Apartment hunting in New York is probably one of the most frustrating aspects of living in the city. This is especially true for my peers, people who are in their twenties, recently out of (or in graduate) school, and on a tight budget. We're the ones who are stuck scouring Craigslist advertisements, dealing with shady brokers, and charming landlords who ask you questions like "Are you going to smoke pot and have parties in the apartment? Because I don't want that."
Alas, the time has come again for me to find an apartment in this large and amazing city. I have a few requirements, which are apparently contradictory to one another: a cheap place that's also in a safe neighborhood. Apparently, anything under $900 a month isn't going to get you very far, even in the outermost boroughs. (Note that my budget is more like $700.) I'm also hoping for little things, like, you know, actual doors that lock and kitchens that are large enough for more than a midget sized child to cook in.
I've developed a sort-of 'Apartment Niceness Scale' (A.N.S.), akin to the Kinsey Scale. The obvious difference is that my A.N.S. relates to domestic abodes, not modes of sexuality.
At the extreme top of the Apartment Niceness Scale would be the palatial dwelling spaces of the upper echelons of society, those marble and brick residences that line Central Park, Fifth Avenue, Park Avenue and the like. Middle range would be someplace decent in Astoria or Park Slope, with an exposed brick wall or too, functioning hot water, views that aren't of the wall belonging to the next building over, and perhaps an attractive male neighbor next door who can help screw in light bulbs and share his beer on a Saturday night. The lowest rank would be the suicide inducing monstrosity I visited yesterday afternoon, a dismal and dank place with floral wallpaper from 1975 and no doors. (Yes, no doors, you heard me right. There was a door to the bathroom and an entrance ... and that was it.)
It was bad enough that walking to this apartment of doom -- during midday, mind you -- I felt like I could be jumped at any second. Well, okay, it wasn't quite that bad. It was certainly not fun, though. The only thing going for the neighborhood was that it was quintessential New York. I passed a Halal butcher, Hassidic Jews, signs that were only in Hebrew, and about a gazillion Mexican bodegas. Long live NYC, minus creepy guys and criminals!
After getting lost twice and being distracted in reminiscing about a Halal butcher I used to live near that kept live geese and chickens in the shop, I finally found the apartment in question. Yuck!! I think my first thought to myself was, "I'd slit my wrists if I lived here." No joke.
Luckily, I had another viewing scheduled for later that evening. Again, shady neighborhood, but not quite as sketch as the last one. Four flights up, and I find the apartment: nice, but not worth the rent given the neighborhood and climb up the stairs. And then, to top it off, I almost fell through the stairs when a board I stepped on gave way. Joy! (Not.)
So, anyway. I'm off again to look at more apartments this week. I'm sure it will prove to be a joyless task, but a girl needs a place to live. I'm trying to see these home hunting adventures as a way of exploring NYC. New neighborhoods and all that. But, honestly, it would just be lovely if someone plopped down a beautiful first floor apartment on my doorstep tomorrow and said, "Here, take it, rent free!"
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