Real life hit in a major way. I managed to get caught in the midst of someone else's marital (or, more correctly in this cse, livng togehter without a marriage license) drama. How typical of my life it is that I managed not to get one ounce of either fun or romance out of the experience.
The owner of the apartment in which I reside while in Canada is a doctor. The person who more or less oversaw the rental was the lady of the house, whom I assumed to be his wife. I was wrong. The two had been living together for roughly two years wthout the beefit of a marrige license, which is absolutely their prerogative, as they're consenting adults. her only child lives on another continent. Two of his children are away at college. The third child of his preious marriage, which ended in his wife's death roughly ten years go, still lives at home. i had no idea the lady of the house was not his mother. He looks far more like her than he does like his father. Those odd coincidences pop up at times.
It all would have unfolded without my being any the wiser until I saw the woman move out were it not for the ridiculously long shift I worked. It's apparently a tradition at this medical school to abuse those serving visiting clerkships, externships, or internships during their first week here. I spent most of the week in the emergency room, not even being allowed to come home to shower or to sleep from Sunday until Thursday morning.
The woman's nephew, who has an alleged close relationship with illegal substances, showed up on the doorstep of the house to which my garage apartment is attached. The nephew had been a guest in the home on a prior occasion. Following the nephew's visit, cash, jewelry, and drugs were discovered to be missing. When the nephew showed up earlier this week, the man of the house refued to let him sleep in a guest room or on the sofa. The lady of the house, a doctor herself, knew of the medical school's tradition o treating visiting
medical students like indentured servants and didn't expect to see me back anytime soon. She gave the guy her key to my apartment.
At about 6;35 on Thursday morning i was finlly allowed to leave the emergency room after being on the premises just over ninety-seven hours. i had been kicked out of the medical students' sleeping quarters by someone who called himself the chief of the four-year medical class. We don't have chiefs among the medical student ranks where I normally study, so I don't know if he really holds a position of leadership or if he was full of bullshit. Wednesday morning at about 3:25.a.m., when I was given ninety minutes to rest, he woke me up and said he didn't know me, and asked to see my ID. I reached for it around my neck and showed it to him. The hospital apparently bought a new machine to make ID cards, and the new ones look considerably different than the old ones. He concluded that my ID was a fake, that I was a homeless person or a teenaged runaway taking advantage of the hospital's hospitality, and he demanded that I leave. Taking a cue from Dr. David Dao, I refused. He summoned a security guard, who told me I would be cuffed and stowed away until the authorities arrived to pick me up if I did not vacate the premises voluntarily. I went back to the E.R. Essentially the same thing happened around 2;00 on Thursday morning.
When I fell asleep standing next to a wall Thursday just after 6:00 a.m., a resident said I needed to go home. I didn't wait around for someone to contradict the guy; I grabbed my belongings and sprinted out of the place. I drove home, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and to climb beneath the covers of my bed. It took almost more energy than I could muster to drag myself up the steps. I unlocked my door, opened it, and flipped the light switch. Immediately I heard a deep "What the fuck!?!?" coming from the direction of my bed. I screamed. "Get the fuck out of here and turn the god-damned light off!" the voice growled at me.
I suggested that he might want to be the one to get the fuck out, as it was my apartment. At this time, the lady of the house made an appearance. "Alexis, what are you DOING here?" she screamed at me.
"I was going to go to bed," I answered her.
"That's not possible," she answered. We argued for several minutes.
The cops or the mounties (or whatever they call them here) showed up. Oh, I forgot. I did dial 911.
The druggie was angry because I woke him. The lady was angry because I called the cops on her nephew. The cops (or mounties) were upset because they had better things to do. The lady asked me to leave. I found my lease. The cops (or mounties) said she couldn't force me to leave because I had a lease. I took one look at my bed and knew that there wasn't a chance in hell that I would sleep in it until the bedding had been replaced and the matress had been steamed clean. I grabbed a suitcase, tossed enough clothing to last for a few days, grabbed my toiletries, and got a hotel room.
The next day I paid the doctor who owns the home a visit in his office. He had heard part of the story. He told me to stay put in the hotel room until Saturday, when the lady and the nephew will both be gone. He said he would pay for the hotel room. I'll believe that when I actually feel the cold cash in my palm.
My Vicodin (ten tablets) is missing. I reported it to the police with my landlord's blessing. He said he will replace it for me. I'm not sure that's any more likely to happen than my being reimbursed for my hotel expenses.