The Adventures of the 116 York St. sublet

Before I say anything, I need to explain how difficult this is to write. I’m writing this from a very precarious perspective, and I have to tread lightly with caution. As funny as I tried to make these stories, it’s fair to say that the hilarity is the result of watching someone suffer. “It’s only funny because it’s not me” was in fair use, but it’s just a matter of time before the reality of the stories came crashing down, bringing me back to earth, realizing how fucked up the entire summer really was.

The Sublet is dead. I laid in bed with a friend, talking about the strange stories and encounters I shared with him, reflecting on the weird summer. I tried to bring up his Facebook profile to put a face to a name, but only received one result. “In Loving Memory of The Sublet” (I’ve come this far, not revealing his name now). Confused, baffled and taken back, we read the group in surprise and shock with a million questions in my head. Truth be told, I tried to joke about it, but was overcome with guilt and unease in my stomach.

It was about 5 months since I had talked to The Squatter. I shot him two lines: “What happened to the Sublet? I just found out.”

He wrote back a response as short as my question. “Passed out in a snow bank. Froze to death.”

I immediately had a flashback to driving with my mother over the holiday break. “They found a 20-year old man in a snow bank on Christmas morning” she said, “he must have been out at a holiday party and passed out. I feel terrible for his parents. A tragic, preventable accident.”

“That’s terrible. His poor parents” I said. I was sincere about it, too. With that in mind, I’ve realized how subjective it really is. Do I feel worse or better knowing he was the guy who ruined my summer? Everyone goes through some accountability issues when you hear about a death or someone in your life, and it’s only natural to question what role you played in that person’s life. Suddenly, my blog became the subject of a man’s life in the brief months before his death. Didn’t see that one coming (actually, that’s questionable).

I really didn’t expect this to turn into a soap box, but it’s been eating me. It doesn’t matter who it is in your life, from a best friend to someone you see on campus and occasionally chat with. You both impact each other one way or another, big or small. It could be as small as leaving your house 30 seconds earlier and avoiding a green light and a subsequent car crash, and it could be as big as breaking up with your partner after 10 years. It’s all subjective, it’s all random, and you deal with what’s handed to you. How you deal with it is up to you, and it’s hard to say whether I dealt with this random encounter appropriately.

Do I feel bad? I haven’t decided yet. Anyone who’s read the blog knows that it was bound to happen eventually. Would I change anything if I knew it was going to happen? Of course, anyone would. No one can plan for these things, but anyone can learn from them. I’m still trying to decide what I can take away from it. Regardless, it’s hard to see a story like this end any other way.

Smart people learn from their mistakes. Smarter people learn from others’ mistakes. Learn from mine, and regardless of how much shit people put you through, kill them with kindness. Don’t be a pushover, but roll with the punches. Don’t regret anything, because we learn from our mistakes. To regret something is to regret learning something, good or bad. As I write this, I realize I’m one of the last people to take my own advice, but I’ll acknowledge it.

I guess that’s everything. I wanted to link to his obituary, but I don’t think I’d be doing myself any justice by revealing who The Sublet was. Lessons were learned and life goes on for the rest of us.  

Since it’s been awhile since I’ve posted, I have a fair amount to go through (there’s been no shortage of sublet shenanigans). However, at the discretion of Sackville’s RCMP, I had to cut off any connections with The Sublet and The Squatter. Fortunately, as the action happened, I knew how valuable some of the conversations would be, so I’ve saved a few of them. With that being said, I still have to stress that everything I’ve been through is true, and was as shitty to go through as I make it out to be. With that out of the way, let me tell you about the time 116 York was robbed by The Sublet and our new friend, The Squatter.

The Sublet was gone (mental institution, his neurotic home life, one or the other) and it was too late in the summer to find someone to sublet. I accepted defeat and decided it would be best to not sublet anymore, mainly for the safety of the other sublets. My roommates and I continued visiting Sackville for the summer, giving me my own room to crash in when necessary. School started up again, and The Sublet and The Squatter were out of our lives for the time being. That’s when I noticed my guitar was gone.

When you live in a house with 6 other guys, it’s normal that certain things go missing. A lot of people were in and out of the house over the summer, so I was under the impression that a friend borrowed my guitar and left it in their room. The guitar is only worth 60 bucks, so I wasn’t really worried about it. To be safe, however, I messaged The Sublet over Facebook and asked about it. He said he knew nothing. Hmm.

A week later, The Sublet messaged me. I would dig into our old conversations and find exactly what was said, but The Sublet doesn’t have Facebook anymore (you’ll find out why in the next post). Paraphrased, the conversation was something like this:

The Sublet: Phil, I know where your guitar is. The Squatter stole it. I wasn’t there when it happened. I’m really sorry, I know I’ve put you through a lot this summer, and I feel terrible. Hes a backstabber, so I’ll do whatever I can to get back at him. He pawned it at The Parlour in Moncton, you might be able to find it there.

My good friend picked me up and we made our way to the pawn shop and found my guitar pretty quickly. I’ve had it for almost 10 years, it’s worth nothing, and it has a few unique scuffs and cracks that I recognized. I told the guys at The Parlour what happened and they held it for me as I called and filed a police report. It’s worth mentioning that the guys at The Parlour were really helpful and sincerely believed it was mine, making the whole process really easy. Thanks, Parlour.

Sure enough, my description, serial number and model matched up, I knew the guys name (no, his real name isn’t The Squatter), and I got it back. However, they told me that if I want my guitar back, I had to press charges. “Fuck it, I just want my guitar back. Charge away!” I told my friends at the police department.

The next day, The Squatter messaged me about the guitar. The funny thing is, I was on the phone with the RCMP officer in charge of the case the second my Facebook blooped, giving the officer a play-by-play of what The Squatter was saying. The officer informed me that The Squatter was ducking the police’s calls, hanging up and turning his phone off, and avoiding his house like the plague. I’ll never forget the words the cop told me in a badass, french accent: “This guy is lying to me. If there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s being lied to. So I’ve made it my mission to find this guy, and make sure he get’s what’s coming to him.” HOLY SHIT, am I on the phone with Liam Neeson or something? “Save that conversation and e-mail it to me immediately.”

Here’s the copy and pasted conversation for your enjoyment. Notice how at this point, I’m no longer laughing, and re-cap the summer quite well for The Squatter:

The Squatter:
hey phil
I need to talk to you about something
the guitar issue
You understand that it was The Sublet that told me I could have the guitar
He told me it as garbage

Me:
oh. well i just wanted my guitar back, regardless of how it was stolen.

The Squatter:
I believar. That all blame should be put on The Sublet as he is a pathological liar.
Im really sorry man.. I had no idea it was yours
like for real I feel so bad
but like I said I was told by The Sublet that i could have it. 

Me:
both of you and The Sublet have fucked me around with me all summer. All i wanted was a normal god damn subletter, and somehow became involved in some bullshit that cost me almost a thousand dollars. Im done screwing around with you guys.
Both of you can leave me alone now.

The Squatter:
wow man I had nothing to do with the sublet I was designing websites for our company thats all I had no intention on staying there (*Note: Please refer to the post where The Squatter e-mailed me informing me that he was already living there).
The Sublet fuckkked me over so bad man you have no idea
are you aware of his syndrome?
Hes bipolar
thats why he did everything he did

Me:
yeah im aware.

The Squatter:
I do not commute with him anymore nor do I talk to him because he isnt better

Me:
well i can’t drop charges on you. They said if i wanted my guitar back, i would have to. And regardless of what happened, i wanted my guitar back. So i got it the fuck back.

The Squatter:
you got it back

Me:
Hell yes.

The Squatter:
good job dude! Fuck yea man
I told The Sublet to go fuck himself hard not to long ago because hes fucked man
sorry but hes fucked haha
anyways sorry to bother you man but Im not a thief or anything like that I just play guitar and I knew a Jasmine isnt trash so I grabbed it cause he told me it was trash.

Me:
yup. Leave me alone forever now.

The funniest thing about this whole story, however, is that my guitar was in a storage room filled with all kinds of shit belonging to everyone in the house. Next to the shitty acoustic guitar that he stole was a Fender Jazzmaster, a Fender amp, a bunch of patch cords, and four pedals. Let me explain his logic in stealing my stuff:

Fender Jazzmaster: ~$800

Fender Amp: ~$300

Patch cords: ~$50

four pedals: ~$350

The one thing he stole: $60.

Yes, he had roughly $1500 worth of gear to choose from, but instead took the cheapest, shittiest thing there. There was also an Xbox 360, video games, cell phones and furniture. And the $350 worth of pedals? They were in the stolen guitar’s case, which he didn’t even bother to grab. Seriously, the Pink Panther could have solved this mystery.

At the end of it all, my guitar was back, The Squatter was charged and The Sublet was living his drug and alcohol induced daydream of a life. All things come to an end, and my life has, for the most part, gone back to normal. I’ll always have these stories to reflect on, and if I can accomplish anything with this blog, it’s to show people how even the smallest choices in your life can lead to big impacts. Don’t be careless of who you let into your life, don’t take shit from people, and don’t assume everyone is a good person. I know it’s pessimistic, but it’s also realistic. I haven’t signed a lease for a new apartment in September yet in fear of subletting again. Lessons are learned, and as the adventures come to an end, hopefully you all learned something as well: Some people are just bat-shit insane. You can try to help them, give them breaks, but at the end of the day, they’re as crazy as they were the day you met them, and they’ll probably be like that until the day they die. Unfortunately, we’ll see in my next (and last post) how sad this reality truly is. 

My roommates and I really don’t like living with our parents. The freedom to come and go as we please, not worrying about waking anyone up at 2am, puking loud and bringing greasy girls home to our Sackville palace is a luxurious life in comparison to sleeping on a blow-up mattress in my parent’s basement. Therefore, we made numerous trips to Sackville throughout the summer. These trips became more numerous as we were informed more great stories regarding Captain Psycho. However, one story triumphs them all on the “holy shit you aren’t making this up” scale.

We rushed into the house to find the sublets playing video games and ping-pong like good intentioned, well-behaved sublets should do. “SO,” i said to Sublet 2, “what the hell happened this time?”

(This is essentially the paraphrased version what happened. With that being said, this shit is all true, I swear.)

Apparently, as we have seen through previous actions, The Sublet fuckin’ LOVES drinking and driving. At this point, he’s also on numerous bi-polar meds and anti-depression drugs, so we can only assume that when we combine these things together, all hell breaks loose. This time, however, The Sublet had a friend over. When The Sublet tried to hop in his car for his bi-weekly joy ride of death, his (intelligent?) friend tried to stand in front of his car to keep him from going anywhere. Does this phase The Sublet? HELL NO.

Rather than reversing the car and killing one of his few friends, The Sublet did the only logical thing he could do: Throw the car into gear and drive onto our lawn in order to avoid the obstacle that is his friend. His friend, more than likely flailing his arms in the air like Kermit the Frog, tried to chase down The Sublet, forcing him to do donuts on our front lawn, destroying the property. He eventually drove through a few backyards before someone called the cops to take him back to his second home.

At this point, we can assume whoever decided that our wacky friend should be released from the psych ward is now unemployed. As for The Sublet, he was put back into the crazy house, and wasn’t allowed to live with anyone other than his parents. Therefore, said parents were forced to go back to the house (again) and move all of The Sublet’s shit out of my room (again).

Which leads us to the day shit got real. It is important to note that I am not a doctor when i say this: Fucked up people usually have fucked up kids. Thus is the case of The Sublet; his mom is a fucking nut case. Her and The Sublet are essentially the same person, only the mom has serious stress issues (wouldn’t you?). Therefore, you can only image her reaction when they found A GUN in his room.

“WHY WOULD HE HAVE A GUN IN HIS ROOM? OH MY JESUS”
”Because he’s fucking crazy, dear.” said The Sublet’s step-dad as he moved his shit.

Sublet 2 is convinced that it was probably a BB gun or something, but this is all very debateable. Regardless, I’m just glad that I don’t have to live in a room that was at one point a suicide scene, and forever be haunted by the ghost of 116 York, subsequently becoming the subject of Mount Allison urban legends for years to come. Thankfully, it never came to that.

When all this happened, I thought that this would be my final post. Oh, Phil, how could you be so naive? In the following weeks, I would spend more time with the police than I ever have before. And I still haven’t seen a dime for rent.   

After convocation weekend, I was convinced that I was in need of a new sublet. The web designer apparently moved to Europe (wtf?) and The Sublet was in the crazy house, likely dreaming of Coco the Cat. I reposted my kijiji ad in hopes of finding someone as entertaining as the first sublet and got back to my boring life. Then, I got this message:

The Sublet: Hey I just got out of the hospital, and I’m allright now. I understand that Dylan contacted you that I was gonna stay in the hospital. Turns out ill be getting out a lot sooner than expected. Im willing to sign the contract and do the formalities. Only thing is Im broke right at the moment (I havnt worked in almost a month now), but i’ll be getting paid by a client later this week, so i’ll toss you the other 100 bones then. I dunno about the 400 you want for a damage deposit. I can give you something as colateral if you wish (my PS3?). Anyway, we’ll talk, Im glad you arn’t in a huge hurry, def makes my life a little easier. Ill get you the money as soon as I can. 

About the “closet surprise”, i’d like to have a nice talk about that, so we can get the logistics sorted out. 

Before I continue, I should explain. I sarcastically told The Sublet that my room has a very large walk-in closet that would be great for growing dope. He clearly took this to heart. I later explained to him that I, for obvious reasons, was against the idea of a mental patient conducting a grow-op in my house. Just kinda gave me a weird feeling.  

But back to the issue at hand. The Sublet was out of the nut house (which would mean he wasn’t crazy anymore, naturally) and was willing to come back to the house. I can’t speak for what most people would do in my situation, only for myself. And what did I say? HELL FUCKIN’ YA.

Maybe he’s heavily medicated and totally reasonable now, right? Either way, I needed the money (right, like I’m going to get that) and it wasn’t as if I had to put up with him. We were back on.

Knowing that sublets 1, 2 and 3 weren’t very fond of The Sublet, I thought I would at least take the courtesy of sending them a message telling them my intentions. Here’s what I said:

May 19
Me: yo Sublet 2. i guess The Sublet is moving back in. I need the money, so I’m gonna let him do his thing, but if anything happens, let me know. Its not worth you guys putting up with shit all summer from a bad roommate. Hopefully things work out, keep in touch.

Fair enough, right? I’m not a bad person for this, am I? Apparently I am, because 4 days later, Sublet 2 wrote me back. Here’s what he said:

May 23
Sublet 2: The Sublet is back in the hospital and is moving out. His parents came and picked up his stuff today.

Me: A SECOND TIME? WTFFF

Sublet 2: yeah, but apparently this time he has to stay living with his parents.

Four days. Four fucking days. That’s how long this guy could stay out of a psych ward. At this point, I was almost impressed. I’ve never heard of a person going into a mental institution, being discharged and deemed “alright” and then be sent back on a different occasion ALL WITHIN 3 WEEKS. Kudos, Sublet.

Looks like another trip to Sackville is in order. Is it possible that The Sublet has outdone himself once again? My roommates and I got in the car and headed up for the weekend.  

At this point in the story, we’re well aware of the fucked up, batshit-crazy man that I allowed into my house. Quick re-cap: tore down all the banners in the house. Got high and drunk, joyride to Moncton, ditched car, ordered retarded amounts of food, got arrested for dine and dashing, and, as far as we know, in a mental institution. Perfect.

As we sat around our living room and indulged with a few drinks, the other sublets told us a few minor dips in the road that might have lead us to believe that The Sublet was a wackjob before he got busted. Apparently, despite the lease not allowing any animals, he decided to bring his cat, which would repeatedly claw at any closed doors in the middle of the night. Sublet 2 was very unhappy about this.

This wasn’t the first time I heard of the cat, however. A week before moving in, The Sublet told me about the feline. Here’s the copy and pasted conversation we had where The Sublet made it seem as if the cat and himself had an awkwardly passionate relationship together. 

The Sublet: phil, i need a small favor. theres shit going down, and im stuck with my cat.. i can leave her at my gf’s for a while, but i need to find a place for her in the meantime… I might need to bring her down for a day or two at some point… ill keep her in her traveller if need be but only if you allow it otherwise i have no idea what to do with her shell go to the spca and i dont want that for her.

Me: No pets allowed dude! it might fur the place up, and i think some of the guys are allergic. I can talk to my roommate and ask what he thinks about it though.

The Sublet: ok, shes an amzing kitty.. short haired, shes beautiful, and she loves to cuddle… it would break my heart if I had to part with her.

Loves to cuddle? I can understand it being difficult to part with a pet, but it’s weird when it’s coming from a 6’2, 200 pound, 20 year old man. I shrugged it off and tried to make the conversation not so weird, but he awkwardly continued to describe how great his furry friend is.

Me: I have a retarded demon cat. I can’t wait to part with it

 The Sublet: haha coco is not like that at all. she just likes to sleep on everyone. and be petted. and meows.

 Me: Yeah, sounds pretty cat-like. I’ll talk to my roommate about it.

 Well, that was weird. I got to my roommate who quickly informed me ‘no’ to any pets. I relayed the message back to The Sublet, who apparently had it under control.

Me: hey Sublet. bad news. my roommate just told me no cats allowed. if the landlord found it, he’d be fuckin pissed. sorry about the bad news, hopefully you can work it out.

The Sublet: Ok. No problem man. The landlord was by today, he saw her, straight up wanted to smoke up with me. The place looks sick man. We got two tvs on the go, its an epic pad now. Come down ANYTIME….. matter of fact were stuck in moncton now because ive got no money for fuel lol

I honestly wanted to try to dissect this response for you, but I don’t think I’m capable of it. The convoluted mess of The Sublet’s brain is clearly far beyond what I can comprehend, and at this point is a ticking time bomb before he goes absolutely nuts. This was also one of the first indications that The Sublet enjoys hard drugs.

The fate of Coco after the first trip to the mental institution is unknown. I can only assume she is being viciously cuddled to death while The Sublet tries to get to 3rd base.

Poor Coco.  

I arrived in Sackville on Con weekend with a few friends. I walked into the large house to find several other subletters. As we introduced ourselves to each other, I realized I already knew all of them; they had all e-mailed me about the house, but I sent them to my other roommates who were also looking for subletters. Who did I turn down for my neurotic pyscho? A Ph.D candidate from UNB, a chemical engineering student from DAL, and an environmental studies student from Guelph. All of them friendly, and all of them with a variety of stories of the asshole I allowed to live in my room for two weeks before his brain fried.

The first thing I noticed was that all of the banners and beer posters we put up from past parties were torn down. “Where did the posters go?” I asked. 
“The Sublet tore them down.” said Sublet 2. “We told him it wasn’t his house, but he said he wanted to make the place nicer. Sorry.”

At this point, it started to sink in that The Sublet was a little off his rocker. However, tearing down some posters would never prime me for what I was about to be told.

(Although the dialogue here is obviously not perfectly identical to what was said that day, the events explained are all 100% true, as were my reactions)

Me: “So, what did The Sublet do to get taken to the hospital for psychiatric evaluations?”

Sublet 1: “You aren’t aware of this?”

Me: “No, his friend just messaged me and told me he was taken to the hospital. That’s part of why I’m here, to meet this guy squatting downstairs and figure out what’s going on.”

Sublet 2: “Alright, I’ll fill you in. The other night, The Sublet was having some drinks by himself, and started smoking some dope (among other things). While wasted and high, he thought it would be a good idea to drive to Moncton.”

Me: “What the fuck? Are you kidding me?”

Sublet 2: “…Once he got to Moncton, his car ran out of gas. So he ditched in the middle of the road.”

The story continued to become more convoluted and wreckless with each sentence. My mouth was gaping, and I had no idea what to think of this. He continued:

Sublet 2: “After ditching the car, apparently he found the closest restaurant. He ordered around $100 worth of food. They knew he wasn’t right, so they called the police to give them a heads up. Sure enough, he tried to dine and dash. Cops caught him when he tried to run away.” 

My normal, care-free summer came crashing down on me. For those of you who know me well, however, you know exactly what I did. I started laughing hysterically. This guy is so insane, it can’t be real. 

But it was. It still is. I’ve finally realized the person I’ve let into my house. Unfortunately, I was the only one who saw the humour and potential for such a character. 

As we sat around the living room, laughing at his expense, the other subletters continued to tell us stories of The Sublet. We had no idea so much bullshittery had been accomplished in those first two weeks by our new comedic relief character. 

Seeing as it didn’t take The Sublet long to royally fuck everything up, I’ll jump right into the good stuff. After moving back in with my parents for two weeks, I got a facebook friend invitation. We had one friend in common: The Sublet. I promptly rejected the invitation. 

Two days later, I had a personal e-mail sent to me, something only my grandma does. It was from The Sublet’s close friend who apparently owns a web design company with The Sublet. It foreshadowed impending doom on The Sublet’s part, and hilarity for myself. Here’s the e-mail slightly tweaked. I’ll let The Sublet keep the little dignity he has left and remove his name:

Hello Phil, I’m The Sublet’s buddy. I understand you sublet The Sublet your room till august. The thing is The Sublet told me it was cool if I sleep in his room as well. Me and The Sublet design websites for companies. The thing is The Sublet is in the hospital, and won’t be out for a while. If its alright I would take over the rent for the sublet of your room. I am going to mount a this coming fall for computer science. I can afford 200 a month for sure if you’d let me stay here. 

Thanks, The Squatter

This spawned numerous questions. Why was there a web designer squatting in my room? Why is The Sublet in the hospital? Where’s my rent money? 

I got back to him with these questions, hoping The Sublet wasn’t in a tragic accident (keep in mind, I had no idea he was a lunatic at this point). Here’s the response:

Hey Phil the thing is The Sublet isn’t coming back he probably isn’t coming out for a while. I’d definitely be down on giving you the checks whenever man I’m not at the house today but I’ll be there tonight. I’ll write you the checks of 200 for the months I talked to The Sublet’s dad and he said keep the 100 he paid already so. Phil The Sublet was arrested last Monday night and was sent to the hospital for psychotic behavior. I just thought I’d let you know. He will not be coming back. 

Let me know when you’ll be around sackville.

Thanks, The Squatter 

HOLD THE PHONE. Psychotic behaviour? What the fuck is that suppose to mean? Why was this guy arrested? I had to get to the bottom of this. I quickly made my way to Sackville to do some investigating.

Several months back, I realized that there is rarely any decent jobs in my little university town of only a few thousand people. I wasn’t very excited about it, but it was inevitable that I would have to move back in with my parents for another dull summer working for the city. Little did I know that this would lead me to meeting one of the most interesting, neurotic and (quite literally) insane people I’ve ever crossed paths with. 

Knowing that the house I rent is a 12-month lease, I needed someone to sublet the place for the summer months so I could save some cash. I posted an add on kijiji. I jazzed it up to make it catch some eyes, and I got quite a few responses for it. Here’s the original add: 

Everything included! it’s like an all-inclusive resort! OMG!

Alright, everyone. You’ve been led to this beautiful website for a reason: You need a place to live. But not just any place; you desire a place that is big, beautiful, fully furnished with everything you can think of to be included! Look no further, for you have found your calling. This baby is only a few years old, and has so much included, you’ll contemplate killing me and living there all year. Sorry, this is for the summer only. BUT BEFORE YOU CLICK “BACK” TO LOOK AT ALL THE OTHER APARTMENTS, read on about the mind-blowing amenities that comes along with this place.

This place has got some awesome digs. CHECK IT:
- Unlimited electricity for sweet video game parties!
- Unlimited water for crazy slip n slides!
- Satellite television with a big screen tv, so you’ll never want to miss an episode of 90210!
- Internet is included for awesome cat videos! 
- Big walk-in closet for the ultimate hermit!
- Washer n dryer, not coin operated, so you can stay so fresh n so clean clean all the time!
- Back deck with a BBQ and a great view of the neighbour’s house!
- Huge front lawn for sweet cartwheel action! 
- OH MY GOD A TRAMPOLINE? YUP.

“Seriously, all included for only $200?”
I know how tough it is to get people to sublet your place over the summer. This is actually costing me $400 a month (because of all the amazing stuff i listed above), but I know people don’t want to pay that much over the summer. SO IM WILLING TO PAY HALF YOUR RENT. You get all this amazing stuff for only 200 bucks. I’ll be paying the rest and living in Moncton like a sucker, while you’re taking advantage of me having picnics on the trampoline with all my attractive roommates. 

Girls and guys are both encouraged, theres a mix of us there anyways. The place is a great balance between work and fun, so if you want to sit in the basement and not take advantage of everything the place has to offer, thats cool. and if you want to drink yourself silly every night, the roommates probably wouldn’t have an issue with that. 

WARNING: IF YOU BRING HOME A MAN/WOMAN AFTER A NIGHT OF HEAVY DRINKING, YOU ARE SUBJECT TO THE TERMS AND AGREEMENTS OF THE HOUSE, WHICH INCLUDE BEING WOKEN UP TO “WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?” UNTIL YOU BOTH LEAVE THE BEDROOM IN SHAME. FAIR WARNING. 

All this stuff aside, it’s an enormous, beautiful, new house with a ton of artwork, activities and great, easy-going people. Sackville is a great place to spend the summer, so do it in style in this wicked house. 

I look forward to doing business with you, 
Phil

Several people contacted me (including a homeless man with his pregnant girlfriend living in a hotel, but that’s a whole other blog), but no students. Finally, I received this e-mail: 

SUP BRAH?! 
IM TOTALLY INTERESTED IN UR SWEET BALLZ APPARTMENT. 

No but seriously, 
Im very interested in your place for the summer. Here’s my life: 
I’m moving out of my parents house, looking for a place to live till September. I’m going to be going to mount A come the fall, so this’ll be perfect until I find the place I want. I’ve got a big screen TV with a PS3, so I dunno how that would fit in the house, but we’ll figure something out. 

I’d be interested in coming to see the place ASAP. talk to you soon!

Seems innocent enough. I exchanged a few e-mails with him, and we got down to business. I told myself that I would accept the first reasonable person to give me money. Never again will I stick to such a foolish plan. He fronted me $100 to hold the room for him. That was the last time he gave me any money. And thus, the first chapter of my sublet and I’s relationship begins. Little did I know that it would develop into the convoluted mess of police, drunk driving, drugs and weapons.