Homelessness is like rhubarb pie at a family reunion. A lot of people might try a piece, but very few go back for seconds.
I know. I was once homeless.It all started when my wife and I decided to make a little visit to my hometown of Mud Lake, Idaho. We were only gone for one weekend, but that was enough. When we got home we had a message on our telephone answering machine informing us that it was time to renew our contract.
While we were gone, our landlady had not only listed our apartment for rent but had shown it to half of Provo and all but signed a contract.
She didn't actually rent it out until she could tell us that we were getting the boot. It was very thoughtful of her.
Luckily, friends found us a place to live.
On the Saturday we moved, I made a quick phone call to tell our new landlord that we were coming over and that it would be nice if we could get the keys from him.
"Oh, are you coming today?" he said.
"Yes," I said. "Is there a problem?"
"Well, now that you mention it . . . ." We had rented an already-occupied apartment - a little detail that failed to appear in the contract.
"Don't worry, the lady who lives there is being evicted. She'll be out of there by Monday," he said. "Why don't you store your stuff in this empty apartment. The couple that rented it won't be here until Monday either. I'm sure they won't mind."
The next week was a blur. Monday became Wednesday, which became Monday once again. In the meantime, my pregnant wife and I slept on the floor in our friends' apartment while the other couple, the kind ones whose apartment was now our storage shed, stayed with their friends.
"Gee, it sure is swell of you two to let us stay here," I told my friend.
"No problem. Stay as long as you need," my friend lied. His wedding had occurred just two months earlier, and I knew all he and his wife really wanted was to be alone.
My wife held up strong for the first week, but she hated imposing and wanted a place of her own. There were only three openings listed between American Fork and Payson; all of them were out of our price range, but we took the one in North Orem anyway.
As far as we know, the lady is still in that other apartment, waiting to be evicted. The landlord, not wanting to offend us, told us we could have the place as soon as she leaves, but I don't think so.
I hate rhubarb pie.