-haired kids and yell,
“Stop climbing on that shit you little fucker, before I come over there and
kick your ass!” I think, Ugh, I am nothing like these people. I'm
just living here because it's cheap.
Still, I'm more comfortable interacting with the working poor than I am with rich assholes in their beautiful houses, if I had to pick one group over another.
Still, I'm more comfortable interacting with the working poor than I am with rich assholes in their beautiful houses, if I had to pick one group over another.
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Google view of my street. That good ol' shopping cart always greets me with a smile. |
So let's recapitulate: The
last time I lived in Arizona, I was a doctoral student on full scholarship
at Arizona State and I lived in a huge apartment with a spiral
staircase.
Now, my second time living
here, I deliver pizza full time and live in a sketchy trailer park peppered with stolen shopping carts.
If that's not a fall from
grace, I don't know what is.
On the other hand, I'm
100x happier now than I was then.
I'm working a lot, I like my job, I'm saving money, I'm paying off debt, and I'm learning how to build
useful stuff. That's a lot more than I accomplished in my PhD program.
That's something to be proud of
That's a life you can hang your hat on
You don't need to make a million
Just be thankful to be workin'
If you're doing what you're able
And putting food there on the table
And providing for the family that you love
That's something to be proud of
That's a life you can hang your hat on
You don't need to make a million
Just be thankful to be workin'
If you're doing what you're able
And putting food there on the table
And providing for the family that you love
That's something to be proud of
-Montgomery Gentry