| | Apartment ShoppingThe last time I went apartment shopping I had my mommy with me. And fully equipped with our Sunday newspaper and OSU Off Campus Living Guide, she and I set out to persue Stillwater's wholesome variety of properties. Within a week, I found my exclusive, upscale penthouse studio suite next to the drainage ditch/wildlife reservoir in the ass-end of the complex. I named it, "the Ess Hole."
I could see daylight through the cracks in the door (this would have been okay if the cracks weren't in the middle of the door), the heater broke constantly, my stairs and the lack of light made me an easy rape victim anytime after sunset, and my neighbors were all on welfare. I loved it. It was my grown up hidey hole, and I was excited because this time it was not made out of couch cushions. I stripped the door and repainted it, bought new blinds, bleached everything, ripped the laminate off the desk, etc, etc, and it rocked.
Then I got roommates and moved into the Reserve because that's where you go when you get roommates who don't own any furniture. The Reserve came complete with wild college parties/orgies whenever OSU won a game, and a lawn dotted with beer cans the morning after. More importantly, though, it came with a dishwasher.
But! Fast forward to now! I'm apartment shopping on my very own in a new town with a new car and a new job, and I'm all starry-eyed about flying and fencing and driving on highways! Here's a glimpse of what I thought it was going to be like!
*50's housewife-driving-the-car-to-the-grocery-store music plays. You know, the kind with the strings all playing pizzicato.* Cathy, wearing a sundress and bonnet, leaps gaily to and fro among brightly colored apartment complexes, purse swinging from her arm, Apartment Finder in hand, retarded smile on her face. The happy apartment man opens the door to an immaculate room with freshly shampooed carpet, everything sparkles like in those bathroom cleaner commercials, and Cathy claps like an idiot.
Okay.
Now picture Cathy driving in her new Mazda, which is not an automatic, whilst holding a map, an apartment guide, the classifieds, and a gas station sandwich. She's wearing job interview clothes because she just accepted her AirOne position, and her janky fencing clothes and the remainder of the newspaper are strewn about the back seat. After accidentally driving around to all fifty welfare housing complexes, she realizes it's after 6, and all the offices to the non-budget-restriction apartments are closed.
She parks, crams the sandwich, and juggles the endless amount of paper before her. Half an hour later she gives up because Oklahoma City property is more expensive than renting a hangar for the space shuttle. Note to self: do not even attempt California.
Two and a half weeks later she is digging through the piles on her desk looking for that damn presentation outline. She unearths the Apartment Finder, swears a little, and calls her mother. |
| | Posted 4/9/2008 9:26 PM - 0 comments
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