Hoarder

I can’t even speculate how he managed to do it but I probably helped enable his delay. I seemed to get caught up in Robert’s affection for his treasures. Not for the actual treasures but infected by his obsessive love for them.

# 36 Real Estate Man

Because little is understood about what causes hoarding disorder, there’s no known way to prevent it. However, as with many mental health conditions, getting treatment at the first sign of a problem may help prevent hoarding from getting worse.” Mayo Clinic Staff

Real Estate Man does not intend to make light of what clearly is an impediment to leading a normal life for the sufferers and their loved ones.

In his 40+ years of being in the business, Real Estate Man has seen the gambit in degrees of hoarding. From apartments that are simply filled with junk to houses that couldn’t be entered without clearing a path from the front door to the back.

Real Estate Man’s story:

When Robert applied for an apartment I could tell he was an idiosyncratic kinda guy. Delightfully so. He was a man of in his middle 50’s. Robert had a verifiable job with the city of Philadelphia. He had been living with his mother for most of his life, caregiver to her for the last 10 or so years. Both mother and son were ready to take the next step. His mother was to the point where she needed to get full time professional care.

At this comparatively advanced age, it would be Robert’s 1st apartment. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t rent to him. He had passable credit, good job, no police record. He didn’t need to have been the Home Coming King in his senior year in high school.

In the first months of his tenancy, Robert was delightfully unremarkable. Quiet, paid his rent on time, not a single complaint from him or about him. This was the case in subsequent months, turning into years.

Until:

Superintendent Bud and I were walking in an ally behind a block of stores on Chestnut St. We were trying to cut a journey of 2 blocks to 1 block. Back in that ally, surveying the dumpsters, much like an aggressive Walmart shopper, was Robert. He had his little pile of “bargains” within his reach. Bud and I passed on without comment other than a “Hey.”

Another year went by. The building in which Robert resided had a small fire on the 3rd floor. The Fire Marshall proclaimed the building uninhabitable.

Although only a few of the apartments were damaged (no one was hurt) the electricity was out in the whole building. No one could remain in apartments with no electricity. Makes sense! The Fire Marshall’s office put proper notice all over the place and everyone found temporary accommodations until the electric service was fixed. Everyone did — except Robert.

I found this out in an unpleasant way; the security guard I hired to temporarily guard the building at night heard noises in Apt#33 and with gun drawn — discovered Robert. Apparently he was returning to his place at night. The guard called me and I drove over to the building immediately.

That’s when I realized that I hadn’t seen Robert’s place in a number of years. It was an unpleasant sight by flashlight. I could only imagine what dubious treasures would have been revealed in the full light.

Robert and I made an appointment to return to the next day. He agreed to get other accommodations until the building was again habitable. I changed the lock on his door that night by flashlight, saved surveying the place until the light of day tomorrow.

When I met with Robert the next morning, I discovered the horror that he called his apartment (in MY building). Almost unimaginable. No television series could be worse. The shades were drawn, of course, to protect the guilty.

Living room; floor to ceiling broken dumpster junk ( one man’s treasure…and all that)

Kitchen: packed to the point sink, stove and refrigerator unusable. There was what appeared to be a spaghetti dinner stunk to the ceiling. Looked like it had been there a while. The saucy noodles had returned to a ridged al dente while clinging to the ceiling.

Bathroom; the toilet had been used for years but appeared to never have been flushed. The only useable water had to be drawn from the bathtub, the sink was inoperable.

Further along, the bedroom: so full of riches that you couldn’t enter. I sensed there WAS a bed somewhere under all that. I didn’t ask but I supposed Robert slept on an easy chair in the packed living room.The whole experience was unsettling. Was the neighbor next door aware of the nightmare along side him?

Throughout all of this Robert was largely — silent. When he did speak he was less than friendly. He said flatly but menacingly , “I don’t want anything touched in my apartment.” He went on to explain matter of factly; “I didn’t like my mother’s landlord and I put a curse on him. He died of liver cancer the next month.” I replied, trying to inject some humor into the situation “ Robert, I’m glad you like me then!”

He may not have caught the humor because he followed up with, “I put vials of acid on top of the piles of the stuff in my place and if anyone messes with any of it the acid will burn em!”

Creatively monstrous, you think?

As so often happens in situations of damaged buildings, the damage was more extensive than originally estimated. No one was allowed to resume living there for almost a year. This meant that everyone was given notice to vacate which most tenants were eager to do.

Except Robert. He dug in his heels and refuse to move any of his street discovered gems. No matter how many times I changed the locks on the door of his apartment, he seemed to be able to get in. Robert was stuck in the status quo no matter how unacceptable it was to other humans.

Every apartment in the building had been vacated. Everyone had moved their belongings to a new place of abode, except Robert.

I can’t even speculate how he managed to do it but I probably helped enable his delay. I seemed to get caught up in Robert’s affections for his treasures. Not his treasures, but infected by his obsessive love for them. I tried to understand. I even bought drain cleaner snake from him to help him part with SOMETHING, at least.

So here we have an empty building with electricians rewiring all the apartments. Every apartment was done except one.

Robert and I finally hammered out a deal. Both exhausted with the process.

The Deal:

For 3 months, I would rent a storage locker for Robert. In addition I’d hire a mover (junk hauler) to move his mountain of broken trash can wealth.

A crew came over to help Robert. The job was estimated to take a day. That was a fair assessment for a small 1 bedroom apartment.

Robert stood tall, supervising the move. The junk haulers, no shrinking violets, thought he was a pain in the ass. They increasingly became less concerned with the preservation of the integrity of his hoard and more focused on finishing the job.

When the crew was in Robert’s apartment for the 3rd day, the men were reduced to snow shoveling the remaining objects of Robert’s affection unceremoniously into large round containers (garbage cans). Robert was still shouting out unheeded advice, although less frequently than in the prior 2 days. The guys just wanted the job done. It had taken 3 days instead of the estimated 1. I had to rent 2 storage closets rather than 1. More, more — everything was more!

Robert faded away from my life after that. Funny, how that happens. Someone who so affects you when you’re dealing with them, takes so much of your emotional energy and physical time, just can disappear! Robert just evaporated in the continuing activity of my life.

A couple of positives to come of this whole mess were that no falling vials of acid burned anyone as threatened and, as of now, I have not been affect by Robert’s curse of liver cancer.

I still use the FlexiSnake Drain Weasel I bought from Robert those many years ago.