If you can't spot the fish at the table . . .

YOU are the fish!

As some of you may or may not know, I own a house in Southern Oregon. This house is in a very nice town and is quietly working hard at earning me equity with which some day I will rule the world (Waaahahahaaa!-"Evil Maniacal Laughter).

When I decided to move to American Samoa I thought it would be a good idea to keep my house as a safety net in case I had to flee the then unknowns of the South Pacific. I rented my house myself feeling like I was doing a descent job of it. That was until a month before I was to move I drove by my house on my way through town. And saw garbage piled high on the side of the house. When I knocked on the door someone who was obviously living there, but whom I had never met before, answered the door. When I told this person he shouldn't be living in my house he started to verbally assault me.

At which point I got in my car and drove to a property manager I knew about. Didn't know personally, just knew about. I signed a contract. Gave her the keys and let her take over. There were a few rough spots with the tenants but I usually got my money on time. And my house didn't go up in flames.

Then they moved out at the end of the lease.

And my house (with a substantial mortgage) sat empty.

Months went by.

I was told the market was tight. Lower the rent. Accept month to month. Oh, and the previous tenants had left a mess, could I send the security deposit to repair? Uh, sure, here's $500 bucks.

Then the communication got less . . . and less . . . until I called my property manager ready to talk some real business.

And got a disconnected message.

And then my stomach did a back flip.

And I went to her website. And saw this.

Then I calmly did some research calling my real estate agent and discovered that what is worse than NOT having a property manager is having a property manger that has a gambling addiction and who is shut down without notice. Then I was no longer calm and cursed and shouted and marched around the house shaking my fist at the heavens.

And then I got back on the phone and made some calls. So now my house is back in the hands of a well referred Property Manger who is licensed and bonded. Something I'd assumed my other manager was, but DUH it turns out she WASN'T. No point in sueing someone with a gambling addiction if they don't have insurance.

Things could have been worse, though, as I hear that other owners are completely out security and last month rent deposits-which I had personally held because I had initiated the contract with my first tenants.

Of course I did get a call from my new manager telling me that apparently,the money I had sent to do repairs and clean had not been properly put to use. I suspect it's sitting in the coffers of Seven Feathers Casino a favorite of Southern Oregon gamblers. (I think I can just make out my property manager in the back of the photo on the right . . .)

This was a hard lesson to learn as I could have paid for my wedding with the lost rental income, but at least my house isn't burnt to the ground or a meth warehouse (which is a sadly real possibility in a county with a city that commonly is known as Methford).

If anybody is looking for a nice 3 bd, 1 1/2 bath in lovely Ashland Oregon let me know . . . .