“Hi. I’m inquiring about the room you have advertised for rent on Craig’s List.
Is it on the ground floor? Or on the second floor? How much is the security deposit? Are utilities included? Do utilities include wifi? How long is the lease?
Thank you for your time.”
I must have typed those words about a hundred times, in some order or other, between December of last year and mid February. Many of my messages brought about texts asking me to get a Google code (??) or follow a link to Roomster or some other weird ass website. Most, however, went completely unanswered; ignored, lost, discarded…
But a few were answered with useful information, such as answers to my questions, and even dates and times when I could go see the room. And I went, with the help of my landlady, and found a few useful rooms as well; ones that either matched my needs or at least offered enough incentives for me to accept their flaws. The first room I found was perfect. On the ground floor, lovely roommates, and in a good neighborhood.
Huzzah!
Alas… when I called the young man whose lease I was to take over a few days later, he said his move had fallen through, and he wasn’t going anywhere after all.
Drat!
The next room I found was on the second floor, but was less expensive, furnished, and the son of the landlord who was in charge of the building, was willing to accept theNew York state agreement instead of cash deposit. So we shook hands and he said he will bring the paper he had to fill in for that agreement to my house the next day, and will then set up a time to sign the lease, etc. I offered to pay the first month rent, but he refused to accept any rent until I had signed a lease. Okay, makes sense. Sure. The next day he brought back the filled in and signed sheet of paper, and said he will text me a bit later for the time and location when I would sign the lease.
Yay!
Except… he texted me a short while later, saying someone had shown up and given him cash deposit so he had given the room away to him.
MOTHERF@$%^?*R!!!
I was big time pissed off. I told him we had a deal, and had he said he wouldn’t accept the New York state agreement I, too, would have given him cash. But it was too late… the douche had given the room away and left me screwed in the wind.
After that, I waited until after the Christmas holidays and all that nonsense. I needed a break, and people were not going to be terribly reliable then anyway. I picked up again a week or so after the holidays, and was faced with the same mess, more or less.
Until two days before the end of January, when I had to leave my place. I found a room on the second floor of an older, solid brick building owned by a property management firm. No chance of these people flaking out or being douchbags, I figured. Well, less likelihood of it, anyway. I went and saw the room; looked nice, furnished, and carpeted. I filled out the application, paid the $20 application fee, and waited to hear back.
I was approved! The next day, Friday, I received a phone call and the property folks told me I’m good to go. However, the rooms had been empty for a while, so it would take until Tuesday for them to prepare the room for my moving in. No problem, I could stay at a hostel or something for a few nights, since I wouldn’t be paying rent on the first.
That Monday night, I laid down on my bed at the hostel, and as I was thinking about the logistics of moving in the next day, something horrifying occurred to me: I hadn’t seen a kitchen at that house. No kitchen, kitchenette, or even a fridge. But surely there had to be some manner of kitchen-esque accommodations somewhere in that house…
Didn’t there?