Part Two – The Lesson

So the lesson is I shouldn't trust so easily? That kind of sucks...

This is Part Two of the Story - Behind the Make-Up

….

There was no way I could continue paying the way for these two irresponsible socialites.

I spoke to my Aunt (the one who tells me to water the grass) who was also the leaseholder.

We decided it was time for them to go.

I was so intimidated by them however, I could not tell them.

Instead, I wrote  a letter which I left on the table serving up notice and a tally of the money that was owed and went to my Aunt’s for a few days.

The make-up artist called me up informing me that they had rights and they were not going anywhere.

The next day the flatmates had enjoyed another massive night out.

They had made a mockery of the apartment and spent the day in bed – zonked out of their brains.

There was no signs of them moving out of bed, let alone out of the apartment.

My Aunt decided we had to get the message through in a stronger fashion.

She played “Bad Cop” as we tried ringing them, then knocking on their door.

After they ignored our knocking and ringing my Aunt decided to open up their door.

They had not paid rent or any of the phone bills for an extended period of time and things were not working out.

Well, didn’t this go down a treat!

The Graphic Designer responded by grabbing his deodorant can and spraying it at my Aunt.

The Make-up artist got out of bed and started going off tap.

She came right up to my face and screeched “You are a dog, I have been nothing but nice to you!”

Her breath smelt of a big night out.

She towered over me, her once striking features now resembled those of Satan himself.

Her eyes were red, her mood was fiery.

My reaction?

Tears.

Meanwhile the Graphic Designer had flipped.

He made his way to the kitchen and started taking my stuff out of his fridge and throwing it on the floor.

“You want us out?” he yelled irrationally, “Here’s your food then!”

As cheese and tomatoes were pelted at the wall, the Make-up artist stomped after me around the house hurling abuse.

The pair of them were insane.

My Aunt, somehow, managed to calm the situation down, she told them firmly that they were to leave and they were to pay the money they owed.

The Make-up Artist knew I was the weakest link in this situation and she continued abusing me.

I could not take it anymore and shouted ” I hate you!” and ran off downstairs in a flood of tears and stress and collapsed on a chair at the cafe outside.

My Aunt ran down.

“I can’t go back in there” I was inconsolable.

Meanwhile my poor Aunt’s eye was stinging. “That bastard got me in the eye with his deodorant” she said.

‘That’s it, let us go to the Police” I said.

We made our way to the Bondi Police Station where we were informed of just how little our rights were.

I said that I was scared to stay under my own roof because the pair were so volatile and had sprayed my Aunt in the eye.

Their advice? Not to stay there for a few nights, if they were to do something to me it would be MY OWN FAULT.

Could we get someone to remove them on the basis of them not paying their way? Ummmm… no.

So, I stayed the next few nights at my Aunt’s. I lined up my brother up to move in and he started moving his stuff in as an extra hurry-on to them. I thought his towering presence may have more impact then little old mine.

He moved in gradually during the day  but I was still too scared to stay there.

A few days later my brother convinced me to go back, that he would come with me and that they had to go.

When I returned they had gone.

Done the runner.

Without leaving me a red cent.

Underneath their bed that they left I found overdue phonebills in my name that I had never received, I saw eviction notices from their previous residences and I saw a great mess.

I was left with nothing but a harsh lesson in trust.

Having grown up in the country I had learnt to look for the good in people, to be friendly to all and I hadn’t run into many bad people.

The bad people in the ‘city’ that I had heard people speak of.

I didn’t really think they existed.

It appears they did*.

A few months later my brother received a phonecall from Telstra regarding a phone bill at his Surry Hill address that was over $800.

A place where my brother had never lived.

Turned out the couple had set up their phone under my brother’s name in their new address.

They were at it again.

I learnt a hard lesson about giving out my trust too eagerly. I learnt that people can be deceptive, I learnt that I should listen to my instincts and take heed of potential warning signs.

Though they taught me this lesson, I have a feeling that they were going to learn some even crueller lessons in their lifetime. Sometimes I wish that I could be a fly on the wall while they learnt them.

But that would mean I was bitter. Good luck to them, I thank them for the writing material.

What do you think? Are you able to find the lesson from your enemies? Or do you think sometimes bitterness is warranted? Have you had to learn something the extremely hard way?

*please note – I realise ‘bad people’ is a subjective term and they can be found anywhere, not only in the city.