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Worldwide Ace » Battling the Wizard – Part III

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Battling the Wizard – Part III

19 February, 2014 (06:45) | Growing Up

Continued from
Battling the Wizard – Part I
Battling the Wizard – Part II

The following catalogs the turmoil that led
to my sudden move to Nederland at the end of January.
It’s extremely long, though each part is reasonable article length.

thewizard

The house is a four bedroom, two bathroom stand-alone with a backyard that abuts Bear Creek. The bike path runs along the opposite side. There’s a large kitchen, a dining room area, and two common areas. There’s a laundry room, an attached garage, and driveway. There’s enough street parking for two more vehicles without parking in front of a neighbor’s house. The lawn, if one could call it that, is regularly mowed, but made up of weeds. The porch and stairs down are solid enough, but likely need repair or replacement soon. It’s an older house, built seemingly cheaply in the 60s, and as such, it’s poorly insulated, falling apart in places, and creakily loud.

Inside, the Wizard has claimed the upstairs two bedrooms, the largest in the house and its neighbor, the latter of which he’s converted into an office. The upstairs bathroom, while used by guests, is the Wizard’s alone for all other purposed. The kitchen, which is spacious, has a table as its majority countertop. At the time I moved in, the stove was breaking, the fridge had just been replaced with a smaller model, and the dishwasher very quickly died (and was replaced). The dining room features multiple shelves and dressers for added food storage, and the kitchen cabinets are divided between the roommates. The living room had two couches, including a tiny futon, a coffee table, and a plethora of the Wizard’s antiques. The downstairs bathroom had no bathtub (though the Wizard said if I needed a bath, I could use the upstairs tub; the stains on the bottom of the tub were creepily in the shape of someone sitting there, though I couldn’t say how old they were), instead featuring a shower only, the sliding doors no longer properly aligned with the now warped frame. The two basement bedrooms were of roughly equal size, and the downstairs common area, furnished nearly fully by Jesse, had enough space for a small den and some bookshelves. The laundry room, which featured added storage, was also split between roommates, though seemingly more by need than equitably. The garage had been converted by the Wizard into a workshop, a modicum of storage space used by all. There was no room for a vehicle any larger than maybe a motorcycle.

For all of this, rent was $1425. Despite the differences in space usage, rent was split evenly. I raised an eyebrow at this, but $475 a month is an excellent deal even for the amount of space I would have.

As the move neared, I started to hear complaints from the Wizard: the noise in the morning would be too much; he claimed I never said people came over for breakfast in the mornings come ski season; I had too much stuff and should get rid of some; I couldn’t be making too much noise at night. It began to add to the stress of the move. I began telling myself that if there were issues, I’d move to Nederland first thing. I was already planning to be in Boston the entire month of September, meaning I wouldn’t even have time to fully unpack before I flew out. And then Jesse ran into a few snags with his move, delaying a week, meaning that I’d have to move in a few days before he could finish moving out.

We arranged to store boxes in the common areas, mostly out of the way. I began to figure out what was worth bringing and what wasn’t.

“Do we need a grill? Mine isn’t in the greatest condition.”

“Nope, I have one,” he said, the small Weber ample to cook for a couple of people, but not a crowd. I silently lamented that I would no longer be able to host summer grilling parties, but his grill was in better condition than mine. Mine also was deteriorating and breaking, so I left it roadside when I moved; it was gone within an hour.

“How is the kitchen stocked?” I asked.

“We have everything you’ll need,” he told me. “Maybe some drinking glasses.” The Wizard insisted the kitchen was fully stocked and needed none of my gear; for the most part that was true, with plates and silverware aplenty. I carefully packed away my cooking gear, keeping only what I noted really was missing: a few mugs (the Wizard’s mugs were off-limits, taking up an entire shelf); measuring cups (the Wizard’s cups were specially for his oatmeal, and he went as far as to label them “the Wizard’s; Do Not Use”); my coffee machine (the Wizard reminded me that he had given up coffee because of the caffeine, yet he mainlined green tea) and wok.

As I began to shift boxes and furniture from my sublet to the house, I quickly realized that the timing of removing the last things from storage from Shady Hollow, working a full-time job with no support from my employer, and moving all the things I had already moved into the sublet meant that I had no free time. The Wizard complained that 8 was too late to move and that I’d been making noise all night. My other house needed me out, and I didn’t have a choice. With only a few things left to grab, the Wizard left me a nasty voicemail saying the move was stressing him out and he needed the van back ASAP. I obliged, dropping it the next morning and making other arrangements to finish moving my stuff. It added to the stress, but I was grateful for just having the van in the first place.

Continued in
Battling the Wizard – Part IV

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