A happy ending to an unhappy story

Frankie Leclair

Things certainly have an interesting way of working out when you think you’ve hit rock bottom.

Only a few weeks ago I was at that rocky surface thinking I’d be couch surfing for the months to come. I had given myself three full months to find an apartment with a friend but as the moving date got closer we were finding ourselves in the middle of a bad batch of circumstances.

Broken promises, unanswered phone calls and faulty fax machines all played a role in three flopped apartment opportunities. We couldn’t understand our streak of bad luck.

As I tried to piece it together I had karma on my mind. What had I done in the past that could punish me in this way? Nothing came to mind. I’m a responsible tenant and past landlords would have nothing bad to say about me.

All I had sought to find was a smaller apartment with fewer people. For two years I had endured a crowded bungalow, sometimes housing up to seven people at once. It was a free-for-all with a constant bathroom queue and a rotten smell wafting from the fridge. It was too much to keep up, and frankly, I just wanted my own space.

But as my apartment hunting was failing, there was increasing tension between my new roommate and myself. To add to the tension, I received a statement saying my loan had been reduced to a mere pocket full of change. Things were not shaping up as planned, and now we would have to find an apartment cheap enough for me to afford.

With only days to go before the looming move-out date, I set out on one last mission through the streets of Ottawa. Equipped with my ipod and cell phone I covered a 100-block radius in three hot and tiresome days. There was little hope left but the pressure of time was enough to keep me going. In those three days I found about 30 prospects and all I got out of it was one call back and a couple of sore feet. Of course the call back was simply to tell me the apartment in question had already been rented.

Fresh out of hope and no home in sight I packed up my belongings and moved out of the house I so wished I could stay in despite the less-than-ideal living conditions. I found storage in a relative’s basement and temporary refuge in a friend’s apartment. I had reached the breaking point - rock bottom.

But as mentioned, hitting rock-bottom could only mean things were bound to start looking up.

Just as I was mapping out my couch surfing plans for the coming months, my employers offered me a side job, which also included a place to live downtown and a little extra cash. It was a deal I couldn’t pass up. Unfortunately it meant breaking plans to live with my friend, but I had to think of what was best for me.

After months of hunting, weeks of desperation and many hours of pure meltdowns all my stresses and worries had cleared in an interesting way to say the least. Sure my home for the next few months is in a hostel, not a cozy apartment like I had imagined, but everything worked out just as it was supposed to. I have a place to call home for a while, that’s all I need.