Post #9: Looking For a New Home For a Hot Little Pepper

Back in the Before Times, when I used to socialize with others, I had this little trick I would use whenever I felt myself getting angry around my friends (you wouldn’t know it from this blog, but I do have a temper and on occasion I have to be sure to keep it in check). The trick is fairly simple. All I would do when I felt the heat burning underneath my collar was to just say out loud, matter-of-factly, to everyone around me:

 “You know what, I am a hot little pepper right now.” 

This is a very effective trick, I’ve learned, because it turns out it’s almost impossible to stay mad after declaring yourself a hot little pepper, and it’s pretty much guaranteed to make your friends laugh, thus diffusing whatever situation has arisen. Try it for yourself, you’ll see. 

But like I said, that was back in the Before Times when I could actually socialize. So for the last six weeks I really haven’t had the need to use this trick. Except for in these last ten days, where I’ve spent each day driving around the city with my future roommate, McKayla, and my new realtor, Jake, as we try to find places for McKayla and I to live. 

Simply put, this process has been… a mixed bag. On the one hand, it’s been great to actually be out with people again and have a schedule that doesn’t involve writing, or dancing in the dark like a weirdo. But on the other hand, it’s been rather maddening because almost all the places we’ve been looking at have punched holes into my soul.  

I have a list of criteria for what I want for my next housing, but rather than bore you with that, let me put it concisely with a simple mantra: 

I want peace. 

That’s it. I want to find a place that I feel confident will give me peace in my heart. After all the headaches of my last place, all the sadness and anxiety, this is all that matters. Of course, finding such a place is no easy task because peace is a rather abstract concept. But I feel confident that I’ll know it when i’ll see it, and so far, after ten days of searching, I ain’t seen it yet (except for one place, but we’ll get to that later). 

No, each place has had one sort of calamity or another. Like the last place we just looked at. A fine two story house next to the racetracks, which would be ideal come Jazzfest time. The only problem was that I noticed a small closet door under the stairs which I opened up just to see how far back it went. Now when I say small, I mean like the door barely was big enough for me to get through. And once I did, and turned on the lights, I laughed as I saw someone had left a toilet in the back of the tiny closet. But my laughter stopped after I jokingly tried to flush it and heard it flush properly. Dear god. This was an installed, functional toilet. Which meant this was not a closet at all but one of the two bathrooms listed on the realtor sheet. They didn’t even list it as one and a half bathrooms, they had the audacity to say two, like this was a full bathroom, when it was barely a fourth. What’s worse yet is that the toilet wasn’t facing the door but rather the side. 

You know what, I made a strict rule for myself that The Rock Bottom Quarantine Blog would have no pictures in it other than the banner, so I would be forced to let my words tell the story, but fuck it. This one time I’m gonna make an exception just to show you. 

I ask you, have you ever seen anything so ridiculous before? And I know I’m smiling in the pic, but trust me when I tell you that underneath that warm, fake smile is a deflated soul. This house and its criminally small bathroom will not give me peace, it has failed me like all the rest. 

And after ten days of this shit, well, I gotta be honest, I feel myself turning into a hot little pepper. And as we get back into Jake’s car and start heading for the next spot to look at, I feel my pepperiness growing more and more, and I know I should use my trick and diffuse myself by stating loudly what I’m becoming, but I don’t. Because, you see, I have another mantra I’m living by during this whole process:

Be normal. 

It’s my suspicion that after living for six weeks alone in my rather unique, and unhealthy, situation, I have become a rather strange man. Even stranger than normal. Which would be fine, if I had any past relationship with either Jake or McKayla, but I don’t. Both of them I met ten days ago through friends. 

(Also, just gonna put this out here now in case any of you, like me, didn’t know this. Realtors don’t get paid by the renters, but the property owners. So if you’re looking for a new place to live and want help, definitely seek out a realtor cause you ain’t gotta pay shit!) 

Anyway, McKayla has already told me she feels iffy about living with a man she doesn’t know, and is only doing this because she’s desperate and a mutual friend vouched for me. So obviously, I can’t turn on the Randy weirdness until after she’s at least signed a lease with me. And Jake, well, this feels a little odd to say, but over the past ten days it feels like Jake could actually be a good friend. Like you know when you meet someone and you’re like, “I can see myself hanging out with this person and having beers, talking, laughing, and all that.” That’s kind of how it is with Jake, which is kinda great after six fucking weeks of having no friends at all. 

So because of all that, I just feel like I need to get re-acclimated to the normal world before I start really showing my true self and talking about being a hot little pepper, escaping in the dark, and all the other crazy shit I do. And so here I sit in Jake’s car, heading to the next spot with this fake little smile on my face like everything’s fine, when really I can feel the lava rising up inside me. Gotta keep it down though, gotta act normal and hope things will all be okay, ignoring the negative thoughts inside me.

You’ll never find a good place and you know it. You’re too poor and pathetic. 

But there is one shiny beacon of hope that I can hold onto. Remember that one house I mentioned earlier, the one that I thought could give me peace? Well, it was fantastic. Great location, right by the bayou, separate bathrooms, a nice layout inside, a front porch and a (slender) backyard. And the price was perfect too. It was the only place we’ve seen that I really  thought could give me peace. But there was a line of people waiting to see it when we got there. There’s no way they’re gonna give it to us. No way. The universe doesn’t like me that much. Best not even think about it.

“Have we heard back from that one place next to the bayou?” 

“No,” Jake shakes his head, “but I think we will. I really think they liked you guys. I have an instinct when it comes to these things.” 

I smile at this, but feel no better. I like Jake, but he’s pretty new to the real estate game. Fresh outta college and all that. He definitely has the spirit and optimism to succeed, but I worry he’s just telling me what I want to hear. 

No one is going to want you as a tenant, just die now. 

We drive a few miles west, back into midcity, where we find our next spot. At first I feel optimistic, until we head into the kitchen and find both the fridge and the oven missing. Jake makes a quick phone call and finds out that we will have to bring those items ourselves when we move in. Jake tells us he’s never heard of that before, I ask him how much it would cost to buy both of those things, in relatively good condition, and get them delivered and installed.   

“Minimum?” he thinks, “twelve hundred dollars?” 

I feel the lava rising further inside me. McKayla and I both decide to keep looking, on to the next spot. 

The next spot we check out is in prime location, right by one of my favorite neighborhood bars. And from all the items stated on the realtor list it looks to have everything we want, and then some, the only problem is, below all those great items listed is the rental price. Which is a hundred bucks more than the max number we gave Jake. But Jake has this odd game he plays where he asks us to check out a couple of places each day that’s just out of our price range, just to make sure we don’t want it.

In a way, I like that he does this because it seems to suggest I am being coy about how much money I have, and my max number is just a suggestion, but really I have the means to pay more if the right place turns up, as if I am a more financially impressive man than I have let on. 

Of course, this is absolutely not true and in all honesty even the max number I gave him was a bit of a lie due to shame. But still, Jake has quite persuasive way about him so we check out this new spot, and it’s a fucking awesome New Orleans home with a colorful exterior, an interior filled with character, and fantastic high ceilings. I only need to take two steps inside before knowing in my heart that this place will definitely give me peace. 

“It’s perfect,” I tell him on the front porch, after we’re done checking the place out, “I would love to live here.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, but unfortunately I cannot, because you see I am a poor little hot pepper.”

“What? What’d you say?”

“I said, I think we both would love to live here, but the rent is just a little too high.”

“We can talk to the landlord about bringing down the price a bit.”

“Oh yeah?” I say. “Like maybe a couple hundred dollars?”

“Uh, no, probably not that much. But I can ask.”

We tell him not to worry about it and just take us to the next spot. As we walk off the porch, I turn back and look at the house. I know I shouldn’t, but I feel like such a loser. A man in his mid-thirties who can’t even afford a semi-nice place in a great neighborhood. 

How pathetic. Doesn’t that make you mad? Doesn’t that embarrass you?

I feel the lava rising again, but I brush it off and get back in the car. 

“I think you guys are really gonna like the next spot,” Jake tells us. 

And he’s right. Not only do we like it, we love it! It’s right on the bayou, and I mean right on it. The other spot I’m crossing my fingers for is a good three block walk from the water, but this is on the fucking bayou. As in you open your front door and see water. And it’s got a killer, elevated front porch, so you look down upon the bayou like a king. And the inside is even better, everything is brand spanking new and looks nice. The bedrooms are spacious with their own private bathrooms, and you couldn’t ask for a better, sleeker kitchen. Forget peace, I would be in nirvana every day if I stayed here. 

But the craziest thing of all is the price. The rent they’re asking for doesn’t even qualify as a steal. It’s like getting-manhattan-for-some-beads good. In the back of my mind, I know this has to be too good to be true, and maybe that’s why I ignore the little voice in my head telling me something is off. Instead, I turn on my imagination and visualize my life here. I conjure up dinner parties here that I host regularly, thanking my friends for coming as they rain praise upon me over my new place. 

“Oh it’s nothing,” I imagine telling them, “I just bought at the right time.”

“Bought?” I imagine them responding, “I thought you said you’re renting?”

“Well, yes, but it’s still impressive that I live here, no? The exact opposite of pathetic, I would say.” 

And everyone would agree and some pretty lady would then follow me into the bedroom and…

“Sorry, I have to say, obviously this place is fantastic but the rent seems crazy low. Can we double check just to make sure that’s the correct price?” McKayla rips me out of my fantasy with her annoyingly appropriate question. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jake says, “lemme call them right now and confirm.”

I watch him disappear into one of the back rooms to make the call and I walk out to the front porch, leaning against the pristine light blue railing and look out to the bayou. I try to appreciate the view as much as I can while ignoring the voices in my head. 

You know you’ll never actually live here, right? You’re dreaming if you think that price is right. You know exactly what’s gonna happen. Jake’s gonna come back out any minute with a disappointed look in his eye and say, “sorry to have to say this, but the owners said somebody screwed up with the realtor sheet, and the price was quoted much lower than it really is. It’s actually five hundred more.”  

“Don’t listen to all that, homie,” another familiar voice says to the side of me. “You got this.”

I turn my head to find my imagined roommate/rapper Clever Banger leaning against the railing next to me, staring out to the bayou  while his platinum necklace dangles off his neck. 

“Clever! Good to see you man, it’s been awhile.” 

“Yeah man, it’s been a minute. Just thought I’d stop by, let you know not to lose this faith. You got this, I know you do.” 

For a moment, the hope returns to me. And then I hear footsteps behind me, from the front door.

“Hey guys, sorry to have to say this,” I hear Jake say behind me, “But the owners told me somebody screwed up and the rent was quoted much lower than it actually is. It’s actually six hundred more.” 

Nobody says a word after this, and I continue to stare out at the bayou while I feel the lava rising fast and furious inside me. I look around for wise words from Clever, but he’s nowhere to be found. I’m gonna erupt any moment, I know it. 

“I could try to see if they’ll come down on the price a bit?” Jake offers. 

I told you.

“How much do you think they’d lower it?” McKayla asks. 

How naive can you be?

“I’m not sure, but it can’t hurt to ask.”

Your next place will be a hole in the ground where you will eat dirt to survive. 

“Yeah, I guess, you should, why not?”

“GOD DAMMIT!” I blurt out, slamming my fists on the pristine light blue railing. “I AM A HOT LITTLE PEPPER.” 

Silence follows. I look over at my future roommate and my new realtor, who are looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Oh boy, I think, I’ve really done it now. But then after a few seconds of agonizing silence, their faces start to crack, and broad smiles appear, followed by rising laughter. 

“Do you just call yourself a hot little pepper?” McKayla asks. 

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” Jake asks through guffaws. 

“I don’t know, it’s just something I say when I’m mad, you know to diffuse the tension.”

“Well, it’s fucking hilarious. A hot little pepper, what the fuck. Who says that?” 

I feel the heaviness leave my chest. After ten straight days of trying to play it cool and normal, it feels great to break a little and earn some belly laughs. With every passing second I’m feeling better and better, and the laughter keeps coming. As I look back out to the bayou, I realize what I’m now feeling. 

Peace. 

Yes, the very peace I have been demanding my new place offer is now growing inside me. And with that peace comes an obvious truth. No matter what happens, or where I end up living, Clever is right, I got this, things will be okay. It’ll be better than okay, in fact, because I’m a good, funny, weird person, and people like that about me. So as long as I remember that, hold on to that, I’ll always find some sort of peace within me. Perhaps its the sort of peace one can only know after hitting rock bottom. Who knows? All I know is, I can breath again, and that feels pretty great. 

“Come on guys, let’s check out the next spot,” Jake says. 

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be another amazing disaster,” McKayla jokes. 

“Or it’ll be perfect but the rent will be a thousand more than listed,” I add. We’re all laughing now  as we enter the car, things are good. 

Five minutes later, as we are halfway to our next spot, Jake’s phone rings. 

“That’s great! That’s great! I’m with them now, I’ll tell em!” He says, and before he even gets off the phone I have a feeling I know what he’s going to say. And this time, it’s gonna be something good, really good. 

“That was the owners of the other property y’all liked. The one a few blocks from the bayou. They said they want you to come sign the lease. You guys got it!” 

Happiness fills me. God damn, I realize, I really am going to leave rock bottom. Finally, this hot little pepper is moving up in the world. 

UP NEXT: SAYING GOODBYE TO ROCKBOTTOM WITH ONE LAST ESCAPE