Living in a Tent with a 60" High-Def TV Seems Pointless

I find tenants who become friendly with me might as well put up a billboard telling me they will eventually fail. They want me to get to know them, like them and be willing to overlook minor transgressions. Early on, I did.

And, I would say 99 percent of the time getting to know a tenant ends ugly. Even ones where they have the best of intentions, ultimately, playing the friendly card ends in me asking them to leave. There are exceptions to this. In fact, right now I am working with a woman who I would like to see break this pattern. But, I know better and I am prepared for the worst.

A couple of years ago I met the Smiths. Mr. Smith chatted away about how great they were, how he could sing and how they so wanted a chance to be in my program. He barraged me with extraneous information about his family, sent me pictures of his kids and talked me up every chance he got.

Though this kind of attention was sweet, I have to admit, I have always kind of regarded him as a pesky little brother who I wish wouldn't call me. I dreaded hearing from him because I knew it was for some sort of bad news wound around a long-running saga. In fact, I would have traded all the photos of his family for one check arriving without drama. I am sure he has the best of intentions. I am equally sure he has a short term memory deficit when it comes to executing those intentions. He was my handyman for a short time--which if you keep up with this, know how that ended.

I knew I would be going down the foreclosure road with them several months ago. Miraculously they pulled it out. But before pulling it out I got long drawn-out stories that really break down to this: circumstances in his life changed. Yada yada.

Yawn. Everyone's circumstances change.

He paid his mortgage for a reasonably longer period of time too but then fell behind. Finally, after working to get caught up they just stopped. I would feel worse for them if they didn't have a Neptune washer and dryer, a nicer electronic equipment than my husband's and their furniture wasn't top of the line. I am not ridiculing them for their possessions, but I don't see how stuff can be more important than a place to live.

Personally, I would rather hang my wet clothes up outside (and recently did for several weeks) than miss a mortgage payment. I would rather sit on the floor instead of a couch than give my children memories of loosing a home. Who knows, maybe they bought that stuff in a happier time. Maybe their things were gifts. Who am I to judge?

I knew the end was near when they started telling me they sent their payment in, but I never received it. When I would mention I didn't get it, they wouldn't seem the least bit phased. "Oh... my payment didn't make it and the money is in limbo? That's so sad..."

When I think of the sane people in my life, NOBODY I know would sit back and not wonder what happened to a large chunk of cash. They would be stopping payment and raising hell to find out where their money went. When it gets to this point, I know I can foreclose.

The foreclosure process is different than the rental eviction and takes longer. I have to wait longer to serve the deadbeats and there are other legal factors. But, it happens.

Tomorrow, thankfully, the Smiths will answer their door to my process server who will hand them their walking papers. This will start the legalities and I will probably have to wait several more weeks to get everything accomplished. But at least I won't have to hear any more yada yadas.