The Collapse: Letter II

May 01, 20XX

My Dear Lucilius:

As I was reading over your response, I suddenly realized that I had never really told you about how I physically ended up here. The story is still painful even though the events are several years in the past – but at your unspoken question, I will relate it.

You will remember when my wife died (of course you do – you came out for the funeral). We had spoken for some years about what we were going to do when we finally retired but, like many, found our joint plans suddenly rent asunder. I found myself a widower nearing my earliest retirement possibilities with no-one at home – the children were all gone at that point and the house was rather empty, filled on the those occasions when we had visitors from out of town.

It was after that event, when I was still processing my wife's death and adjusting to life as a single man after almost 30 years of not being so, that I received a letter from the City of _____ Housing Allocation Department, informing me that as I single person inhabiting a house of over 1200 square feet I was in violation of the City's Fair Housing ordinances. Within 60 days I had three options: I could sell the home, I could take in more people as renters or “home sharers”, or be subject to an additional tax.

There was an address on the letter of course, so the next day I took the trip downtown to visit them (Mr. Seneca Goes Downtown, as it were). My impression of trips to the city core were always the same: they took too long to see too much traffic and too many people in places that were too expensive. I remained convinced of all of this on this trip as well.

After posing my question at the desk, I was shown off to a waiting room with four or five other individuals – the sort rooms that all government agencies seem to design to make the process as uncomfortable as possible: the room is slightly too hot or too cold to be comfortable, the chairs are slightly too small and stick just a bit to you, and the room is completely silence, thus making any sort of speech or conversation highly uncomfortable.

I was finally called into to maze of cubicles to a desk inhabited by what I have come to know as a typical civil servant (of which, you have commented, there are two types: the young true believers who have not been there long enough and the weathered and wizened time server, who has been there too long). In my case I had the former, a young man of indeterminate age and interest. He pulled up my file on his screen, reviewed it for a minute, and then handed the letter back.

“The law is rather clear, Mr….X” he responded. One person in a house of 1200 square feet is considered wasteful and not a good use of resources. You have 60 days to fix the matter.”

“But my wife just passed away...” I started.

He shook his head. “There are no exceptions. You – alone in that house – are a wasting valuable city resources and mis-aligning the affordability index in our city. You have three choices – take in renters of course, which is moderately useful but frankly rather selfish as you keep the money. You can also be reassessed and pay the additional tax – although frankly, no-one does that more than a year. Or” he suddenly perked up his smile, the sort of thing that reminded me of Death trying to crack a joke, “you can engage in our Home Sharer program”.

“Home Sharer?” I asked slowly.

“Oh yes” he bubbled over, suddenly engaged. “The Home Sharer program is where the City matches people that have homes with people that need other people in their homes. The great part of the program is that you help people find affordable housing and the people have a place to live.”

“But what about rent?” I asked.

“There is no “rent”” he said in finger quotes. “The home sharers pay what they are able. The home owner realizes a net benefit from not being charged an additional tax. It is a fantastic way to help align our city's population and home shortage and really make sure that everyone has the opportunity to live somewhere nice. Can I sign you up? I can have someone move in by the end of the week.”

I muttered something about being out of town and I would consider it. He insisted that I take a form with me as I went.

The tax, you can imagine, was rather odious. It was intended to be. I spent the evening in my chair in the living room, listening to the memories echo throughout my mind and thinking of all the events that had happened there – good events, enjoyable events.

And then I called my real estate agent.

Kindhearted as she was (indeed, she was the one that brought us into this home), she had to have a frank conversation with me. “You'll get three kinds of bids” she told me over the phone. At the quizzical tone from my breathing, she continued. “The first will be from someone who buys homes to rent them. It will be slightly lower than asking price. The second will be from someone who wants to buy the home to live in it – although where you are now located, those are becoming rarer and rarer because of price. The third is from the Housing Allocation Department. It will be very low – and most often, the one taken.”

I sputtered a bit. “The lowest but the most often taken? How is this so?

“The City's will discount the house price to what you paid for the house when you bought it – slightly adjusted for inflation but not a great deal. Yes, I know that you have paid a lot more in property taxes due to value adjustments – I hear that all the time. The City considers those to be the price of having a house and that you as a homeowner should not unduly profit in a location where housing is so scarce. They state that they are saving the sellers money by lowering their overall tax burden.”

I sat and thought on the phone, of the family Christmases and tears and dinners and date pickups that had happened here, and then the young man downtown who was almost gleeful at the thought of putting strangers into my home with no guarantee of contributing to the payment or upkeep.

“Put the house out. A family if you can find one, a rental property if not. But no City. I will pay the tax for a year if I have to.”

She really was quite the professional. She found a young family who wanted a house with four bedrooms and a backyard for their future. I was so enchanted with them – they reminded me of my family, once upon a time – that I dropped the price somewhere so they could move in – and, frankly, to spite the City. And so I found myself with a 60 day rent back (the most, oddly enough, allowed here) to completely redesign my life.

I will leave you at this juncture, Lucilius, as I am sure you are curious about how I got from there to here – and managed to shed my career in the process. I shall have to ask for your patience.

With greatest regards,

Seneca