Manic Monday
As Monday mornings in the fall go around here, I thought that listening to that Steelers-Colts game would be the extent of the stress I would have that day. It was an intense game, more so because the Steelers darn near lost the game to the Manningless Colts.
Just as the game was over, and I was exchanging a few post-game tweets with Steelersfans around the world, there was a knock on the door. I must admit that I was still in my pajamas, as were the kids. It was close to noon, but in my defense, the game had only just ended.
I answered the door, not knowing who or what to expect. There stood my landlord's husband and an older woman I later guessed to be his mother. He greeted me pleasantly, and said he needed to get a few things out of the giant closet they keep locked and still use in the apartment. This was not unusual, though our landlord always sends me a text message to tell us she is coming. Sometimes it's a day ahead of time, sometimes it's only a few hours notice. In two years, neither of them has ever shown up unannounced. I was a little irritated, so I sent the landlord a text message, "Your husband is here. Please remember to let us know when you are coming. Sometimes there is no one here."
A few minutes later she called back, screaming on her end. At first I misunderstood her meaning. "It's my apartment and I rented it to you," I heard, with extreme emphasis on the personal pronouns. Great, I thought; after two years, she's suddenly going to get an attitude. But then I heard what else she was saying "He's not my husband anymore. We aren't married. You need to call 110 right now. Call the police. It's my apartment, not his."
More after the jump.
More after the jump.
Now this of course came as a giant shock to me. The last time I saw the landlord and her husband was on August 30. They had come to take a few things out of the closet, and see if we were planning to renew the lease at the end of November. I said we were. At that time, they didn't seem on the verge of divorce. They were both interested in whether we would be staying here another year.
However, that was an entire month ago. Now it was a Monday in September, and I just received an earful from my landlord, telling me to call the police on the husband that I had already let into the apartment. He and his mother were busy in the closet, sorting and separating from the sounds of it. Why didn't she just take his keys away if she didn't want him in the apartment anymore, I had to ask myself.
She called me back, only a few minutes after she ended the first call. She likely realized that I did not have the courage to call the police on my own (what was I to say, please remove this man I let in because my landlord says he can't be here?), because she told me the police were on their way. I wasn't sure if I should warn the ex-husband, who was now hauling out several giant bags of stuff from the closet and taking them to his car. The police had not yet shown up when he removed the last bag from the closet, locked it, and told us good-bye.
Moments later, though, two uniformed policemen were at the door, one holding the arm of the ex-husband, asking me why I had called the police on him. The ex-husband was begging me to tell them I knew him and I let him in. All I could say was that, no, I did not call the police, but my landlord did. With that, one of the officers allowed me to return inside my apartment. They remained in the hallway with the ex-husband for more than an hour. There was yelling, there were periods of silence, there were times one of the officers was on the phone with someone. I sent my landlord a text, "The police are here" followed by "Do you want to talk to them?" Both went unanswered.
After an hour, it appeared some settlement had been reached. The ex-husband, red-faced and furious, returned everything he removed from the closet, under the policemen's watch. His parting words to us was that we should know that our landlord had no where to live, and we should expect to be evicted in October. At this point, after everything that had happened that morning, this was not a surprise. We decided to wait until the next day to allow the landlord to cool off to ask her about whether this was true or not.
I didn't have to wait until the next day. She was already messaging me again that evening, telling me that a few things would be taken out of the apartment, but only with her there. She listed a refrigerator, a washing machine, and a sofa. The two appliances were redundant, unused, and were supposed to be taken out when we move in two years ago; the sofa was the one I had already requested be removed. I asked her directly if she wanted to move back to the Changping apartment. She said no, she planned to let us stay one more year. We were somewhat relieved.
Thursday afternoon I received a new round of messages from her. She wanted to know if we were home so she could come over. The kids and I were in Beijing for Myles' weekly art lesson, so I was not going to be available. Randy would not be home from work until after 5 pm. Fortunately, that worked for her.
I am glad I missed it. She and the ex-husband came together. Randy said they were mostly civil to one another, though there were times it grew very tense. They spent a lot of time in the closet, with him taking out fewer bags than he had on Monday morning. The sofa was taken, as well as the extra refrigerator. In the second bathroom which we use as a laundry room there was some discussion about which washer machine was supposed to go. They had left two in the apartment: an older, two-tub model (like the one found here), and a newer, front-loading, water-heating model. Randy pretended not to understand that she wanted to take the newer machine and just pointed out that we were using that one and not the other. Also taken was the pedestal fishbowl. Since we had it hidden in a corner, it was obvious we had not taken their advice on how we could use it. It was funny to us that everything that left the apartment that evening were things we had wanted out when we signed the original lease two years ago.
This week is just one more chapter in our interesting relationship with our landlord. When we moved in, there were a few last-minute glitches that made our moving-in a bit uncomfortable. At one time in that first year, too, she approached me with a business proposition, that I tried to turn down politely, and ended up receiving a lecture on women's rights in China. Earlier this year, she came to me with another money-making scheme that involved my travel to somewhere else in Asia to buy suitcases full of something that Chinese people were having difficulty importing because of a rocky political and economic relationship between the two countries. I didn't even know where to begin to turn down that. I know she finds all this incredibly frustrating, too, as we don't share her vision of our potential relationship.
She has told us we can stay here another year. We are taking her at her word, though if in the next two months she changes her mind, it would not be a surprise. Twice before in China we have had landlords that sent us mixed signals about whether they wanted to terminate the lease early, once in Shenzhen and once here in Beijing. Both of those times we were left with little time to seek a new apartment and move. We are hoping to avoid all that this year.
We'll see.
She called me back, only a few minutes after she ended the first call. She likely realized that I did not have the courage to call the police on my own (what was I to say, please remove this man I let in because my landlord says he can't be here?), because she told me the police were on their way. I wasn't sure if I should warn the ex-husband, who was now hauling out several giant bags of stuff from the closet and taking them to his car. The police had not yet shown up when he removed the last bag from the closet, locked it, and told us good-bye.
Moments later, though, two uniformed policemen were at the door, one holding the arm of the ex-husband, asking me why I had called the police on him. The ex-husband was begging me to tell them I knew him and I let him in. All I could say was that, no, I did not call the police, but my landlord did. With that, one of the officers allowed me to return inside my apartment. They remained in the hallway with the ex-husband for more than an hour. There was yelling, there were periods of silence, there were times one of the officers was on the phone with someone. I sent my landlord a text, "The police are here" followed by "Do you want to talk to them?" Both went unanswered.
After an hour, it appeared some settlement had been reached. The ex-husband, red-faced and furious, returned everything he removed from the closet, under the policemen's watch. His parting words to us was that we should know that our landlord had no where to live, and we should expect to be evicted in October. At this point, after everything that had happened that morning, this was not a surprise. We decided to wait until the next day to allow the landlord to cool off to ask her about whether this was true or not.
I didn't have to wait until the next day. She was already messaging me again that evening, telling me that a few things would be taken out of the apartment, but only with her there. She listed a refrigerator, a washing machine, and a sofa. The two appliances were redundant, unused, and were supposed to be taken out when we move in two years ago; the sofa was the one I had already requested be removed. I asked her directly if she wanted to move back to the Changping apartment. She said no, she planned to let us stay one more year. We were somewhat relieved.
Thursday afternoon I received a new round of messages from her. She wanted to know if we were home so she could come over. The kids and I were in Beijing for Myles' weekly art lesson, so I was not going to be available. Randy would not be home from work until after 5 pm. Fortunately, that worked for her.
I am glad I missed it. She and the ex-husband came together. Randy said they were mostly civil to one another, though there were times it grew very tense. They spent a lot of time in the closet, with him taking out fewer bags than he had on Monday morning. The sofa was taken, as well as the extra refrigerator. In the second bathroom which we use as a laundry room there was some discussion about which washer machine was supposed to go. They had left two in the apartment: an older, two-tub model (like the one found here), and a newer, front-loading, water-heating model. Randy pretended not to understand that she wanted to take the newer machine and just pointed out that we were using that one and not the other. Also taken was the pedestal fishbowl. Since we had it hidden in a corner, it was obvious we had not taken their advice on how we could use it. It was funny to us that everything that left the apartment that evening were things we had wanted out when we signed the original lease two years ago.
This week is just one more chapter in our interesting relationship with our landlord. When we moved in, there were a few last-minute glitches that made our moving-in a bit uncomfortable. At one time in that first year, too, she approached me with a business proposition, that I tried to turn down politely, and ended up receiving a lecture on women's rights in China. Earlier this year, she came to me with another money-making scheme that involved my travel to somewhere else in Asia to buy suitcases full of something that Chinese people were having difficulty importing because of a rocky political and economic relationship between the two countries. I didn't even know where to begin to turn down that. I know she finds all this incredibly frustrating, too, as we don't share her vision of our potential relationship.
She has told us we can stay here another year. We are taking her at her word, though if in the next two months she changes her mind, it would not be a surprise. Twice before in China we have had landlords that sent us mixed signals about whether they wanted to terminate the lease early, once in Shenzhen and once here in Beijing. Both of those times we were left with little time to seek a new apartment and move. We are hoping to avoid all that this year.
We'll see.
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