Saturday morning I travelled to Fresno to secure graduate housing. That very same evening I returned to reality to file this report.
The morning sun was already baking the landscape as I climbed the grapevine on my way to Fresno. It was only 9 am yet the thermometer read 90. The high in Fresno was supposed to be 111. Imagine my disappointment when it was only 107.
My first stop was to meet Cory. She had a 3 BR/ 2 BA condo in Clovis. I have not figured out yet what differentiates Clovis from Fresno. It’s sort of like the blur between Los Angeles and Pasadena that some people call Glendale. Anyhow, I was off to a good start. Her condo was actually a condo (see below), and in great shape. She was a renter, but it was her home. The utilities were included along with high speed internet Wi-Fi. It turns out she was a correctional officer in a federal prison in Mendota.
My next visit was to Kelvin. He advertised a 3 BR/ 2 BA “condo”. I have learned quickly that “condo” is a term used very loosely in Fresno, and that easy freeway access, often equates to freeway adjacent, off ramp outside bedroom window. Anyway, I turned down Fairmont Ave, which was true to the theory that the fancier the street name, the lower the class of the neighborhood. The multiple cars on lawns bore this out. I then pulled into Winery Circle, and called Kevin. A middle aged African American man came out to greet me. He had glasses and a Hawaiian shirt, sort of a Robin Williams meets Cedric the Entertainer. He was jovial, and asked me in to his abode. His apartment was classic black bachelor pad—not that I would know, as I grew up in a lily white suburb, and had only seen black people in National Geographic, Sports Illustrated, and the nightly news.
Like a flooding river, the muddy earth toned shag carpet swallowed everything in its path, including the ebony coffee table, lazy boy recliner, and then lapped up against the sides of the Naugahyde sofa. Elephant candelabras adorned the walls along with African masks. A Laurence Fishburne movie was paused on the direcTV. I’ll chalk that up to coincidence. He showed me the kitchen, which revealed it to be a well-appointed kitchen. “Let me show you the patio,” he said. He then pulled back a dented vertical blind to reveal the back yard, where I was told I “could relax and enjoy the fresh air.” What lay outside was a flea market horror show: a half raised EZ up shaded a card table with cigarette butts piled high, next to a carburetor, with a rusting oil drum BBQ smoker off to the side. He chuckled, "Could use a little TLC." "Yeah," I thought, "Total Liquidation of Contents."
We then made our way upstairs. I carefully made my way by one of those Z gallery wine racks that was a cut out of an elephant with inverted bottles of white zinfandel.
The bedroom had that comfortable feeling that one might expect in a “safe house”. There was a futon that had seen better days, and a desk that appeared impossibly small. I turned to Kelvin, and smiled, " I see the cable jacks, but do you have Wi-Fi?"
His blank expression would have made Marcel Marceau blink. "Uh…no…I don’t have the internet. I..uh…had my ID stolen a while back and they used it to open an ATT and Comcast account. I’m still straightening it out."
I thanked him profusely, and stepped back into the furnace that was Fresno. I think the weather forecast was accurate.
My next stop was to meet Jesus of Fresno. Now, this Jesus was not a carpenter. He had higher sights. He wanted to be a cop. He was to start the LAPD academy in January. Now he had told me this on the phone, which begged the question, “Who the hell am I going to live with?”, but I had agreed to meet him anyway. His condo was a condo, which made me 2 for 3. I finally located it, and parked—easily I might add, which is one bona fide plus Fresno offers the modern world.
He met me outside and invited me in to see the joint, and to meet his girlfriend Bettina. His girlfriend was frying something in the kitchen, and the greasy smell wafted out to greet my unsuspecting nostrils. This, plus there appeared to have been a windstorm recently that centered its destruction solely within the confines of his apartment. “Excuse the mess. My roommate is in the process of moving.”
“Yeah, right”, I thought. I just couldn’t imagine the person who would live with these two, but I knew it wasn’t me. I saw his computer and asked if they have Wi-Fi.
“No. We get our internet from the neighbor whose connection is unprotected.” On that note I thanked Jesus of Fresno, and bid Bettina farewell.
My final stop was with Dave and his semi-employed roommate Mark. Dave was a Fresno Native who really wanted me to live with him. He had called me twice to confirm my arrival time, as Mark wanted to meet me too. I ended up being an hour later than planned. Dave’s house was in NW Fresno. I pulled up to an early 70's house that could have been the Brady house, that is if Mike Brady had been a Meth Chemist instead of an architect. The yard was ill kept, and dusty. I knocked and Dave answered. “Hi Adam!” He was so excited to have me visit. He let me in, and showed me into the kitchen where I met Mark. Mark was one of those skinny white guys with the little beer belly. He had bags under his eyes that were so big he’d have to check them before getting on a plane. He looked up from his iPhone long enough to see he had a visitor. He then rose and shook my hand. “Hi. Nice to meet you.” And that was that. The curtain descended, and he was gone.
Dave cheerfully showed me around. “Mark and I are very clean.” If you see anything dirty it was the previous tenant. Well, the previous tenants had certainly been busy converting a house into something uninhabitable. Dave led me outside to an enclosed patio that was about 150 degrees. “This is Mark’s work area.” I saw some carpentry tools, a half refinished chair, and beer cans….tons of beer cans.
After the warm greeting, and the visit to the recycling center, it was time to see the bedrooms. Stained carpets and dirty walls gave way to dusty closets and a filthy bathroom. Dave wanted to sit and chat. I begged off and wished him well. I even forgot to ask about Wi-Fi.
I ended up at a Starbucks. By the way, they have Wi-Fi. I quickly called Cory. She was more than happy to rent to me. She even pro-rated the rent. After two iced coffees, I made my way to the 99 and headed to that town south of Bakersfield.
