Mutterings About Human Nature

On Monday I went to the mailbox to see what there might be, with a slight hope that there would be a check of the refund of our security deposit from our rental. What I found in there was actually a bill for the entire $1200 security deposit and a further demand for over $900. My immediate reaction was incandescent anger.

We had moved out of the rental house in December, and so nothing had been done in the house since then other than me returning to clean the place thoroughly. I have had a lot of experience in renting places to live, I've probably lived in twenty rental places in my life. From those experiences I have learned that landlords almost always simply attempt to steal your security deposit. To such an extent that I had learned that the rational thing to do is simply not pay your last month's rent so that you don't get cheated. The litany of examples of hundreds of dollars being charged for tape on the walls and such would be as boring to read as Leviticus.

However, this time I was going to do the right thing. Money is less of an issue, and our credit rating is more of an issue. I also had the time to put into cleaning up the place, and actually actively enjoyed the process of being useful and leaving the place as I left it. I took pride in the job I had done, and I think the house could have been reasonably shown to prospective renters.

The specifics of the Security Deposit Disposition were that there was a strong pet urine smell in the house that did not go away with a special pet de-odorizing cleaning of the carpet. So they peeled off the carpet, enzyme washed the concrete and replaced the padding. Still a smell so strong that they then replaced the carpet throughout the entire house. I called the company and was given this story. Since I had been in the house repeatedly and left it in a certain condition I knew this was a lie, and when I said so they hung up on me.

So, a rental company is trying to steal $2000 from me. My initial incandescent anger came not so much from this fact, but that the attempted theft came when I had done the right thing. It's not that I don't know that rental companies try to get as much money out of their ex-tenants as possible. What makes me angry is that I did the right thing and they did the wrong thing, it's a question of fairness.

Research in everything from biology to game theory has shown that human beings (and other animals) have an innate sense of fairness. In the same way that people can fall in love, or feel sad, they know when they have been cheated. On the other hand we know that people have an innate compassion to help those within their group. We also know that within a group people work less hard than by themselves (called social loafing).

I thoroughly believe in the essential goodness of people having received great kindness repeatedly when abroad or in need of assistance. I know that people will display enormous heroism to help those in pain. But I believe the essential goodness of people only happens when faced directly with a person in pain. When faced with a different group, a faceless number, people can tell themselves all sorts of stories.

I am sure that the person who is in charge of trying to steal money from me under false pretenses is good to their friends, loves their mother, would help an injured person in the street. I am sure that their experiences of tenants is such that they believe all tenants to be the sort who destroy properties, run off with the money, let their pets urinate allover the carpets and don't clean it up. I am sure that the person has told themselves a story in which they are not trying to steal money but legitimately looking for reimbursement.

Human nature is shaped by evolution. Those who work together within a group of family or tribe in times of crisis survive and reproduce better. Those who sneak, lie, deceive and steal also survive and reproduce better when they can get away with it. I literally know not one single person who hasn't done something they know is wrong, for their own self-interest, who has not told themselves a story to make themselves feel OK about it. I might be doing it right now.

One Year On

I've now lived in Texas for over a year. I am a resident of Texas, a Texan. It seems a good time to take stock of the last year, to see where I am, where I've been, so that I can inform where I'm going. I started by going back and reading my posts on this blog from last April, something which you may wish to do as well. There are even pretty pictures.

The extraordinary thing about those posts is how they could be written again today with very little alteration. That's still the park that I take Larry to walk in and it's still a vital escape into nature. I still live in suburbia, in an environment that is anathema to a sense of community. I still have no-one I would really consider a friend (although I think there are a couple of people even more desperate for friendship who would consider me a friend). There are people across the street that I can have fun drinking beer with, and that's a major plus on where I was living.

Other than my wife I don't know anybody who would like my favorite tv show, has heard of the music that I listen to, has the slightest agreement with me politically, shares a similar aesthetic sense, has traveled to the places I have gone, or comes close to my philosophical or political beliefs. That isn't one person who shares all of those, that's one person who shares even one of those characteristics with me.

What I feel most at the moment is a sense of unreality, a disassociation with my surroundings. In the morning I walk around a few of the cul-de-sacs in my neighborhood like a student on a foreign exchange. What are these places? Who are the people who live in them? Why would you possibly organize a life to be like this. The heavy scent of pollen, the steaming lawns, the tropical sunlight streaming through tall, fragile pines all adds up to a deep sense of being a foreigner, an outsider, someone from somewhere else.

I'm even getting to the point where I am losing interest in leaving my house. Why bother?

Financially the year has been poor for us in that we have spent thousands and thousands of dollars in moving house, buying things to put in the house, moving house again, buying cars, surgeries on the dog and people. On the other hand, the alternative to this move was unemployment, so financially we have done poorly, but much better than we would have done.

Christina's work is still difficult for her in terms of getting along with people. There's still the person who accused her of racism yelling at her co-workers without any consequence. There's still her boss who has a job Christina would have liked, but Christina in that position would have a very different job description. There's still the person who told her she would be promoted down here while Christina remains in the same position. Christina still looks on the house as a refuge from the world, a place to get away from people.

We live in a truly lovely house. A permanent vacation. But I have to get out of this place at some point. I can feel my life slowly slipping by. For me, living in Texas is like being at the airport. I have all I need to sustain life, but I'm just waiting for my plane to arrive.