Day 42 to 44

Day 42

I arrive in California, exhausted and butt-sore after three days of nonstop driving. Being a cheapskate, I’d declined to rent an apartment of my own, opting instead to roommate-surf the wild waters of Craigslist.  This venture landed me with an honest-to-god family looking for a boarder.  Because I’d not had the time to schedule a house-hunting trip, all of my contact with my hosts had been over the phone. As a result, I knew very little about my hosts going in. Here’s what I knew: Rose and Jan had been married thirty-eight years. They lived in their home with their two grown sons.  Originally from Chicago, Jan and Rose had moved out to Silicon Valley just in time for Jan to work in the tech boom of the 1970s and 80s. I pictured the parents as a couple of comfortably situated retirees with two crackerjack sons, perhaps finishing school or starting a business, ready to tackle the world. And they had a hot tub.

I bearded man who looked like Ted Kaczynski (AKA The Unabomber) opened the door and stared at me. “Hello,” I said, “I’m Noah.”

“Oh… Hi,” said the Unabomber. We stared at each other for a long moment.

“May I come in?” I asked finally.

“OK,” he said, placing a slight singsong sound on each letter. This, I would learn, is a Jan trademark.

Inside, I was introduced to Rose. She introduced herself, and then Jan, which was pronounced ‘Yawn.’

My hosts maintained an air of normalcy for about an hour, up until I asked where the nearest grocery store was. “Hold on for a second,” Jan said, rushing off.  While we waited, Rose told me where to go.  The grocery store was a mile away.  I had shopped, returned, unpacked my groceries and sat down again when Jan came back in with a thick sheaf of papers which he set down in front of me.  “I thought you could use these, he explained solemnly.  “Here’s a map to the grocery store.”  Jan had printed out seven maps to the grocery store using progressively higher magnification; the first showed almost the entire state of California.  To this, he’d added a hand-drawn map displaying an alternate route.  I mistook this thoroughness as concern, rather than obsessive compulsive behavior. 

Day 43

The next morning, I stumbled out of bed and plopped onto the couch with some cereal.  Rose was gone and their sons – who I had yet to meet – had gone to work.  I was watching tennis when Jan came out of the bedroom with another thick sheaf of paper. 

“Noah, here’s a diagram of the electric company’s on-peak charge hours,” Jan said, placing a hand-drawn schematic in front of me.  “And here’s a diagram of our energy usage last month and for the last year,” he said, placing a second and third sheet on the coffee table. 

You bastard, I thought, you’re one of those guys who can’t leave the lights on for two minutes.  “So you want to reduce your usage during the day?” I asked.

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Jan, with an odd glee.  “Take a look at the difference in the bill between one year and three years ago.”  Jan launched into an analysis of the poser usage of the various appliances in the house.  I indulged him, having no clue why he was telling me this.

Gradually, it dawned on me that the house had solar panels.  Jan had forgotten to mention this at any point in our 20-minute conversation, but had remembered to mention that they were saving him 8 cents per shower in electricity costs.  Diagnosis: Something was seriously wrong with Jan. My primary suspicions went to early-onset Alzheimer’s, then schizophrenia, then extreme loneliness and boredom. 

Jan the conversation skills of a runaway freight train. As suddenly as he’d began, he stood up, walked into his bedroom, and laid down on the bed to take a nap. Apparently, he’d gotten up to tell me about their electricity situation because it just couldn’t wait.

Day 44

Today I saw Jan naked. It wasn’t my fault. It was nobody’s fault… except Jan’s. He’d left the bedroom door wide open as he was changing for bed. Enter innocent little Noah, on his way to the kitchen for a midnight snack, add a flash of motion and bam, I’m traumatized. There’s a direct relationship between how fucked up the living situation is and how soon until you see the people you’re living with naked. I’ve been here, what, 36 hours?

Next Time: Noah makes the first of many startling revelations about his hosts. Rose spills the beans on Jan. Plus more bad nudity.