The Free Market 19, no. 4 (April 2001)
I may not make a ton of money doing what I do, but it sure is fun.
I go into my office seven days a week most weeks, and I haven’t had a vacation in two years. But the environment I work in, surrounded by my friends, all recruited to our small real estate management company through the most stringent system of nepotism, makes it seem like one long hang-out session.
Of the 60 average hours I spend in my office, 10 of those are actual work. My income has been steadily increasing, for the same amount of work, so I don’t complain about having to live off commission only.
But there is one thing that makes it all worthwhile, that brings out my animal instincts and mixes them with my sense of economic justice.
It happened a few days ago, and we all stood around, waiting for the event we had been anxiously talking about and hoping for for months. We paced around the wet grass of the courtyard of one of our buildings, talking, laughing, joking, and then the big men came, with the sheriff in tow.
What could make us rush to a building at eight o’ clock in the morning on Monday? Eviction!
This freeloader who had been living rent-free for five months was getting all his stuff thrown into boxes and, along with all his furniture, dragged out to the sidewalk, where, legally, we had to leave it for 24 hours before anyone could haul it away.
Unfortunately for the tenant, he wasn’t home to take care of his belongings, and the neighborhood picked him clean in less than an hour. It was sweet revenge for us and the landlord, who loses too much money on the building as it is and didn’t need a squatter in a corner unit.
About noon that same day, the former tenant came to our office asking for his things. And it was beautiful! My buddy, the property manager said, innocently, ”It should all still be on the sidewalk there. Legally, we have to leave it there.”
Then he gave the best “I feel your pain” smile he could. The freeloader looked at him and said, “There’s a God up there, you know.” The manager called after the guy as he left, “That’s right, so you better be afraid!”
The only part of the whole eviction that was disappointing was that the neighbors took all the stuff before we legally could. I could have used the big wooden table he had. What a shame.
I know some lefty professional sympathizer will ask me why I get such pleasure out of witnessing the misfortune of someone who is so obviously poor. I will reply:
“I forgot to tell you about the thousands of dollars of clothes and the big-screen television that he had. He went out to clubs every night. He bought clothes and drugs rather than paying the rent that he agreed to pay when he moved in. He made fun of us when we posted the eviction notice. And he had roommates paying him rent to sublet a room in his apartment, which goes against the lease agreement he signed with us. He not only deserved to be kicked out, but also to have his stuff stolen by the neighborhood.”
I have no shame in reveling in the misfortune of bad people.
When he is not evicting, JeremySapienza organizes the Worldwide Capitalism Web and writes for www.LewRockwell.com.
