Every Apartment I’ve Lived In Since Graduating College
Grace & Maria’s Couch
City: New Rochelle, NY
Year: 2008
Time Span: 1 Month
After our abrupt, middle-of-the-night move out, I sheepishly returned to New Rochelle. HAY GUYS, MISS ME? IT’S BEEN …THREE DAYS! How demoralizing. Most people manage at least a month in their first post-college apartment before they realize they’re out of their league and need to move back in with their parents.
At this point, I felt that I’d accomplished too much (two freelance gigs, a stint at a thrift store, and meeting a hot Norwegian guy on the sidewalk) to stray far from my beloved Brooklyn. I asked two friends if I could crash with them. They lived on the 31st floor of a New Rochelle high-rise with an orange cat, Nugget.
I slept in their living room on a day bed; which I shared with my laptop – this was to prove to myself that I was worthy of having something to love and sleep next to. The rest of my belongings stayed in Grace’s room. The “rest of my belongings” was actually just a leopard suitcase that belonged to Grace and held a mix of glittery vintage clothing I’d purchased from my thrift store job, and a bunch of button-downs, sweater tanks, and what I affectionately refer to as “slacks.” At the time, I was under the impression that I was going to have a “real person job,” and “slacks” were required for my lofty ambitions of working at a boutique PR firm where no one would ever own, wear, or mention “slacks.”
I would frequently refer to myself as “homeless” that month, which was my icebreaker and more importantly, was true. I found reasons to linger in the city long past whatever I was doing for “work,” grab-assing at happy hours and cementing friendships that remain alive and well today. Back in Westchester, I wrote unfinished novels about the things the hypothetical me should do; like tour the country on a truck that hands out free ice cream at concerts. Grace and I would play Power Hour, sometimes twice in a row, until my inhibitions were as low as my expectations.
My First Apartment!!!! (Really, this time!)
City: Brooklyn, NY
Year: 2008
Time Span: 1.3 Years
Ashley and I were, at this point, pretty fucking over the whole “looking for apartments” thing. We met up at what we both thought to be an agreeable, if not downright desirable location and were greeted by the apartment’s current tenant, Meredith.
Meredith looked twelve-ish, which made sense once she told us she had just been cast as a child on a major soap opera. She was leaving Williamsburg for the East Village, which seemed like the logical next step for a struggling-actress-to-soap-star. We liked her railroad apartment – it was 1.5 bedrooms and every wall was painted in pastel. In some cases, the painter (possibly the Easter bunny on Ambien) gave up and left half of the room a used-up “white” color. We wanted it.
Meredith told us she paid month-to-month and was already paid up until the end of the next month, so we’d be paying her back instead of the landlord. We were like, Okay, yeah, got it. Give us ten minutes. And the landlord’s number. We’ll BRB.
Ashley and I retreated from the apartment and sat in a nearby park, where we yelled back and forth at each other; things like TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE SOAP STAR MY ASS THIS PHONE NUMBER PROBABLY BELONGS TO HER BOYFRIEND LOOK AT THAT NICE TACO PLACE SCAM ARTIST FUCK WANT THIS APARTMENT THE L TRAIN IS RIGHT THERE DO YOU WANT TACOS AFTER THIS? First, we Google’d Meredith to make sure she wasn’t lying about the soap opera. She wasn’t. Next, we called the landlord to confirm Meredith’s story. He did. Next, we went to an ATM, took out $300, gave it to Meredith, and told her we’d give her the rest when we came to get the key. We did.
Despite the apartment having two places in which one could sleep, we wanted to split the rent (and space) evenly and shared the master bedroom. I was used to dorms, couches, and other people’s living rooms at this point; Ashley was used to air-mattress-on-the-floor-of-her-parent’s-place. We were happy enough to have a fridge and stove and one (1) landlord (who we met one time, once we’d moved out, 1.3 years later).
We got a black cat and named her Cowboy Curtis. We got a ConEd bill for over $500; which we ignored until an undisclosed party paid it in full. When we were forced to “make the upgrade to Digital TV,” we got cable. Then we got crammed and moved out.
Hell on Earth
City: Brooklyn, NY
Year: 2009
Time Span: 1 Year
When a new condo popped up around the corner from our railroad, we found that if we added a third roommate, we could afford to live in a glorious elevator/gym/roof deck building. We started to recruit potential third roommates; ultimately choosing Steve, a friend from college.
The building was still under construction when we saw the place, but we could just tell it was a winner; “the one,” if you will. Admittedly, we hadn’t always exercised the best judgment when apartment hunting, but we’d learned our lesson. Right? Right.
We woke up early on a mid-December morning to execute the big move. While we lived five minutes away, it took the entire day to move in. This was due in part to the building management being out of commission for Sabbath – leaving us without keys to the new place. We moved our things into a vacant apartment until a tenant called Martin, our new super.
After an exhausting day, I retreated into my spacious, gleaming bathroom to take a much needed shower. To my horror, the water was ice cold. I called the super, enraged. “Oh? It was hot before, when I checked. Let me bring you your space heaters and check the water.” Space heaters? Where the fuck am I, a bomb shelter? This is my new ass apartment. What the fuck.
The ice cold water remained cold for a week or two. Steve created a system where he laid his outfit for the day on top of two space heaters as he showered, to simulate that fresh-out-of-the-dryer-jesus-christ-it’s-cold kind of feel. Whenever we had to go somewhere, we were ready in ten minutes or less – no one shampooed their hair. Too cold. I washed one body part at a time; a leg here, a pelvis there.
What started as whispers among the tenants grew louder each time someone new moved in. Something was totally fucked up about this building. Eventually, it was discovered the building had no Certificate of Occupancy. In layman’s terms, we could all legally abstain from paying rent. This can of worms resulted in endless negotiation with the management company, and in some cases, pitted the tenants against one another.
Tenants were striking deals with management left and right, including us. We didn’t pay rent for the months we were left without heat and hot water. We paid half of the rent for a while, until one day when a letter from the Department of Buildings appeared on the front door. That was the day we said fuck your rent, and fuck you.
Most of the building did the same. Shia, the original building manager, was replaced with Barry. Barry was this scrawny, bespectacled Hasidic who likely watched Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds one too many times. He spoke a lot about trying to be fair, but we were done with negotiating. If you’ve been had by one Mendel, you’ve been had by them all.
The tenants started conglomerating in the building’s shared spaces to discuss the “situation.” Many tenants, the ones who were too afraid to quit paying rent, felt everyone should pay up. After all, how would the management team get the building up to code without our money? Fine. I get that paying thousands of dollars in rent while some people squat can be frustrating. But I moved in as a tenant, not a shareholder. If I contribute to the completion of the building, do I own part of it now? Is that how that works? No? Good luck with that, then.
As our one year anniversary rounded the corner, Barry told us in no uncertain terms that he would not waste his time coming to a resolution with us, because we were a lost cause; “undesirables.” He told us he expected us to move out when our lease is up. Of course, our lease was not legally binding – so in reality its expiration date was given imaginary meaning by the parties involved. Like the Mayan calendar. We moved, anyway.
Heaven on Earth
City: Brooklyn, NY
Year: 2010
Time Span: Still here!
Pick any trendy block in Williamsburg. Picture it in your head. Ready? Walk 25 blocks south and seven blocks west. Feel the wind of the JMZ on your back? No? You’re not close enough yet.
Steve, Ashley, and I found a three-bedroom on the last block you can legitimately claim as Williamsburg. We have two floors, a backyard, and a washer/dryer combo. We have one (1) landlord. We have multiple bodegas and a Walgreen’s. It’s perfect.