On gender, roommates, and being mobbed

It’s Sunday morning, a day when I often catch the rebroadcast of the Wait wait, don’t tell me! on a second NPR station offering programming in Puget Sound. The real estate mobbers working in the north and south mobbing houses have been attempting to heighten the intensity of their mobbing and jumped right onto the stage with Peter Sagal when the tuner fixed on the signal.

The intensification of the mobbing harassment might seek to take advantage of the stress that having to evict a scofflaw roommate adds to my already difficult situation as a legal resident who has been the target of a malicious and development-related attempt at constructive eviction now for years.

Or perhaps, as the voice of the franchise family girlfriend voice of the south house mobbing owner once declared during mobbing harassment when she probed to see how she might best manipulate me, they’re hoping that the additional stress of a roommate who is essentially forcing me to pay his rent will be the “friction point” that forces some break and compels me to finally move.

It could also be the fact that the 10th of the month is the day by which notice must be given for the end of the month on Seattle tenancies. But I’m not completely sure I’ve been able to see a pattern of increases and decreases in the intensity of the harassment approaching and following the tenth.

And it could also be my increasing openness about what is happening here or the upcoming auction for the abandoned house down the street that I’ve already written about.

Or it could just be the fact that it’s the weekend, and this is one of their weekend pastimes.

It is a sad thing to have to evict someone while defending one’s own tenancy from criminal speculators and a corrupt neighborhood watch. It’s a sad thing to be forced to evict a roommate who pretty obviously moved in in bad faith while defending the rights of property owners to lease out their homes and the rights of owners and tenants to enjoy a contract without the insertion of tortious interference by acquisitive developers, criminal speculators, and a malicious neighborhood watch. It’s this kind of thing that makes clear just how great a factor gender is in not only being seen as a good target for the malevolence of a sociopathic neighborhood watch captain and her coterie of corrupt co-captains but seen as an easy target by a small-minded octogenarian builder from podunkville and his podunk politics, by two self-professed “redneck” men in white coats who almost certainly were of the intention to acquire and raze my rental home from the get-go, and then sadly by men I made the mistake of allowing inside my own home, men who barely listened to the terms I set out for tenancy, one who hasn’t paid a dime of rent and the other who makes much of his “small business” and all of his sundry needs and wants but who failed to bat an eye when I told him that the owner of the north mobbing house had been talking to one of the new owners about shooting me in the face.

I try to find roommates who are responsible human beings, hopefully progressive and kind, and who enjoy the privileges and responsibilities of living in a house, like tending a garden and managing compost, recycling and waste disposal. It is probably because I haven’t had the heart to make a tougher application process and don’t insist upon adequate deposits, but it seems very difficult to get mature roommates who understand the difference between living in a house and living in an apartment in Seattle, and I have been stiffed for rent and my belongings damaged numerous times when I have objected to things that were against the terms of the rental or would have quickly resulted in a notice to comply-or-quit notice had I been a traditional landlord enforcing the terms of even a basic lease agreement in Seattle.

In this case, both of the fifty-ish men I made the mistake of sharing with seem to be willing to let me take out their trash, recycling and compost, to do their dishes while complaining about mine, to do all the gardening work (unless I pay them for work I do for free), to pay for additional wireless devices and services for them, while complaining about everything from counter space, refrigerator storage, lack of sponges, the quirky sounds of the new washer and dryer I purchased for the house, their inability to learn how to lock and unlock the doors of this older home, the travails of package delivery, to their bouts with stomach flu (likely induced in this case by making smoothies in the bathroom, yes, almost literally eating where he shits because he is unwilling to abstain from using his Ninja in the kitchen during others’ sleeping hours and immediately set up a “kitchen” in his bathroom downstairs, if you can imagine, though it could possibly also be his lack of skill at actually washing grease and particulate from his dishes), the quality of the WiFi, and whatever else was or was not part of the baseline terms of their supposed temporary (and paid) tenancies. These are the kind of men I have usually been able to successfully avoid and would have avoided were it not for the fact of the neighbors’ aggression.

Women who are victimized by sociopathic queen bees who never got over the thrill of bullying other girls on the playground or women who are taken advantage of by shady developers and their criminal speculator friends—even women like me who’ve tended to make choices for the alternative and the progressive throughout their lives—look like good victims to the men who look for them.

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