Scholars often say when you leave something behind that's meaningful to you, it’s often bittersweet. Bitter because you’re letting go of something you cherish, but sweet because you are moving on to the next chapter of your life. As I scrape the beer boxes off the wall, scrub the beer and puke stained floors, move the pee-stained couches to the curb, round up the countless amount of lost phones, jewelry, clothing items and all the dignities this house swallowed up, I began to think -- this isn’t bittersweet. No, this is bitter/bitter and pleura of more bitter. Yes, the rumors are true. After three years of debauchery, this is the final ride for Nick Clark.
Today is my last day at my beloved home many of you have come to know. This is bitter/bitter for the reason I must say goodbye to a part of my life that certainly played a huge role in me not graduating on time. The other aspect of the bitter is, I will more than likely find myself staring my landlord face to face in a court of law for the second time in the past two years. How is this even a statement anyone should have to say regarding their home?
To be honest, no amount of pages of literature could sum up how this house ruined my life, shaped my life, made me lose my sanity and gave my mother stress larger than the spread of HIV at a Magic Johnson swimsuit shoot. It seems like three short years ago I was a young freshmen, eagerly asked to move in and waiting to move into this classy establishment. So many dreams, so many goals, so many lofty aspirations crushed the second I signed the lease.
Below are a few pictures I feel serve as a poster child of the years I inhabited this place. Although there are many instances worth talking about I felt I'd highlight on these few.
Observe the first picture, highlighting the one time I bought three barrels of hay from a local farmer in Fort Myers. Upon the purchase, I deemed a good idea to cover the entire house in hay, reflecting a barn like environment. Turns out there was so much hay, it incinerated the air conditioning, and led to us being out of air conditioning and the smell of rotting hay in the heat of September. If you look closely, you can still see strands of hay scattered around the house. Take a journey East with me, and glance at the next picture.
The ultimate bathing technique used at my house. I'll always remember Jimmy Buffet Thursdays, and filling the bed of my truck up with murky yellow well water while splashing loads of laundry detergent in the mix to create the illusion of a bubble bath. This, more often than not, ran the well dry leading to no showers, or water, for days. I'll never forget the gasps, judgmental looks and soul crushing remarks from my neighbors.
Take a glance at the feline I am groping in the next picture. This was Carlton the Cat. He may just look like a homeless, strung out, stray, undernourished cat. And he was, but he was also family. He served as a mascot, a symbol of innocence -- nay, a hope for the future for our house until his little heart gave out one day. He remains buried under the oak tree in the backyard. RIP, Carlton, and remember all cats go to heaven.
Take a look at this eye popping photo; you will see what appears to be purple Kool-Aid or if Barney the beloved child dinosaur went through a damn wood chipper. No, that was the one time purple water came out of my faucet. To this day, I know not what caused this turn of events, a possible assassination attack from the county, our landlord, North Korea -- I know not. Thankfully, after one day, our water turned back to its normal color -- yellow.
The most disturbing picture is a Kodak moment captured during the heat of the great fire of San Carlos. A cold, windy, New Year's Eve led to the intense burning of four of my couches, one bed, a beloved blow up doll, a County violation and the third eviction threat from my landlord. No grass survived. Though I was without furniture and a bed for weeks, and the closest ever to an eviction, I firmly believe it was more important to keep the people of San Carlos Park warm on New Year's Eve. I remember telling my father about the fire, the next day, and in a concerned and bewildered voice he said, "Nick, you are an idiot."
The last photo is a picture of an iPhone floating in our toilet. One glorious morning while taking my morning pee through a cloud of throw-up, an unidentified white object floated to the top. The initial reaction of most would be to stop peeing and further investigate, I just kept peeing, grabbed some tongs from the kitchen and figured out what it was. So, if you had a white phone go missing around September 2014, look no further -- it's in my toilet.
There are far too many ridiculous scenarios’ that have happened during my stay, here, but I felt these six captured the gist of them. My three years, here, have been full of ups and downs, broken dreams, countless County violations, health violations, eviction threats, two above ground pools, snow machines, fog machines, anything you can imagine, soul crushing threats from my landlord and many concerned texts from my mother.
As I pull out of my driveway and give my final wave to this place, tears will be flowing, my neighbors will gather around praising and rejoicing the departure of me and my roommates, but little do they know, four little degenerates will keep the torch going.
Here’s to you my old faithful house, you’ve ruined any chance of a future for me, but I wouldn’t trade it in for anything. It's been one hell of a ride! No sheets on the bed -- no problems. Here a few more photos to enhance the full experience of the house that broke me.
