Sierra Meadows or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Class Warfare

“I can’t believe that!” said Alice.
“Can’t you?” the Queen said in a pitying tone. “Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.”
Alice laughed. “There’s no use trying,” she said: “one can’t believe impossible things.”
“I daresay you haven’t much practice,” said the queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” – From “Through the Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll

October 27th, 2013

I am reading a review for Sierra Meadows Wipllc, written by a young woman, Brittany Ensley. My brother warns me to take reviews written on Google with a grain of salt. He says sometimes rival agencies will post false claims. Brittany does not have much else to say linked to her Google account, and the window for me to find housing to transition to Washington is closing quickly. I don’t know anyone in Washington I can refer to. An interviewer at Amazon said, “Yes! We do have some employees who live in Auburn!”

November 3rd, 2013

I arrive at Sierra Meadows. It’s midday and the sun is shining brightly. It’s a stark contrast to gloomy Midwest I just flew six hours in from. Neatly trimmed hedges line the path to the office. Inside are pool tables, some gym equipment, and a Barbie-esque property rep currently assisting an irate resident. The woman shouts about how the quality of living at Sierra Meadows is making her schizophrenia worse.

Quickly a second, younger rep pulls me aside to fill out the paperwork for the apartment. I had made most the arrangements previously from out of state via phone calls. “Don’t you think you should show me the unit first?” “Oh yeah…sorry… This is my first day.” This girl’s breasts are fantastic; living here should be fun.

November 6th, 2013

The Honduran tweaker who lives below me with his brother informed me the bedbugs mentioned in the lease agreement live inside the walls. There is little that can be done to avoid infestation. Gunshots are a nightly occurrence.

November 20th, 2013

I started hanging out with a group of militant libertarians across the way. Being at a party in this neighborhood where the number of guns outnumber people, actually makes me feel much safer. One of the guys at the party, a previous resident, shot and killed someone who was breaking into his truck a couple months ago. The police sweep through in full SWAT gear during their nightly patrols now, but I borrowed a 12 gauge Mossberg 500 from an autistic “E Clampus Vitus” neighbor.

December 25th, 2013

Being that I have no friends or family in Washington, I spent today spreading the joy of Christmas “green.” There is a family of ex-con, white-supremacist, juggalos down the way who sometimes trade smokes for weed or vise versa. I don’t condone their ideals, but it’s good to know someone can watch your back around here. A guy a couple years younger than me who everyone refers to as “Legion,” says soon his bone marrow cancer will take his life. He asks me to help him co-pilot a high-speed, high-stakes race around Mt. Rainer in his friend’s Nissan. He hopes to have something to leave behind for his wife and child. His physical deterioration is visible.

January 5th, 2014

I was informed today the Friendly Neighbor cleaned up the used heroin needles left next to my car. That was very kind of him. Going to the dumpster alone at night is treacherous. Inside was a homeless tweaker, shivering, maybe dying. He threw the bag of spent needles at the junkie inside, slammed the dumpster lid, and walked away.

February 2nd, 2014

I received a notice from Sierra Meadows on my apartment door today. I am being charged $35 for “trash outside my door.” I go to the office to inquire and I’m informed they had removed my ashtray outside my door. I will be happy to flick my butts into the yard now.

February 20, 2014

I happened to be heading over to The Clamper’s apartment when I notice a tow truck lifting his pick up. I ask the tow truck driver if he was called to remove the pickup, he said no. When I get to the Clamper’s place, I let him know. We go back down together, and politely inform the driver what he is doing is illegal.

March 11th, 2014

I head downstairs to ask the Honduran tweaker for some rolling papers after I get off work. He has been living there illegally since before I moved in and any attempts to resolve noise complaints with the property reps have been futile. When there are five gang-bangers smoking meth until 4AM in the cramped apartment directly under mine, it’s hard to be coherent at work the next day. I’ve decided to be civil with him to the best of my ability. As I approach, he is standing in the doorway with a new fling and, before I even speak, she asks point-blank, “Do you have a pair of bolt-cutters?”

March 16th, 2014

I see a nice looking white couple moving in with their kids. Maybe I should warn them, but I’m sure they will figure it out after a couple nights. Hopefully they won’t run into the local kids–the neighborhood gradeschoolers already sporting anklets.

April 4th, 2014

Upon arriving home from work today, I see a number of squads outside the complex. This is not unusual. I get to my door and see officers standing with the Clamper outside his apartment. He had been housing a local streetwalker, a very nice, but not very bright 20-year-old girl named Bridget. Apparently, she had made enough money the night before to pay him back. She then went into the bathroom, shot up, and died a couple hours later in his arms while waiting for the ambulance. She left behind a 5-year-old daughter. We spend the night burning the rest of her dope in the parking lot under a bright red moon. The Clamper is able to break lease the next day. I never see him again.

April 10th, 2014

I inform the Sierra Meadows managers I will be leaving promptly when my 6-month lease is up. The oh-so-very-helpful Samantha is responsive when I ask why I am being constantly extorted, why nothing gets fixed until I have put in requests for several months in a row, and why eviction notices go up even if rent has been paid. I never gave much thought to my credit score prior, but now I have reason to never consider it; Samantha is quick to turn over claims to collections.

Brunette Barbie with the nice rack asks for updated contact info, and where I will be moving to. I inform her I don’t have a destination quite yet, but I can’t wait to get out of here. “I’ve lived here my whole life. What’s so bad about Auburn?” she asks. The signs entering Auburn say “Auburn, More than you could have imagined!”

April 20th, 2014

I ask friendly neighbor about the whereabouts of his lady friend who’d been living in another Sierra Meadows unit recently. He says she was able to break lease early when a couple of dealers on the street resolved a dispute by firing rounds at each other. One happened to go through her apartment wall and narrowly missed her sleeping child. The Autistic Clamper previously mentioned he will title his account of Sierra Meadows “Grand Theft Auburn.”

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I-I hardly know, sir, just at present-at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.” – From “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” by Lewis Carroll

Credo quia absurdum – I believe it because it is abusrd