I was evicted. Well, no. Evicted doesn't quite describe it. "Thrown out" is more like it.

'Amy' got it in her head that 'Erica' had come by and used her restroom. She didn't, but she was in the building. We had gotten a pizza and were eating it in the laundry room. Taking some extra slices downstairs, I accidently spilled it all over the hall in front of 'my' door.

I ran back and forth, alternating between scooping it up, throwing it out in the trashcan in my room, and washing my hands.

From 'Amy's' prospective, she hears bathroom water running, looks out a moment later and sees me in my room, goes out the hall and sees 'Erica' at the other end visiting a friend who stays in the same building. Her conclusion: 'Erica' had used the restroom. 'Amy' calls me up and screams at me that I've got one hour to move my stuff out, and she's already throwing my stuff into the hall.

I tried to explain that I was planning on leaving April 1st anyway, but it fell on deaf ears. She wouldn't refund my rent or my deposit. Pretty convenient, I think. Now the whole rest of February is payed for, enough time to find someone to rent the room.

After a half hour, she calmed down enough to give me a $100 in return for the keys, and said I could get the rest of my stuff tomorrow.

So, that's all, she wrote. I'm at the hotel now, hoping I can work something out with the owner. So, Sunday, I've got a bunch of open houses to go to, I have to negotatiate an awkward arrangment with my boss, and I have to clear out a years worth of junk from 'my' room.