Three apartments today.
One was actually frightening... a Russian who called himself 'Bart' met me and showed me a four bedroom flat just down the street.... he and a group of friends have rented a number of...um... prime places, and put ads on craigslist announcing themselves to be hip professionals looking for another roommate. They remind me of the old Steve Martin/Dan Ackroyd 'Wild and Crazy Guys'... no, really. He sounded like one, and had the movements... he eyed me up and down as he escorted me into an elevator that jolted and jerked up to the fourth floor from the once posh marble lobby that had fallen into crack junkie haven. It was one of those places were you felt you should wear a body condom to stay safe.
The apartment door had three locks on it, and opened onto a long hallway... there was one bathroom, a small kitchen with cabinets assigned to rooms, and the three bedrooms. The living room had also been converted to a bedroom... it was more expensive, however, it had wood floors vs linoleum, didn't look onto the air shaft, and was large. There wasn't a closet...I can live without a closet.
I can't live there, though. It was creepy, he was creepy. He knocked on the door of the largest room, then, walked in. The current occupant was still in bed, and started screaming at him. She whispered to me later he has a habit of doing a fast knock and walking in.
I can't imagine living my life in a room. One room. With a creepy landlord who retains the right to walk in at any time... then stood close to me in the elevator and said he could maybe waive my deposit.
He must be in a hard way. And, no, I'm not being clever.
The second one was a share with two students in a place where the courtyard reverberated with screaming children.
Last of all was in Chelsea, in the Chelsea projects. Small, dusty, the roommate is a hipnoid. I know I shouldn't be picky... I am.
The saddest part is, a great apartment is available.. two bedrooms, with a lease...and I can't afford it on my own. If only C was ready to move now.
Tomorrow, I go to Bank, a block from the Hudson....small room, who knows? All hope is pinned on the doctor in Canada moving here in July or C moving in August.
Or, I could go live in the Russian's and hope I'm not sold as a white slave.
Ha. No, really....ha. I can see me now, in Siberia.... I'd last 3 hours before they shot me for one of the things I do that drives my kids mad; sending food back.
"You call this fish soup? I thought it had three eyes per bowl, I only have two. If it calls for three, I want three, please. Who do I talk to? What? Walk out where and kneel? Why am I kneeling?" Yes, I'd be shot.
But, I'd have my three eyes in my soup, first.