Hydro and Go Seek

What could you live without? If you had to give up something in your life, what would it be? Your laptop or cellphone? Your car? Your favourite food or drink? It is not easy to decide what it would be. But let’s suppose for a moment that you were not the one making that choice. What if something were taken from you that you barely acknowledged or cared about…until it was not there?

I was living in a very poor part of Montreal as a grad student with two other roommates who seemed to be devoted to keeping our place perpetually dirty and rundown. Our landlady would be in almost near-constant contact with us about the filth she both imagined and knew about in our place. Usually, her daughter would climb the stairs of the triplex to handle these problems, and I would act as a mediator. It may have also helped that the landlady was a relative of my family, and that I kept my part of the apartment presentable. I could deal with the pair of them with this evidence of respect. This was okay; this was easy.

The difficult part would be those outside forces that threatened to destabilize all of our simple plans for life as students trying to survive in the city. One roommate had to hide his car from the city because he was trying to avoid having it towed away after ignoring many, many – oh, so many – parking tickets. The other roommate seemed to be at war with his girlfriend’s parents who did not think that a black man with a spotty reputation was the best relationship for their daughter. I only had to find enough money to pay my bills and get enough food to survive while I waited for teaching contracts from different schools and businesses that needed ESL instructors. And that could be difficult. But it was not the most difficult part for all of us. We had forgotten about one little thing: Hydro Quebec.

We had many encounters with the gentlemen with the clipboards and readers. I had been the last one to move in, working with the assumption that the electric bill was covered with all three rent payments. But that was not so. I found out the hard way when I was interrupted making breakfast by a man at the stairwell entrance tapping on our door. The first time, being alone in the house, I did not want to let him in, but I saw the uniform. I spoke a little French and could understand that he had to read our meter. And then, a few months later, he returned again, this time when my roommates were actually at home. It was a different man with the reader and clipboard and I wondered about the stories that were being told about us down at the office. I even felt sorry for them. They had to climb up our flights of outdoor stairs to get to our third-floor apartment (the front door was used so rarely by us or the occasional girlfriend that I wondered why we bothered to have one). They were always courteous and friendly, even when warning us of our impending loss of power. They left a number on a card that we could have called to settle the matter with a payment plan. And we did nothing about it. “What can we do if we have no money, Kendall?” Wise and honest words from one roommate – I was living off of dollar store noodles and tuna; my other roommates had girlfriends with their pantries and generosity (one smart move on their parts) – but it was not enough to prepare me for what came next.

After one visit from the gentlemen from the HQ office, I returned one afternoon after classes to find that we had no power in our apartment. After a quick walk-through of the place, I noted that the fridges were dead, the lamps did not work, and that the sounds provided by electricity – hums, buzzes and the like – were gone (you never really know what you will miss). I also noted that the house was empty, and that the roommates would have their own response to this new situation that might be practical, sensible and actually helpful.

“Looks like they cut the power.”

That was all I got. No plans to put the money together and beg for a reprieve; no help with moving the remaining food out of the fridge; no help with my possible difficulties living in this new space. My roommates left me, quite literally, in the cold. They moved out and that was that. It was the beginning of spring, and I am convinced that was the only reason why they made the cut (there was some talk about how they could not cut the power in the dead of winter, but I really did not believe it). And so, I was on my own.

Now, how did I survive this situation?

With a lot of careful planning…

First, I was a student, writing my final master’s paper on Shakespeare and film. I had a portable laptop but also a portable DVD player with a battery I could charge at school and take home if I needed to watch anything that night (my laptop did not have a DVD player). Also, I did most of my work on campus, and I was still teaching around the city to make some extra money (ESL services did not stop for my problems).

I was also a runner, using the local park as a means of exercise. I noted that, every spring, cricket teams would be there on weekends, and I would continue my runs on the streets and sidewalks. But I was glad that they were there. I discovered that they did not clear out all of their trash when they were done with their matches. A cooler was left behind after one Sunday afternoon and I knew I had found my new fridge. With the right amount of ice and a change in my diet, I could get by. The biggest difficulty with being a runner was that I preferred to do my exercise in the morning before heading out to class. That meant taking a long shower and then getting ready for the day ahead. You can be forgiven for not remembering that electricity also warms the water you use in the morning (a sharp discovery that first morning). I would exercise at the gym between classes and work, making sure to never miss the chance to steal their hot water.

Now, I suppose you are wondering how my landlord felt about this change of circumstances?

They were quite amused.

Remember: they were also my family. When I explained the situation, the landlord’s daughter came up to confirm things, and she smiled as she saw my set up with candles and portable lights that ran without batteries. My mother, of course, soon discovered what I was going through, and came as close to giving me an order to return home as was possible for someone without any time served in the armed forces. She also wanted to do significant damage to the roommates who abandoned me, and it made me think about how this would be one of those stories I would one day cherish and share with my own kids: a Russian novel with more jokes.

To be fair, I only had two weeks in that unlit space. I mentioned my problems to a student who had information on an apartment that even I could afford, and I soon found myself moving out of there and avoiding any discussion with those roommates, or anyone who might have known about the situation (the owners of the local depanneur were probably upset that my purchases of a steady stream of ice cut off so neatly). I stayed in touch with the landlord – again, family – and even today I can find myself thinking about that time with a smile on my face.

But I always pay my electric bills on time…

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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