“Water Woes”

c. 2019 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-19)

Trailer Trash.

The stigma of living in a manufactured home, with wheel-axles underneath, is persistent even in this age of rampant political correctness. Insults may be delivered freely to those in a residence park. One can never escape the lowered status associated with such a humble means of existing. Though thanks to ‘Trailer Park Boys’ and Canadian actors Mike Smith, Robb Wells and John Paul Tremblay, there is a certain upside-down coolness evoked, like that of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.

My own experience with living-in-a-long-box began in 2002, during a storm of relationship chaos. An event I did not celebrate. My first marriage was imploding. After a few weeks in my pickup truck, and several more sleeping on a couch offered by relatives, I purchased a ready-made, clapboard dwelling near the county line. My intent was to regain a personal sense of balance, handle the necessary legal affairs, and go forward.

I had never lived in a trailer.

Before long, I began to learn much about the ‘friends-in-low-places’ lifestyle of park residents. A discipline both resourceful and frugal out of necessity. The quirks of squatting on a rented, concrete pad were many. I became accustomed to high winds shaking the house from side to side. The thin walls allowed noise pollution of all sorts, so that my neighbor’s affinity for commercial, Top-40 Country music remained inescapable, even when taking a shower.

Most unexpected, however, were issues with the water system in my park.

From the beginning, our supply of natural hydration had a decidedly rusty character. I could often sample the distinctive odor when bathing. It reminded me of visiting 4-H summer camp during the early 1970’s. My good humor about this oddity dissipated when sediment began to appear in the dishwasher. And in our drinks. A plastic bottle filled from the tap had tiny bits of sand and gravel settled in the bottom. Family members encouraged me to contact a media outlet like WKYC Channel 3, in Cleveland. But, I was working long hours as a retail manager. I did not have the stomach for confrontation or drama. So as a temporary solution, I began to purchase bottled water, off-site.

That habit would continue, for many years to come.

Pipes froze repeatedly despite heat tape and insulation, a common malady of trailer life. Causing greater concern, the in-ground hydrant, my literal point of supply for water, filled with muck and sediment. It had to be flushed by the park manager, a process that consumed several hours.

Eventually, in 2013, the water meter burst while I was on duty at my supermarket in Geneva. The side yard was flooded, and this bubbling tide wandered across the vacant lot next door, to pool in front of a neighbor’s storage barn. I called the park office for over a week, without results. The manager refused to visit. An inquiry with our ownership company, only deepened my frustration. They flatly denied responsibility for the issue. After 10 days, I contacted a plumbing contractor used at my retail store. I openly begged for their assistance. The supervisor agreed to help, even though they typically avoided the mobile community because of past unpaid bills. My final cost for repair was $446.50.

Later, I discovered that replacement meters were on hand in the park’s maintenance garage. My belly grumbled with irritation. But there was little time to fight. I had to be at work.

In a couple of years, my vengeful water woes returned. During a particularly cold month of February, the pipes froze again, leaving me with no service for two weeks. I rented a propane heater without success. Finally, a seasonal thaw opened the system. There were no leaks or damage. But then, I received a bill for $300.00 of water usage. Because I lived alone, and spent six or seven days out of the week on duty at my store, this seemed absolutely ridiculous. But a call to the company office near Cleveland yielded only one brief admonition. “Pay it or be evicted!” In a sense, I felt lucky. The same ruse had been deployed against a friend who was charged $500.00 for the month in water usage. As in my case, with no leaks or issues in the system. He had to turn to parishioners at church for aid.

After the passage of years, I had to retire early due to health reasons. My generous salary disappeared in favor of a meager disability provision. The trailer itself had suffered considerable damage from years of unsafe water. My bathtub and shower were stained reddish-brown. The dishwasher was strangled with dried goop that rendered it useless. The front bathroom was destroyed with pipes full of crud. I felt fortunate for the fixtures that survived.

Meanwhile, my park descended into a gloomy period of neglect. It was taken in foreclosure by the bank. Operated by a professional management company. Then, resold to investors from outside the state of Ohio. I reckoned that at last, we might have cause for hope.

Woe returned with a cyclical regularity as I received notice from a utility company in Michigan. They boasted of having secured a contract to re-meter the entire park, and begin to chart usage. Their charges were spelled out in the document on page three. “Minimum zero consumption bill $65.55.” Their sample model showed a monthly cost of $91.17. Because I had been paying $15.00 per month for the same service, this caused a sense of alarm. A quick review of past billing indicated my normal cost, when the previous owner had metered water flow, was between $10.00 - $20.00 on each billing. I balked at the thought of such a high threshold. Particularly when pondering that those of us who lived alone, like myself or a widow across the street. We would surely not approach the kind of usage experienced by others with large families, frequent live-in guests, and lots of pets. 

I reckoned that zero usage as a baseline should equal zero charges.

Just as distressing was language in the notice that indicated all charges for meter maintenance, setup, shutoff, testing, etc. were to be covered by the residents. Though the service had been contracted by park ownership, they would bear none of the associated costs, after this initial period. It was a plan without shame. A ‘blitzkrieg’ strategy I understood in business terms, but loathed as a weary member of the community.

It reminded me of stories from my own industry. Inner-city owners had sometimes set their scales to register a quantity of weight even with nothing in place. It was a practice that squeezed extra revenue out of poor customers with few options. But when discovered, punishment from the legal system was swift. Approaching 17 years in the park, I wondered if any protection existed for those of us stuck in a similar conundrum. Or if we would be forced to pay in silence.

Of one thing I could be certain – the water woes were sure to continue. I reckoned Bubbles, Ricky and Julian would understand.

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