Going … going … gone at the Gardens

There’s no growth sprouting at Prescott Gardens Mobile Home Park.  Not for me.

Tuesday. 5 p.m. I’m waiting for Bruce to arrive to show the mobile home available for rent.

I wait and wait. Then eventually call.

He confesses he can’t make it but is dispatching his daughter. While I wait, I’m free to use a hidden key to have a look inside.

Except there’s no key.

No Bruce and no daughter.

The viewing is rescheduled for two days later.

Thursday. 1 p.m.

I pull up to the mobile home whose exterior I’ve come to know well during long waits during to date two no-shows.

This time, I’m scheduled to meet with his wife.

No one here. I wait and wait. Then again call Bruce.

“Your wife’s not here.”

“Oh. While you’re waiting, you can let yourself in with the hidden key that she set {here}.”

I check. Double check. Triple check. Nothing.

“No key,” I inform him.

“What’d she do with the key? I’ll call her and call you right back.”

I wait and wait.

No phone call. Ever.

Discourtesies and disregard trouble me. Those notwithstanding, if they’re this unresponsive for a showing, imagine when it’s a home in need of repair.

I’ll never know. Because I’ll never live there. So completes this day’s search for new housing.

I get in my car and drive away, never to try again. Why bother. It’d be a dog barking up a wrong tree inside the Gardens mobile home park in Prescott, Arizona.

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