If you’re looking on Craigslist Orange County for a room to rent near Cal State Fullerton, you might come across an ad from Joe that says: Room for rent, first come first serve, $725 monthly rent, $400 deposit, smoking outside and cooking ok.” If the address is 309 Olympia Pl, Anaheim, CA, 92806 – don’t rent that room! It’s a scam. Joe is an unattractive, probably gay and racist, white man with three gay men already living with him. The rent is really $850, you won’t get your deposit back, you can’t walk in his house smelling like you had a smoke, and cooking is not ok. Plus, if you’re not gay, expect beef with the gays here. I have to move out because I’m not gay. This is what happened when I rented a room at 309 Olympia Pl.

In August 2023, I searched craigslist for a room to rent. I saw joe’s ad. I sent him an e-mail explaining that I would’ve called but didn’t want to interrupt his dinner. The next day, around dinner time, Joe replied to my e-mail and said to call him right away. I called.

First thing Joe said was, “You’re the guy who didn’t want to interrupt my dinner.”

“Yes.”

“Funny you’d say that.”

He said it was funny because he was going to interrupt my dinner every night.

Then he said the room was still available and come right now to pay for it. First come first serve. I said it was after 5 p.m. My bank was closed. But tomorrow I’ll see the room and rent it if it’s ok.

“Tell you what Charles,” Joe says, “Let me see what this guy at my door is talking about. If he doesn’t rent right now, I’ll call you back and give you a chance.”

He called back fifteen minutes later. He said, “I have to ask – do you smoke weed?”

“No.”

“Do you drink alcohol?”

“No.”

“Then you can live with me,” he says.

He should’ve asked if I were gay, because everyone at this address is gay.

He said he’d take a cash deposit to hold the room for me. I said no. I’d never give cash and not take a key.

Joe said, “Oh, you’ll never get a key to this house.” He explained there was a breezeway everyone used to enter and exit the house. No one needed a key. But I’d have a lock on my door. Then he said there were a lot of unfinished home-improvement projects here. That was a warning that he was neurotic – a person with an untrustworthy personality.

“So don’t let that scare you,” he says. He asked what type of deposit could I do?

“I can get $500 from an ATM,” I said, “and bring the rest tomorrow.”

“Ok, let’s do that.” He gave me his address and then wouldn’t stop pressuring me to come by. Finally I said ok and we hung up. I searched inside myself. This move felt wrong. He was a neurotic and trying too hard to close me. I sent him a text that said I couldn’t move forward but I’d check with him tomorrow afternoon. No response from him.

The following afternoon, I decided not follow up with him. At 1 p.m. my phone rang. It was Joe. He was calm, polite and trying to sound like someone in their right mind.

It was Sept. 1 and I needed to move. I said I’d be there in an hour. I withdrew $1,100 for the move-in. I called Joe from his front yard. As instructed, I opened his side gate. A white man with a pudgy stomach and a white beard that hung to his chest opened a door. “Come on in,” he says.

Joe made me walk under his nose so he could take a big whiff of me. That made me uncomfortable.

He showed me the room. There was no lock on the door. Everyone else, however, had a lock on their door.

We had a short conversation. Joe said this was simple, you’re renting the room. I stay out of everyone’s business (which was a lie) and we all enter and exit through the kitchen. (No key was needed because his kitchen door was busted. It doesn’t close all the way. Anyone can walk in at any time.) Then he said utility bills were split amongst the residents. Utilities should cost me about $125 per month (which increased my rent to $850 from $725).

“How bad can it be,” I thought. And then paid him. He wrote me a receipt without the home’s address and signed it, “Joe.” I asked him to please put the home’s address. He smacked his lips but put the address.

I judged him to have a personality where he thought he was God. I was correct.

The day I moved in, I met the first gaylord, an older man from Guatemala named Carlos. He looked me in my eyes and then reached under my box of books with one hand. He alluded to grabbing my balls.