The Co-op, The Interview, and the Old Man

I passed the last obstacle in my trail of seemingly endless tasks in order to gain access into the world of real estate. Last night I met with the official Board of the Co-op I’m about to move into. A panel of five. I’ll now try my best to explain this scenario knowing full well I could never come close to describing just how Twilight Zone this moment was. Let’s see, first there was the President of the Board; a woman whom I’m guessing is in her mid to late 40’s. She’s lived in the building for just over a year. The other members asked her to take the seat in order to gain a little structure (and maybe a little credibility) to this process. She is an attorney. Next is the Treasurer who is another woman probably in her early 60’s, very properly dressed including dangling earrings and a large-brimmed green hat. Of course her entire ensemble matched to a tee. Two more women held chairs, one being in her mid 70’s and the other pushing 90. The older one was literally wearing a house dress. I’m glad I never saw her stand up because I absolutely would have lost it if I saw she was wearing slippers. And last, a late arriver, was the obligatory old grumpy man. I’m not exaggerating when I say that he was the type of old man they make movies about – mean face, non-censored comments, loud, and non-apologetic in his bigoted, male-chauvinistic skin. When push came to shove, though, you find there’s a soft side buried deep in there. Okay, so stage set. I arrive at 6:25 right after work for a 6:30 meeting that is supposed to take 15 minutes. These people have already collected my life’s history on paper from me: tax returns, credit report, bank statements, pay stubs, driver’s license and social security card. This is not including my application where I divulged more than I would to hold a public office position. About the only thing they don’t know about me yet is that I’m gay. All in due time… I am told rather curtly that they are not ready for me and that I must wait outside. The room where we are meeting is smaller than the average bathroom. There is a folding table with a hodge-podge of chairs surrounding it. The walls have that wood paneling that I haven’t seen since I had braces and spent time every 3 weeks in my orthodontist’s waiting room. I go back outside which means I am standing in the driveway where the residents drive their cars past the gate and into the carport. I’m convinced they all must be sizing me up while they one-by-one return home from a day at work. Finally I’m asked into the room. Since I came directly from work I have my laptop bag over my shoulder and can barely get myself and it into the room together. I sit down and all eyes are upon me. It becomes evident that they are wondering who I am especially now that they have all studied in detail what I have done with my life up until this very second. Some of them actually have some of my documents highlighted, lest they lose track of what they want to ask while they have me under the spotlight. Now that I think about it, good thing the room was that small or I’m sure they would have installed the bulb. The questions begin to fly: What do I do at my present job? Why do I want to live in North Hollywood? Do I have pets? Will I be living alone? Do I think I can really afford the monthly living expenses? Have I always lived in Los Angeles? And so on and so on. A few minutes into this the old man joins us. Up until then I was answering the questions and moving on to the next. The women seemed satisfied with my answers; especially the one in her 70’s who every time I looked her way would smile shyly like a little giddy girl. I have my suspicions about her but for now I’ll just pocket that little piece of curiosity away. Let’s just say I may have a big fan on the Board. So this grumpy geezer takes his seat and immediately crosses his arms. He’s introduced. We shake hands. He goes back to crossing his arms. The women continue with their questions. We begin to discuss what brought me to Southern California from the Bay Area. All of the sudden this deep loud voice to my left blurts out, “So does your dog bark?” I turn my head deliberately trying to indicate that he has interrupted everyone else and tell him, “Very seldom and only in extreme situations.” His facial expression told me nothing. I turned back to the group and completed my answer to the women on life in the Bay Area. A couple of minutes later, in the middle of some other unrelated topic, the old man blurts out, “Will you be living alone?” Once again I turn to him and say, “I’m actually looking forward to living alone, so yes.” His response? “Well, you know, SOME people like to move all their relatives in with them. Before you know it, their entire family is in the place.” I guess I should stop here and explain that I am Mexican, and rather dark at that. I was born and raised in the U.S. as were both of my parents. Most people assume by my obvious features that I speak Spanish but I don’t. I’m about as American, and Californian, as they come. That being said, I sometimes don’t catch when something in the manner of discriminatory is taking place in my presence or even directed at me. This time however it was plainly and boldly there, just sprawled out on that cheap, brown, Gemco vinyl, “kid’s-table-at-Thanksgiving” table for everyone to chew on. It was all I could do to bite my tongue and respond with, “No, I’m just really looking forward to having my own space.” Lucky for both of us, he was satisfied with that. He did make it a point to throw out that if I happen to get married that “he’ll” have to be interviewed too. The President quickly corrected him saying that if I had a spouse, he would not have to go through the interview process. Strange how people, especially that age, never ever have an inclination that someone may not be straight. (Deep sigh.) I guess it’s just another group that I’ll now have to educate… And so it went. When the questions were done, they asked me to step out of the room while they discussed whether or not to accept me. Their decision was unanimous, I’m in with them. Everyone congratulated and welcomed me. As I walked out of the room, the old man extended his hand to me and as we shook he finally smiled and said, “I look forward to having you here.” Hey Old Man, Don’t think for one minute that once I’m living there I will put up with your behavior! He is in for the shock of his life when he realizes he has just approved having a full-blown dyke own one share of his precious Co-op. God, I’m gonna love living there!