Moving in New Orleans

Po Boy views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Moving In New Orleans

Or

Mystory

            I’ve had a series of ten personal moving experiences in New Orleans in the last twenty years, I’m not talking about dancing steps, psychic breakthroughs or intestinal functions; I’m talking about the whole relocating ‘pilot experience’: “pick it up here, pile it there”. Granted the moves were from not only my living quarters, but my brick and mortar shops as well; in both cases, in a word, it sucks. Angrily I threatened with this last move, that if there is a next time, in another insultingly short stretch of inhabitational tenure, I’m gonna pack the wife and critters in the car and drive out of town, leaving everything that we own for the termites and the trash men. I am tired of being pushed around by the Fates and Furies; I’ll move to Gretna and begin life over as a virgin.

            No matter how good a relationship you have as a tenant with your landlord it’s still a tenuous situation at best; only one move was made voluntarily, the rest have been a case of me being forced out against my will, either by monetary demands or uninhabitable living conditions. Moving in, moving out, moving in, moving out, moving in; it’s enough to drive a person sober.

            Money situations in general occur when the landlord believes they can get more rent than you’ve contracted with them, and the conversation goes: Landlord: “either pay the increase or move”. Generally these increases are structured to get you out or misuse you financially like a redheaded stepchild (am I allowed to say that?).

The living conditions that may force you out is generally the landlord who is more concerned with taking your money without reciprocating by performing logical necessary maintenance of their property. That can include everything from inadequate protection from the elements (leaking ceilings, faulty plumbing) to lack of protection from other invasive life forms (roaches, frogs, rodents); and all that falls under the expansive category of ‘demolition by neglect’.  It boggles the mind how landlords can rent out property then turn their backs on it; conversely, it’s a darn shame that tenants have been conditioned to the mind set of ‘if I complain about needing something fixed, they’ll either raise my rent or throw me out’ which is very warranted. My personal philosophy is to pay the rent on time and contact the landlord as little as possible (like never). 

            All of these moves come at most inconvenient times, cost money, time and mental/emotional upsets; it’s unsettling and psychologically demoralizing to wake up in the middle of the night to take a leak and have to re-acclimate, recalibrate and remember in which direction the bathroom of reality and not memory lay.  Yes, we’ve recently moved again.

            What has become tradition in New Orleans for folks relocating within the parish is that you’re ousted from what has become home (10 years) by forces beyond your control (termite infestation); what you do is find someplace smaller and more expensive. In our case we found a lovely place with a terrific landlord (who lives in the other half of the double) in the same neighborhood that we’ve been living in. So, we’ve lost our house but not our neighbors. Win win?

            So we ‘downsized’ five rooms into four; five bigger rooms with taller ceilings in to four smaller wonderfully well maintained rooms. Central air and heat, washer/dryer of our own (new for us), great place. The first months the cats went from bewildered stares to feline ‘stink eye’ glares. The dog kept wanting to go back to our old place; the feral cat that we’d been feeding was/is discombobulated by our departure, as well the possum that used to visit our porch for evening feedings. Our mail has not come through; our water bill is somewhere in limbo; somebody stole our recycling container.

            We moved two bedrooms, desk, piano, armoire, the entire kitchen and living room and 125 banana boxes of ‘stuff’. We look like a mobile garage sale. Our old furniture looks like a herd of mastodons trying to elbow their way through a Salvation Army shop. Even our car looks like it feels out of place. After four months of us vacating the old place, virtually no work has been done on it; we could have stayed and enjoyed Jazz Fest and Fourth of July as we had done for ten years; but nooooo. Our neighbor on the other side likewise was thrown out.

All of our yard plantings had to be uprooted or abandoned as well as the three cats that are buried in the back yard.

            I am in fear that I’m going to be moving for the rest of my life. Floods, fires and the destruction of the city have all come with moves already; what’s next? Plagues, the overthrow of the government, free tickets to Paris? “Sorry, I have to wait for the cable guy”.           A cure for what ails me; a kidnapping; scholarship; dinner for two in a fine bistro?  “Can’t tonight, I have to get up early to rent my U-Haul”. Let’s go fishing, to a ball game, I’ve got tickets to see Beyonce!  “I’d really like to but, I need to catch the produce guy at Rouse’s and beg for some banana boxes so I can pack”.

            Yeah, it’s gonna go on forever; I’m gonna miss the Zombie Apocalypse, Alien invasion, winning lottery payoff and the epiphany of our elected officials; I’ll be at the bank getting a loan for my first down/security deposit. Years from now it’ll be summer by the beach, an evacuation, tornadoes, and the second coming that I’ll be missing; I’ll be hauling boxes and making out changes of address for the mail that will never reach me. At least one thing I know for now: come hell or high water, there’s nothing that’s gonna chase me out of my city. New Orleans: you’re stuck with me!