The Apartment Hunt

As a result of my wonderful Roomie I was forced to undertake the search for a new apartment. Always stressful and I had 3 weeks to do so, and basically 2 weeks to actively visit them since I had to return to Cuse for a long weekend for my uncle's wedding. Knowing no one that needed a roommate I resorted to Craigslist....again. Though this time around I was determined to do much better than I had last time. I was wiser to the ways of New York. Or so I thought. The first viewing went well. It was in Astoria and with two guys, which I was a bit wary of, after last time. But they were totally normal dudes, if a bit on the bro side. They also happened to work in the same exact building I do which was a strange coincidence. The apartment was clean and even had a balcony. It didn't seem like a bad situation except thinking about it afterwards, could I really comfortably poop around two strange guys? I think not. Luckily they found a friend to fill the room and I was off the hook.

Now of course these couple weeks that I spent apartment hunting also happened to be the hottest of the summer. As soon as I stepped outside I was dripping with sweat and it got worse when I descended into the subway, that ungodly pit of despair. I arrived at every place I looked at dripping with sweat and I wanting to die a little. My next few days of appointments were all scheduled in Brooklyn. I was pretty unfamiliar with Brooklyn, outside of Williamsburg, but I knew that I liked that area. I was fining places in East Williamsburg that were in my price range so I scheduled a couple viewings there. Now I knew this was not going to be the heart of Williamsburg, and even realized that it may extend into Bushwick, which I knew was a little rough. I thought I was prepared for this. Apparently I am much whiter than I think I am. I am also not at all a hipster which is the other thing Bushwick is known for. When walking through the neighborhood to see this next place, I was well aware that I was one of the only young white girls and definitely the only one carrying a Longchamp. I walked quickly towards the place to discover that it was over a 10 minute walk from the subway, unacceptable in New York City. As I stood on the stoop of the apartment I watched the loud, Puerto Rican children in the park across the street and tried not to cringe. Kids. Loud kids. Eeeehhh. I walked up the 3 flights and was greeted by a hippie girl with facial piercings. She was followed by a little chihuahua and 2 of the largest cats I have ever seen. She led me inside, which was surprisingly nice. The girl subletting was present and she was really cool. Although I was very confused when they showed me the third girl's room and a tall, what I think was a male (facial hair) with dreadlocks stood there and said nothing to me. I stayed for a bit and chatted with the other girls and pet the chihuahua. They were nice and I liked them. I considered taking the apartment when they offered it to me a few days later. But the room was small and the walk through the neighborhood just sketched me out.

I had another viewing scheduled about an hour after I got out of this one. I didn't even remember responding to this one and had no idea what to expect. I texted the guy to see if I could come a bit earlier and decided to head to the neighborhood and find a coffee shop, since I really didn't want to stay in this part of it. Except when I emerged from the Morgan Ave subway stop I was surprised to find the area almost completely desolate. It was an old industrial area with no stores and not many apartments. There was a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk and I was definitely the only white girl. Now I'm from Syracuse, which is not exactly a peaceful suburbia. It has some pretty rough parts, similar to the one I was standing in now. Except in Syracuse you drive through these neighborhoods, not walk through them. I very seriously considered turning back onto the subway but I would've had to walk by the homeless man again. Luckily I spotted a punk-ish girl about my age and asked her where the nearest coffee shop was. Unfortunately there wasn't one. And I'm sure she got a kick out of the terrified looking, lost, non-hipster girl. At this time the guy texted back saying I could come by early. After walking 20 minutes in the wrong direction (the map on my phone is very misleading) I finally made it there. He pulled up on his moped just as I was arriving. I spotted his ponytail immediately and knew this wasn't going to be happening but decided I might as well see the place now. It was big and cheeeap but also pretty dirty and resembled an apartment I would've partied in in college. It was also railroad-style, meaning the only exits out of my room where through Ponytail's room or out into the main hall. But I wasn't paying much attention to any of this—I knew I wasn't taking the apartment and the guy who was subletting the room was surprisingly hot, in a dirty hippie sort of way. He was leaving to teach English in Columbia and also had the same teddy bear as me. We discussed this on their rooftop which had a nice view of Manhattan. After descending back into the apartment they invited me to sit on their dirty couch with a hole in it to meet the rest of the roommates, who were a weird Asian guy and a surprisingly cool girl. They had all gone to New Paltz together and were actually fun to sit and chill with. They even passed me their bowl, but I passed it right back. I hung out with them for a bit but decided to leave before it got dark and before I embarrassed myself even further by continuing to flirt with the hot hippie. I'm sure they noticed my disdain for the apartment or just knew I wasn't exactly going to fit in with them and I never heard a follow up with them nor did I reach out of my end. If the hippie had been staying it may have been a different story.

The next day was just as horrifically hot and I was exhausted from the day before (I had taken the bus ride back from Cuse directly before looking at those apartments and had to endure sitting next to a guy who kept calling me “sweetheart”) and from work all day. I was in no mood for it but back to Brooklyn I went, this time to Clinton Hill. I had heard parts were nice and parts weren't. This is of course was not the nice part. I walked quickly by the government housing to arrive at the massive apartment building, only to realize I did not have this girl's phone number nor the apartment number. I tried to email her but no response. I waited outside for awhile to see if she would meet me there then wandered the building in the vain hope of somehow stumbling into where I needed to be. No avail. I had been stood up. I was sweaty, tired and pissed off and now had to truck back to “East Williamsburg” aka Scaryland. I was feeling completely pessimistic but when I emerged from the subway the neighborhood was actually ok. Still industrial but there were a couple restuarants, a bar and a giant organic grocery store. Not so bad. I walked to the building and when the apartment door opened I breathed a sigh of relief. A normal looking girl was standing there. She led me inside and the place was totally fine. There was even an adorable cat. We sat and chatted and I discovered that she had taught English in Korea, which I am considering. Unfortunatly she was the girl I would be living with but I agreed to come back the next night to meet her. And I did, super sweaty and borderline delirious from the heat and the stress of the L train service being suspended momentarily. This girl was also normal and super nice. She offered me seltzer and we sat and chatted with the cat on the table next to us. At one point he reached his paw out, extended a claw and tipped my glass over, spilling the water everywhere. I somehow knew this would be a good sign. I ultimately took this place after looking at another place in Astoria the next night. I liked that one as well and the girls were very nice, but it was far from the subway and they were taking too long to make a decision. So I packed it up to Bushwick to live amongst the hipsters. And it has its moments but it's not too shabby. But when someone asks me where I live I do say East Williamsburg in the hopes that I will fool them.