Earlier this week Susan and I received a Christmas card from an old co-worker, out in Spokane. Reading the card reminded me of my first week in Spokane, back in the summer of 1996.
The night before I left for Spokane, Washington to start my new job with the FAA, I packed my Dodge Neon with the bare essentials I would need to survive — a small color television, my computer (a 486/100 in the tallest PC case I’ve ever owned), a monitor, all my computer disks and CDs, a CD boom box, every audio CD I owned (400 or so) and a small suitcase with a week’s worth of clothes. Susan stayed behind in Oklahoma, tying up loose ends (like selling our house), with the intention of bringing the rest of our belongings to Washington with her in a huge U-Haul truck a few weeks later.
I made the 1,800 mile drive in three days, sleeping and napping in my car at rest stops and parking lots along the way. I left on a Monday and arrived in Spokane Wednesday afternoon. I slept in my car that night too, and by Thursday I smelled pretty rank. That morning I found the apartment that we would eventually live in for the next 18 months, but it wasn’t available for ten days. Needing a place to stay for the next two weeks, I began crossing Spokane systematically until I found a cute little lot renting apartments for $99 a week. From the road, I could see the stand-alone dollhouse apartments. During the winter, they served as small ski rental units for tourists. During the summer for the most part, they sat vacant.
After talking with the manager, I learned that those small, stand-alone units were actually $199 a week. The $99 units, which I was promised were also nice and clean, were further in the back. I paid for the first week, and drove back to see my new temporary residence.
“32B, the one just after the bus,” the owner informed me.
Behind the first few rows of cute, small apartments I found a dumpy trailer park. I had no problem spotting the bus — it was still painted yellow, with a giant tie-died Jimi Hendrix tapestry hanging over the windshield, acting as a curtain. Right past the bus was a mobile home with a line drawn vertically down the middle. The front door of the trailer read 32A. The rear door was 32B.
I parked the Neon next to the back door and began unpacking my belongings, carrying them into my half of the mobile home (which consisted of the master bedroom and master bathroom). To its credit, the room did have Cable TV and a telephone. Just minutes after moving everything from the car to the room, there was a knock at the door; it was Tammy, the girl who lived in the bus. After introducing herself, Tammy wanted to know if she could borrow my phone. For some reason, I said yes.
For the next hour or so, this strange girl sat in the recliner of my bedroom, yapping on the phone. I had made the assumption Tammy had to make an emergency call or something, but no, she had just wanted to chat with her friends. After an hour, I interrupted her and told her I was getting ready to go get some lunch. She asked me if I would pick up some McDonald’s for her if she gave me a couple of bucks. Again, I agreed.
Keep in mind that I now had my computer, thousands of dollars of CDs, and everything I owned in Spokane in my room. I got a very uncomfortable feeling about my new neighbor and so, before going to McDonald’s, I loaded everything from the room BACK into my Neon. This is a routine I would repeat every time I left my room throughout the next week. Even if I were simply running to the convenient store to pick up a drink, I would pack up all my belongings (a fifteen or twenty minute process) into the car; upon returning, I’d unpack everything once again.
Tammy came over a few more times to use the phone. Whenever she would knock I would pick up the phone and pretend like I was on it before answering the door to dissuade her. Occasionally she’d offer to wait until I was off; eventually, the got the point. At some point during the week she told me a long tale about how she had received some chunk of change when some relative of hers had died. With that, she bought the bus and set out to see the world. Unfortunately, the bus broke down in Spokane, leaving her there. I tried to look interested as the words poured out of her mouth.
After staying in half a mobile home for a week, I was done with that place. I packed everything back into the Neon one last time and spent three more days sleeping in my car before moving into our new apartment.