THIS SHAMROCK WASN'T EXACTLY GOOD LUCK.

I posted earlier about the room I rented while I attended a nearby high school. It served me well for the time I had it. By the end of 1978, I became fed up with its limitations. Not only had I accumulated possessions that didn't quite fit the limited space I had but a new group of neighbours moved in. They were extremely noisy, so much so that all the other tenants joined me in complaining about them. Those people were evicted promptly. Though the new landlord pleaded with me to stay, I refused to remain and risk another noisy crowd living above me.

With the help of a few CB friends and a pickup truck, I moved into a place called The Shamrock Apartments. At first, I enjoyed having my own bathroom, fridge, and sink. The suite also had more closet space. I didn't have to use a space heater to keep it warm either since it had a radiator next to the bed. Even better, the laundry room had coin washers and dryers. I didn't need to pack my dirty clothes in a suitcase and walk a few blocks to the laundromat.

Buyer's remorse set in a few weeks later. Being a security guard, I needed to sleep during the day. Even with earplugs, I still heard the noisy pipes as they rattled when my upstairs neighbour turned on the tap. He also had the irritating habit of stomping his feet when he got excited. When I complained to Dave, the apartment manager, nothing was done.

A year later, the building had a plumbing problem. The upstairs neighbour's toilet often overflowed, drenching my clothes with filthy water. My toilet also backed up. I had to run a fan by it to dry out the rug.

Then the building was invaded by brown bugs about the size and shape of short-grained rice. They got into everything, including my food. I felt so embarrassed one morning when friends came over and the bugs had ended up in my sugar bowl. They had to pour their cups of coffee down the kitchen sink drain because of those insects.

Fights often erupted in the hallways and stairwells. I frequently returned home on Sunday mornings to find broken glass and blood on the carpet and walls. My next door neighbour also beat his wife so badly one morning that I had to call the police. In fact, they came around fairly often, enquiring about former tenants of my suite. Sadly, they didn't help me when my room was broken into and the next month's rent money was stolen.

One night, one of the tenants was murdered. That was the last straw for me. Though Dave, the manager, pleaded with me to stay, saying I was his best tenant, I could stand the place no more.

That was the last furnished room I lived in. When the building was torn down to make way for a parking lot, I felt glad. It had been a dive for many years and an eyesore as well.

Though I didn't mention that apartment building by name in my How I Was Razed memoir, I wrote about events in my life that happened while I lived there. Amazon and Barnes & Noble distribute the e-book version of my journey from cultism to Christianity and Virtual Bookworm sells the paperback edition.

MEMORIES OF ROOM NUMBER SEVEN.

Though I own a house, I still have fond memories of one room that I rented while in high school. Back in the early seventies, it was ideal for me.

I remember how happy I felt when I moved into that eight foot by twelve foot basement room. Having formerly lived in a rooming house with a nosey landlady, this new place was a vast improvement. The new landlord and his wife were kind and hospitable. Nobody asked what I was doing in there or who I was talking to. Never did I find them standing outside my door as I did with the former landlady.

I liked the antique gas stove that was in the room. Though it made baking difficult, having no heat setting for the oven, it was still nice to use

I also liked the cupboard with its blue and white curtains covering the shelves where the dishes were stored. I thought that was a cool idea. The long window on the opposite wall had the same blue flowers on a white background.

That room also had one of those old fashioned beds with metal head and foot boards. Being higher off the floor than modern beds, I was able to store all sorts of things under it. Along with being a place to sleep, the bed acted as a ground plain for my CB radio antenna. Nobody I talked to could believe that my bed was part of my antenna system.

In one corner stood a brown wardrobe. It was nice but the flimsy shelf on top collapsed with the weight of my winter tuques and other things. In the summer of 1977, I had an idea. After buying a piece of plywood from the lumber yard, I sanded it smooth. Then I placed it in the wardrobe. It stayed in place and didn't fall when I placed too many things on it.

The room also featured a small wooden table with a shelf underneath it. It also had a plastic table cloth with blue flowers on a white background. Along with eating my meals, I used it for homework and a few science experiments. I used the shelf as a place to store dirty dishes in a plastic basin until I had the time to clean them.

I liked the large drawers of the antique, ebony dresser with the white lace cloth on top. I had plenty of room for my clothes as well as a reel-to-reel recorder and an old TV that a friend gave me.

Though I enjoyed my time there, the room did have its drawbacks. I shared the bathroom and shower stall with a neighbour. We also shared an old fridge. The bathroom had no sink so I used the ones in the laundry room for washing my face and the dishes. Having only one electrical outlet, I had quite a rat's nest of wires leading to it. The room lacked a radiator so I had to leave one stove burner lit in the winter. It sometimes went out during the night. Only God's providence saved me from being asphyxiated.

The furnished room I moved to in 1979 was larger, had its own fridge and stove, and a bathroom. Though I never lived in such a small room again, I still cherished the times I lived in room number seven. Listening to the music I taped then and recalling my high school days still bring back pleasant memories of evenings spent in the first totally-private room I lived in. I hope whoever lives there now feels the same peace that I did.

In my How I Was Razed memoir, I wrote about the remarkable way that the Lord helped my mom find this cozy room. This testimony of how God led me out of a cult is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers