2032. Andrew Jennings
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Rental Riot
The house was down a backstreet about ten minutes walk from Footscray station. Jack was early, so he walked slowly towards the target address. Smiled at some kids playing in the alleyway, kicking a ball about. The suburb was mostly still semi-detached houses of at least 50 year vintage, but in the middle distance stood row upon row of new apartments. Strangely though, these semi-detached brick houses were still very fashionable with the renters. He wondered what the original owners would make of the prices they sold for now. Eye watering numbers. To Ruby, Jack and Noah and their followers it was a drain on the economy. Every dollar spent here was a dollar that could not be invested elsewhere. For a moment he was disoriented, and almost walked in the wrong direction. The glasses corrected him, he turned around and there it was. A crowd of at least fifty people. Just for one house rental.
Way back even this government (which was captive to property interests) had banned the auctioning of rental agreements. The exercise of market forces: rather than a fixed rent for a house, auction it The rental would go to the highest bidder. But it was a bridge too far. It was deeply unpopular, and the banning was widely supported. Rather than eliminate it though, the law just drove it underground. So this crowd was gathered for the rental auction. It couldn’t be online as that would alert even the lazy authorities. Here the auction took place in a local grid of device to device. All near-field and local. Bids circulated and progress was totally invisible. If you looked closely you could see fingers moving and rental prices moving ever upward.
The real estate agent stood at the door, calmly watching while the crowd worked it out. He was early twenties, with a newly minted haircut. Nervous, unsure of himself. Maybe this was the first time he had done it. This was not a plum job at the agency. All the senior agents would be out selling the properties: rentals were for the juniors, and rental inspections (as in secret auctions) were for the most junior of the juniors. He has short black hair, was frighteningly skinny and looked as if he strayed from some high school classroom for the day.
Here they were, collectively breaking the law. Power here was massively imbalanced. Property empire versus the renters. As it had been, as long as anyone could remember.
Jack followed the auction, connected in the near field. It jiggled along, with the agent giving it a nudge. "Ideally located. You won't find another like it." The usual cliches, had worked, always would work. Or so it seemed. Close to the house, in the driveway, a young bidder suddenly became agitated. Shouting at the agent.
"It skipped. It deleted it. You just took out my bid. You bastard."
Jack watched closely. The irritated bidder pushed forward towards the agent. The crowd parted at first, collectively puzzled. A glitch in an illegal rental auction. Happened every day. Except that somehow this had flipped a switch in the crowd. There was an undercurrent of emotion here. Along the lines of how much can we actually bear of this. Have we had enough. A push, a surge, from the back. An electric current in the crow. A raw surge of animal emotion.
All of a sudden the crowd surged forward. Jack held back. What was happening here? He scanned the crowd of angry faces.
“Parasitic bastard.”
“Fuck your stupid rental auction.”
At first Jack was quite amused by this development. He stood back, watching. As the very front of the crowd came in contact with the agent, he could see what was going to happen here. It wasn't good. Not good at all. He called Noah.
"We've got a situation here. The crowd are going to tear this agent apart."
“You rung the police?”
“Yes, but it’s not a priority for them.”
“Just get the agent out of there.”
“What?”
“Just get him out. We don’t want him damaged.”
Jack was about five rows back from the agent. He caught sight of the look in his eyes. It was an existential look, surprise and naked fear. He was hard against the brick wall just to the side of the front door. Jack moved fast, elbowing his way forwards. They were not expecting such direct physical action, so their first instinct was to step aside. Only as he got to the front row did one turn and look at him with a look of rage. Jack stared back, with a look that communicated that if he wanted to die in a rental protest then he was only too willing to arrange that. Just for good measure he raised his knee and kicked as hard as he could upwards. Somehow the pain receptors also communicated that moving aside was the best course of action.
"Come with me." Jack said to the rental agent.
His look of confusion was now combined with bewilderment.
"Who are you?"
"Your new and best friend."
Behind Jack a surging crowd. The surging was without purpose though. Jack sized up the crowd. It was pushing forward towards the front door. Just in front of the house was a garden bed, a sort of natural barrier. Just a few flowers, no real substantial plants. The crowd’s uncertainty was his best advantage.
“Do I what I do.” He said. He jumped onto the garden bed, and headed for the front line of the crowd. Crouching low, he lead with the elbow, up into the stomach. The look of absolute surprise from the girl in the front row as the elbow found soft tissue. He nudged past her, with the agent right behind him. Now the agent was getting the drift of things, but swinging wildly. Jack aimed between the two in front of him, opening space. Now he was avoiding contact, just looking for openings. It was working, as they were not with a purpose, they were just milling about. Another surge, sideways, into the gap.
Around the corner the car was waiting, and in an instant they were on the freeway heading towards the city at high speed.
“Thanks.” The agent said. “I think you saved my life.”
“Don’t be silly. They were just a bit agitated. Five minutes and they will have forgotten all about it.”
Jack remembered clearly the day he had decided. There he was, constructing yet another advertising campaign for yet another useless product. In that office high in Elizabeth Street - what was the company name? Some weird Greek god. God of advertising? He laughed. More like the god of rampant and uncontrolled greed. His companions in slavery? They never talked about it, the backdrop, it was a silly question. Why were they there? What useful purpose did they serve? It was all-pervasive, like air or water. When you thought about it, the mission was simple. “We tell them what to buy, and they buy it”. The models burped up the emotions required: show a beautiful head of hair blowing in the breeze, and attractive model. Stimulus. Response.
Jack and Noah went back together. Way back. To Warragul. They grew up together, as the smart kids. Not for them the stealing cars, the late night parties, the rush to oblivion. No, they were going places. They were going to ‘get out of here, real fast’. They had it. Ambition. As the official golden haired boys, they had been feted by their teachers, had been the shining light in their parent’s eyes. Uni had been a breeze, a walk in the park really compared with the challenge of fighting your way out of Warragul.
It was Noah who had joined first, had sent the messages to Jack. Sitting there dreaming up slogans for fast food, it flashed on his screen like a naked person suddenly appearing in a subway station. It jumped out in front of him. It punctured the backdrop, the set of assumptions on which they worked.
Noah was persistent.
“It’s the best of all possible bad systems.” Jack would say to Noah, nursing a drink after work.
“That’s what your billionaire founder says. Of course he’s going to say that. The system is a vacuum cleaner that sucks up money for him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s not far from it.”
“So what are you: capitalism with a human face?”
“You don’t think that’s possible?”
“Greed