The Year of Hell - Part III - Cast Adrift

Greetings and Felicitations, Persistent Reader.

In the two previous installments, I talked about how I was contentedly living in the same modest apartment building for over 25 years, how the quality of tenants in the buildings started to go downhill circa 2015 and how a resulting fire drove me from my home on July 12'th 2022 at 2 AM in the morning.

So, what you do when you're rendered homeless by fire? Well, if you're Canadian, you retreat to the closest Tim Hortons that's open. 

While distractedly munching on an egg-and-cheese-on-a-biscuit breakfast sammich and gingerly sipping on a cup of coffee hotter than the surface of Venus, I felt an odd rush of exhilaration. Let me tell ya, there's nothing like a near-death experience to activate your twisted sense of humor. Witness this image I sent to friends upon first spotting the Tim Horton's fireplace:

And then there's this l'il chestnut:

For the record, the irony isn't lost on me that I was trying to sell the Flashpoint: Fire Rescue board game at the time. Huh. 

Okay, so, what's the second thing Canadians do when they're rendered homeless by fire? Well, they call their insurance company! 

You have insurance, right? Riiiight???

It's my understanding that none of the three people directly affected by the fire that night had tenant insurance. None!

For the record, I feel a modicum of sympathy for two out of these three people, but the S.O.B. who provoked the attack on our building can get heckin' WRECKED for all I care. Dirtbag. 

Side note, since that night, I've been consistently stunned by the number of people - mainly Millennial and Gen Z folks - who tell me that they don't have tenant insurance. But, then again, a lot of these folks are being crushed under a tsunami of debt and / or they're hideously underpaid. Faced with these "non future me" challenges, it makes sense that they opt to sink their fleeting funds into less hypothetical and nebulous threats, like staving off malnutrition or exposure.  

But, listen up, kids, I'm here to tell you right now: YOU NEED TO GET TENANT INSURANCE. LIKE RIGHT NOW. I promise...I will present Exhibits "A" through "Z" shortly. 

With my brain now approaching the consistency of cottage cheese, it took forever for me to track down the contact number for my insurance company and call them from my car. Suddenly my stomach turned to ice and my testicles shrunk up into my body cavity as a horrible thought crossed my mind.

'What if they can't help me?'

Now, I don't know about you folks, but I don't call up my insurance company every few  months for a casual chin-wag. I have an auto-payment system set up on my credit card, they take money away from me every month, and society tells me that this transaction should pay for some semblance of mental peace. 

But, since I was raised by a pessimist and I always look at every glass as half-empty, I was fully expecting the conversation with the insurance agent to sound like the following Monty Python skit:

Ergo:

ME: I'm sorry, did you just say that you "aren't satisfied with the grounds of my claim"?

INSURANCE AGENT: Yes, well, Mr. Pretty, in your policy...one moment please. Ah, yes, here it is...in your policy, specifically in section four, paragraph eight, sub-section twelve, it unequivocally states that any claim you make will be ignored.

ME: What?!?

INSURANCE AGENT: Yes, well, you opted for the 'cold shoulder' policy which, honestly, is a great value if you never make a claim, buuuuut you had to go ahead and make one, so here we are...

ME: Oh, dear.

Needless to say, the brief wait to speak to an agent felt like the longest five minutes of my entire life.

Fortunately, my fears were soon assuaged and the agent on the other line was incredibly helpful and reassuring. I soon discovered why I'd been paying into an insurance policy for all these years. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that the following would happen over the next few days and months:

• I was given a $12,000.00 relocation budget. I just had to save my receipts to claim any expenses, such as food, accommodations and - presumably - counseling. 
• An insurance adjuster would be dispatched to the site. They would appraise the damage and, if required, dispatch a recovery team who would be tasked to remove all salvageable items and warehouse it. 
• At the warehouse, everything would be inspected and we'd be compensated for everything that is non-recoverable.
• My stuff would be warehoused until the unit was repaired, then shipped back to me and put into place.

This provided just enough mental solace for me to focus on the next step: temporary shelter.

Unfortunately, this turned out to be more difficult than I expected. 

Y'see, this all happened back on July 12'th, 2022, smack dab in the middle of tourist season, with COVID restrictions finally loosening. After calling around to a bunch of places, I quickly realized that there weren't many, if any, options.

On the verge of growing despondent, I decided a more direct approach was in order. Barely dressed, still jittery from shock, sleep-deprived and smelling like a pile of half-melted spatulas on a wood chip barbecue, I stumbled into the Château Bedford Hotel & Suites and explained my plight. By some miracle, the lovely staff took pity on me and they were able to accommodate my request. I finally had a place to sleep, at least for one night.

After a fitful nap and a shower, I decided to return to the scene of the crime around 5 pm that evening. This probably wasn't the smartest idea.

Upon arrival, I immediately spotted the daughter of the building owner, so I decided to bend her ear. During the resulting conversation, my sleep-deprived brain managed to retain the following:

• She seemed genuinely upset by what had happened.
• She pledged to try and get us into alternate accommodations as soon as possible. 
• She feared that the damage was so extensive that it would take at least six months to a year to repair everything.

After this last, genuinely upsetting little piece of trivia, I spirited off to work. Now, I already hear you asking 'Work?!? You went to WORK??? Why???' 

Well, I have three rebuttals to that:

• I'm fucking Gen X, of course I went to work! I'm programmed to go to work if 35% of my body is missing. 
• $12,000.00 might seem like a lot, but with a hotel costing over $140.00 a night, I knew that this money wouldn't last very long. 
• I actually relished the diversion that work provided that evening.

Despite the spiritual balm provided by that last point, I was also duly distracted at times. 

'Six months to a year without a home?' I thought to myself. 

I literally had only one night booked in a hotel! With waaaaaay too many people in the city right now and rental vacancy rates hovering close to 0%, where the hell was I going to go?

NEXT UP: We survey the damage, rescue some fish and rely on the kindness of (relative) strangers. 

EPIC:  I can't stress this enough people!      

FAIL: The depressing reality.