Midder Peenud Hayed
07-15-2019, 10:19 PM
Somewhere in the greater Los Angeles area, not long after the Holidays, 2000...
For 3-1/2 years, throughout B-school, and then for almost a year after that, I lived in a squalid, fetid, cesspool of a dump.
My (paternal) grandfather was a total slumlord (and that was just a hobby). He owned the apartment complex, and he let me live in the manager’s unit behind the office for free. It was basically a bedroom with a tiny bathroom and a joke of a kitchenette (nothing worked).
The complex was almost all section-8 and Mexicans. When I first moved in, there were a few nigger nests, but the Mexicans pushed them out pretty quick. In all the time I was there, I can only remember one other White tenant other than the morbidly-obese manager and her old bag of a mother. They lived in one of the two-bedroom units, but Fatso used the office in front of my unit during the day.
There were drug deals in the parking lots at all hours. There was nonstop gang activity. The cops were always being called for one reason or another.
I struggled the summer after I finished school. I wanted to land a “career level” job that would look good on my resume. I was very driven and took whatever temporary gigs I could get. Some of them were rather embarrassing, to be honest. But I wanted out of that shit-hole more than I can tell you.
A few months went by, and I was offered my first “real” job as a finance manager at a Honda dealership. It was a great job! I loved it. Fun environment, great people, great bosses… In a few months, I finally had put away enough scratch to get a new place.
By this time, my girlfriend (now, pain-in-the-ass wife) and I were quite involved. She was finishing up her MEd and I decided to move closer to the campus. She was here on a student visa. There were all kinds of rules about “cohabitation”. Even though we were 23 and 25, we were constantly sneaking around like we were still in high school.
My friend at work set me up with a Realtor, and she found me this awesome place about 6 blocks from the campus. It was a 1 bedroom condo with lots of space, new carpet, covered parking, a pool – 1,000 times better than the toilet I lived in for so long.
I put down my deposits, signed a 12-month lease, and started counting the days. As I recall, it was about 6 weeks out. I rented a storage unit and started filling it with stuff – a bed, 2 cool captain’s chairs, people at work gave me a ton of shit – I was ready to go!
Up to that point, I don’t think that I had ever anticipated anything more than that move. What little I had in “The Dump”, I packed up in the first week.
When The Big Day arrived, I rented a panel van, had a couple of buds along for help, my wife and her friend were there, and I was about to pee myself with glee.
Mid-morning on that Saturday, we turned a corner onto my new street, and found it completely blocked off by the cops. There were a half-dozen emergency vehicles, and at least a dozen cops. On the other end of the street, we could see a KTLA news van.
Someone (Mexican gang, no doubt) had dumped a dead nigger in the dumpster behind the Denny’s right across the street from my new love nest!
The cops would not allow us down the street while the “investigation” was being conducted. Both my friends had given me a time-frame. They had other things to do later in the afternoon. At about 14:00, they both bolted; my wife’s friend shortly thereafter.
At about 20:00, the cops waived us through. By that time, all I had for help was my wife. We didn’t get moved in until after 03:00 the next morning! I had to pay another day’s rental on the truck.
The takeaway here is, even when niggers are dead, they can still fuck up your life and shit on your dreams.
For 3-1/2 years, throughout B-school, and then for almost a year after that, I lived in a squalid, fetid, cesspool of a dump.
My (paternal) grandfather was a total slumlord (and that was just a hobby). He owned the apartment complex, and he let me live in the manager’s unit behind the office for free. It was basically a bedroom with a tiny bathroom and a joke of a kitchenette (nothing worked).
The complex was almost all section-8 and Mexicans. When I first moved in, there were a few nigger nests, but the Mexicans pushed them out pretty quick. In all the time I was there, I can only remember one other White tenant other than the morbidly-obese manager and her old bag of a mother. They lived in one of the two-bedroom units, but Fatso used the office in front of my unit during the day.
There were drug deals in the parking lots at all hours. There was nonstop gang activity. The cops were always being called for one reason or another.
I struggled the summer after I finished school. I wanted to land a “career level” job that would look good on my resume. I was very driven and took whatever temporary gigs I could get. Some of them were rather embarrassing, to be honest. But I wanted out of that shit-hole more than I can tell you.
A few months went by, and I was offered my first “real” job as a finance manager at a Honda dealership. It was a great job! I loved it. Fun environment, great people, great bosses… In a few months, I finally had put away enough scratch to get a new place.
By this time, my girlfriend (now, pain-in-the-ass wife) and I were quite involved. She was finishing up her MEd and I decided to move closer to the campus. She was here on a student visa. There were all kinds of rules about “cohabitation”. Even though we were 23 and 25, we were constantly sneaking around like we were still in high school.
My friend at work set me up with a Realtor, and she found me this awesome place about 6 blocks from the campus. It was a 1 bedroom condo with lots of space, new carpet, covered parking, a pool – 1,000 times better than the toilet I lived in for so long.
I put down my deposits, signed a 12-month lease, and started counting the days. As I recall, it was about 6 weeks out. I rented a storage unit and started filling it with stuff – a bed, 2 cool captain’s chairs, people at work gave me a ton of shit – I was ready to go!
Up to that point, I don’t think that I had ever anticipated anything more than that move. What little I had in “The Dump”, I packed up in the first week.
When The Big Day arrived, I rented a panel van, had a couple of buds along for help, my wife and her friend were there, and I was about to pee myself with glee.
Mid-morning on that Saturday, we turned a corner onto my new street, and found it completely blocked off by the cops. There were a half-dozen emergency vehicles, and at least a dozen cops. On the other end of the street, we could see a KTLA news van.
Someone (Mexican gang, no doubt) had dumped a dead nigger in the dumpster behind the Denny’s right across the street from my new love nest!
The cops would not allow us down the street while the “investigation” was being conducted. Both my friends had given me a time-frame. They had other things to do later in the afternoon. At about 14:00, they both bolted; my wife’s friend shortly thereafter.
At about 20:00, the cops waived us through. By that time, all I had for help was my wife. We didn’t get moved in until after 03:00 the next morning! I had to pay another day’s rental on the truck.
The takeaway here is, even when niggers are dead, they can still fuck up your life and shit on your dreams.