The Never Ending Nightmare

There are certain events, that happen in the course of day-to-day life, that are like a kick to the nuts, to put it bluntly.  Some of these events, if you’re unlucky enough, will repeatedly kick you in the balls.  I am that unlucky, and today I was kicked in the balls once again.

It all started, innocently enough, about a year and a half ago, when I went out for a few drinks with a friend.  It was a grand ol’ night, and we got good and drunk.  Walking back to my abode, however, we noticed that there were firetrucks on my street.  We hurried towards them with curiosity, until we were almost there, and we noticed that the firetrucks were at my apartment.  This immediately sobered me up, and I felt an incredible sense of doom surround me.  My worst fears were realized when I got to the front and saw my door broken down, and firemen with their hoses inside my apartment.  I was further crushed when I found out that the fire, by some unlucky accident, had been confined to my room.  When I saw the damage I was floored.  Everything I had was gone, and it wasn’t so much the loss of possessions that hurt–although there was that–it was the loss of many irreplaceable items.  (Fortunately, the fire wasn’t my fault.  It was a freak electrical fire caused by a lamp, and faulty wiring).  I finished out the night by punching a brick wall until my knuckles started bleeding.  That was the first kick in the balls.

The next kick was when I found out that even though the owners were going to get insurance money, that they were unwilling to pay for any of the items I lost–which probably amounted to five thousand dollars.  Not only weren’t they going to pay, but I later found out that I ended up paying for the clean-up of the apartment, because I left my burned possessions there (mind you they told me to leave everything I didn’t want there, and it would be thrown out when they started to repair the apartment).  So in the end all I received was a refund for the week of rent left on the month.  That was number two.

A few months later, just before I moved to New York, I found out that the owner was suing me for over nine thousand dollars.  She claimed that her gorilla-insurance company inspectors had decided that the Fire Marshall was incorrect, and that it was my fault, and that I owed her the cost of all the repairs.  Luckily, for me I have legal insurance, so even though I am a man of modest means, I had lawyers who backed me up, and got her to back down.  That was number three.

Today, over a year and a half later, I received a letter from the owner’s insurance company.  They are now suing me for over eleven thousand dollars–it’s amazing how the amount keeps going up and up–this is fourth, newest, and hopefully the last kick in the balls.  Thankfully, I still have my legal insurance, and now I am represented by one of the best firms in NYC.  I don’t know if I will have to pay, or whether I will have to go to court, but I do know, that I am sick and tired of this issue.  I still haven’t recovered completely from the fire, and these bastards keep finding new ways to try and stick it to me.  It is in situations like this where the common man can feel insignificant and powerless.  It is also in times like this where I can begin to understand why people go postal and react in violent ways (note I do not feel violent, but people can only take so much.  Eventually even the smallest, most docile dog will attack when pushed repeatedly).  I still retain some hope that this will work out smoothly, and that maybe, perhaps, I may have the last laugh.

~ by Perpetual Memory Loss on June 30, 2008.