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Veni, vidi, whatever
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Durham occupancy laws provoke eviction from 'brothel'**
I recently lived in a "brothel," according to Chapter 24-2 of the Durham Zoning Ordinance. The law allows a maximum of three unrelated residents in a single family dwelling. I knowingly violated this frivolous ordinance until outside forces threatened to evict me.
Durham's occupancy laws do not routinely affect the University community. Most off-campus students reside in apartments, although various undergraduates live illegally in large houses. The Durham slumlords choose to ignore the ordinance, enabling them to charge exorbitant rent for decrepit homes located near campus.
The entire system revolves around complaints. Loud and unruly "brothels" risk prosecution. But if an illegitimate household remains quiet and well-mannered, nobody ruffles any feathers. Or so I thought.
I moved into a house with four other undergraduates last August. We were aware of the existing law, but planned on living a modest existence. But then stereotypes became a problem. We arrived in our new neighborhood wearing baseball caps and T-shirts. Assuming the worst, a local married couple launched Operation Eviction. The battle had officially begun.
We were quickly informed of their motives by our realtor. Eight zoning complaints had been filed during the first week of our occupancy. But unabashed, we decided to confront the enemy. We invited our two neighbors to dinner.
He is a university professor plagued by both baldness and an annoying wife; two problems he chooses to ignore. She is an assistant professor at the same local institution, busily detesting each and every undergraduate she encounters. She is also grumpy.
We strategically chose the most diplomatic member of our party to deliver the peace treaty. Our envoy grudgingly made the short trek to the terrible twosome's homely home. They both answered the door, although she spoke first. "We know there are more than three of you," she snapped. Needless to say, our dinner invitation was declined.
Our neighbors then began unscrupulously gathering evidence. The two professors were caught peeping in our windows on two separate occasions. They were also busy photographing the license plates of the cars routinely parked outside our home. Our neighbors were in the catbird seat because the five of us were hesitant to file a complaint.
The two amateur dicks eventually counted seven of us (our neighbors are obviously not employed by the Math Department.) But they had managed to expose our guilt to the Zoning Enforcement Administration, a problem the five of us were now forced to address. We decided to be both rational and realistic with our counterattack. We decided to get married.
Two successful weddings would result in only three unrelated occupants in our happy home. We were willing to walk down the aisle for our own residential freedom. But then several tactical errors arose: We are all heterosexual males, Duke Chapel doesn't perform same-sex marriages and several of us experienced cold feet.
After both marriages were eventually canceled, we began investigating our other options. Chapter 24-2.8 of the Durham Zoning Ordinance states that household employees cannot be considered residents. I conveniently learned to cook while one of my compatriots began cleaning the house regularly. The possibilities were truly endless.
But then I experienced a dream in which my neighbor's bald headed mug shot appeared on "Hard Copy." He was wanted for illegal impersonation of an intellectual at various universities around the country. His disguise consisted of growing a beard, smoking a pipe and writing books that nobody reads.
I subsequently realized our mild-mannered affair had snowballed into a debacle. The events surrounding my residential situation had invaded my subconscious mind; our neighbors had irritated the five of us with their puerile antics to the point of no return, and the two professors had harassed city officials with habitual phone calls, thereby wasting the taxpayers' precious time and money.
I was fighting an annoying battle--divine intervention was my only hope. And then after seeking guidance from the Roman household gods, I experienced my own private epiphany: I just want to be a good neighbor with a college diploma.
Surrender was unfortunately the most attractive option. I moved out of the house of ill repute with two of my cohorts. We now live in a nearby apartment complex while my two other roommates have remained in the former "brothel." An undergraduate returning from abroad has since joined them.
My three friends finally fulfill the legal requirements of Chapter 24-2. Please join us all for a party this weekend. You can park in the neighbors' driveway.
Christopher Kyle is a Trinity senior.
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