I know, I know...I've been MIA for almost a month. I apologize, but in return, let me tell you a little story about what I've been doing.
A little story called, "Apartment Hunting in New York City."
Apartment hunting here is like getting a full-out second job...a job that demands you work 40 hours/week, despite the fact that you have another job that actually pays you a salary rather than demanding tens of thousands of dollars from you. Apartment hunting is draining and defeating, exciting and exhilarating...it's thrilling to find something, but the process just about kills you. Apartment hunting in New York City is, no exaggeration, unlike anything else I have ever seen.
First, you have to find an apartment to go see. There are no Post Properties websites in New York...no, instead you're trolling through Craigslist, the evil, lying stepchild of a website that you never wish you had. You see, on Craigslist, you can't just search for a 4-bedroom apartment in Manhattan that's between $4000 and $5000 a month. NO, you have to clarify whether it's a broker apartment, or a broker no-fee apartment, or an apartment by owner. Then you have to specify the neighborhood, and then weed out the listings that say they are on the "Upper East Side" but are really on "Roosevelt Island." (As an aside - no matter how lovely it is, "Long Island City" is NOT "Manhattan.") Have pets or want a doorman? Might as well forget it.
And then there's the converted room...the dreaded, malevolent converted room. You see, agents will list their apartment as a 4-bedroom. "Wow!" you say. "A 4 bedroom apartment for $3500 a month?! That's train robbery!" But ooohhh no. Read the fine print and you will see in itty-bitty letters in Wingdings font ,"Apartment is HUGE REAL 2-bedroom that can be EASILY converted to 4." Imagine that! Lucky me! Someone has drawn a dotted line down the middle of a floor plan and has figured out a way to make an apartment designed for two people into one that holds four! And, on top of that, they have so kindly considered how fun it sounds for a 25 year old girl to build a freakin' wall in the middle of the den, leaving a dark, windowless Batcave of a den for a loveseat and a 12" TV. Really...it's been lovely, but I'm going to go ahead and pass on the conversion experience.
But every now and then, you find a somewhat plausible option, in which case you immediately call or email the contact. There are definite pros and cons of both methods of communication. Calling - Pro - Immediate response. Con - They have your phone number and call you back 12 times a day. Emailing - Pro - A written record of address and fee and contact info. Con - The only thing apartment brokers, managers or agents know to reply with is, "What is your contact info?" Example: "Hi - I am interested in this apartment! When is it available?" Reply, "What is your contact info?" "Email is best, I have an iPhone! Can you tell me where the apartment is located?" Reply, "What is your contact info?" Awesome...thanks.
Should you actually make contact with a reasonable, quasi-English-speaking, relatively straightforward contact, the next step is setting up the appointment. There are typically a few options: a) Monday - Friday, 9-5, b) Monday - Friday, 9-5 or c) Monday - Friday, 9-5. If you can imagine, none of these are particularly accommodating to my work schedule that is d) Monday - Friday, 9-7, nor to my desired appointment availability of e) Monday - Friday, 7:30 - 10 or Saturday. So you talk in circles...they say, "Can't you just run up during lunch?" or "Don't you get off around 5?" and I hang my head in disbelief that there are people who can actually afford to rent a Manhattan apartment that can just pick up and drop by the office around 1:30 on a Monday afternoon.
BUT...maybe, just maybe, you will make a few appointments to see apartments on Saturday. This is when it all goes down. You show up at one apartment, and the super shows it to you. The super doesn't know when the apartment is available or how much it costs, but he is nice and pleasant and almost speaks English and gives you assurance that sometimes there is hot water in the building. You then head on to the next appointment, where you wait (and wait and wait) on the corner for an agent named Moe to show up...but lo and behold, he never does.
Slightly defeated but ever resilient, you suck it up and go to your next appointment with Mr Sleazy McSlick broker. He asks you to meet him at 83rd and Lex, and then tells you, "Oh, we're actually going to walk over to 96th and York." After a 20 minute hike down a hill, you arrive at the apartment. About halfway up the stairs, he firmly tells you, "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO FIND ANYTHING BETTER THAN THIS." Never mind the fact that your friends that live a block over have an apartment twice as big for half the cost...YOU will not find anything better. (And because YOU will not find anything better, YOU should just fork over a broker's fee of 15% of a year's rent to Mr Sleazy McSlick to sign for this apartment. Because YOU can absolutely afford to pay for first month's rent, last month's rent, an application fee, a credit check, AND a broker's fee of 15% of a year's rent all at once.)
Willing to oblige Mr Sleazy McSlick because of the faint hope that something awesome lies behind door number 5W, you enter the apartment and look around to find one or all of the following attributes: 1. Bedroom A has no window. 2. Bedroom B has no closet. 3. Bedroom C has one window that faces brick wall. 4. Bedroom D will hold twin bed and piece of notebook paper. 5. You have to walk through bedrooms A and B to get to bedroom C. 6. Refrigerator is covered in grime. 7. Sofa will literally have to be constructed inside the den, as it will not fit through the door frame. 8. Bathroom is so small that you can sit on the toilet, brush your teeth and take a shower all at once. And it's still, somehow, beyond your price range. With a heavy sigh, you say thanks (for nothing!) and head on your merry way.
But then...like a ray of shining light straight from heaven...you find THE ONE. The Neo of apartments to the Matrix of Manhattan real estate. The apartment that takes your breath away. It's charming. It's large. It has an eat-in-kitchen, exposed brick and a terrace. It has (gasp) closets in every bedroom. It has a toilet that flushes and a stove that does not appear that it will blow up upon starting. THE ONE. Quick, like a bolt of lightning, you must put in an application. Fax the form to the roommate who lives across the country; email the photos from your phone to mom to get another opinion. Because in the time it takes you to practice writing your new address on the corner of an envelope...
It's gone. Poof. "We're so sorry, but someone just submitted an application yesterday." "I hate to tell you, but a lovely group of girls rented this apartment three seconds ago." Just when you thought you had it, the real estate gods laugh in your face and yank it away. So you do it all over again. And again. And again. And then - alas! - you find one without an application! And you like it! Worried that this is as good as it gets, you hurriedly apply yet again for an apartment. Social security number? Check. Letter of employment on company letterhead? Check. 2006 and 2007 tax statements? Check, check. Two recent pay stubs? Check. Left arm, firstborn son, and your soul in a gold vile that can be worn around someone's neck? Check, check, check. (And someone still miraculously beats you to the punch. They must have opted for the platinum soul vile and both left and right arms.)
But eventually, after days, weeks or months of exhaustion and the development of a total disgust toward the whole idea of moving, you find the perfect home. You decide you really can go above 89th St, or that a 5th-floor walk-up isn't so bad, or that the maid's quarters actually can be made into a bedroom. You fork over the money, eat Ramen noodles for a couple months, buy a desk on Craigs List, pay a guy named Vinny $50 to move all your earthly possessions in the back of his van, and plot the trek out to the Ikea in New Jersey. And then every month, you mail off half your monthly earnings to a management company in Queens, and use the rest to live it up in this fine city...
Because, really...what other city in the world could possibly be worth a hunt like this?
Apartment hunting here is like getting a full-out second job...a job that demands you work 40 hours/week, despite the fact that you have another job that actually pays you a salary rather than demanding tens of thousands of dollars from you. Apartment hunting is draining and defeating, exciting and exhilarating...it's thrilling to find something, but the process just about kills you. Apartment hunting in New York City is, no exaggeration, unlike anything else I have ever seen.
First, you have to find an apartment to go see. There are no Post Properties websites in New York...no, instead you're trolling through Craigslist, the evil, lying stepchild of a website that you never wish you had. You see, on Craigslist, you can't just search for a 4-bedroom apartment in Manhattan that's between $4000 and $5000 a month. NO, you have to clarify whether it's a broker apartment, or a broker no-fee apartment, or an apartment by owner. Then you have to specify the neighborhood, and then weed out the listings that say they are on the "Upper East Side" but are really on "Roosevelt Island." (As an aside - no matter how lovely it is, "Long Island City" is NOT "Manhattan.") Have pets or want a doorman? Might as well forget it.
And then there's the converted room...the dreaded, malevolent converted room. You see, agents will list their apartment as a 4-bedroom. "Wow!" you say. "A 4 bedroom apartment for $3500 a month?! That's train robbery!" But ooohhh no. Read the fine print and you will see in itty-bitty letters in Wingdings font ,"Apartment is HUGE REAL 2-bedroom that can be EASILY converted to 4." Imagine that! Lucky me! Someone has drawn a dotted line down the middle of a floor plan and has figured out a way to make an apartment designed for two people into one that holds four! And, on top of that, they have so kindly considered how fun it sounds for a 25 year old girl to build a freakin' wall in the middle of the den, leaving a dark, windowless Batcave of a den for a loveseat and a 12" TV. Really...it's been lovely, but I'm going to go ahead and pass on the conversion experience.
But every now and then, you find a somewhat plausible option, in which case you immediately call or email the contact. There are definite pros and cons of both methods of communication. Calling - Pro - Immediate response. Con - They have your phone number and call you back 12 times a day. Emailing - Pro - A written record of address and fee and contact info. Con - The only thing apartment brokers, managers or agents know to reply with is, "What is your contact info?" Example: "Hi - I am interested in this apartment! When is it available?" Reply, "What is your contact info?" "Email is best, I have an iPhone! Can you tell me where the apartment is located?" Reply, "What is your contact info?" Awesome...thanks.
Should you actually make contact with a reasonable, quasi-English-speaking, relatively straightforward contact, the next step is setting up the appointment. There are typically a few options: a) Monday - Friday, 9-5, b) Monday - Friday, 9-5 or c) Monday - Friday, 9-5. If you can imagine, none of these are particularly accommodating to my work schedule that is d) Monday - Friday, 9-7, nor to my desired appointment availability of e) Monday - Friday, 7:30 - 10 or Saturday. So you talk in circles...they say, "Can't you just run up during lunch?" or "Don't you get off around 5?" and I hang my head in disbelief that there are people who can actually afford to rent a Manhattan apartment that can just pick up and drop by the office around 1:30 on a Monday afternoon.
BUT...maybe, just maybe, you will make a few appointments to see apartments on Saturday. This is when it all goes down. You show up at one apartment, and the super shows it to you. The super doesn't know when the apartment is available or how much it costs, but he is nice and pleasant and almost speaks English and gives you assurance that sometimes there is hot water in the building. You then head on to the next appointment, where you wait (and wait and wait) on the corner for an agent named Moe to show up...but lo and behold, he never does.
Slightly defeated but ever resilient, you suck it up and go to your next appointment with Mr Sleazy McSlick broker. He asks you to meet him at 83rd and Lex, and then tells you, "Oh, we're actually going to walk over to 96th and York." After a 20 minute hike down a hill, you arrive at the apartment. About halfway up the stairs, he firmly tells you, "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO FIND ANYTHING BETTER THAN THIS." Never mind the fact that your friends that live a block over have an apartment twice as big for half the cost...YOU will not find anything better. (And because YOU will not find anything better, YOU should just fork over a broker's fee of 15% of a year's rent to Mr Sleazy McSlick to sign for this apartment. Because YOU can absolutely afford to pay for first month's rent, last month's rent, an application fee, a credit check, AND a broker's fee of 15% of a year's rent all at once.)
Willing to oblige Mr Sleazy McSlick because of the faint hope that something awesome lies behind door number 5W, you enter the apartment and look around to find one or all of the following attributes: 1. Bedroom A has no window. 2. Bedroom B has no closet. 3. Bedroom C has one window that faces brick wall. 4. Bedroom D will hold twin bed and piece of notebook paper. 5. You have to walk through bedrooms A and B to get to bedroom C. 6. Refrigerator is covered in grime. 7. Sofa will literally have to be constructed inside the den, as it will not fit through the door frame. 8. Bathroom is so small that you can sit on the toilet, brush your teeth and take a shower all at once. And it's still, somehow, beyond your price range. With a heavy sigh, you say thanks (for nothing!) and head on your merry way.
But then...like a ray of shining light straight from heaven...you find THE ONE. The Neo of apartments to the Matrix of Manhattan real estate. The apartment that takes your breath away. It's charming. It's large. It has an eat-in-kitchen, exposed brick and a terrace. It has (gasp) closets in every bedroom. It has a toilet that flushes and a stove that does not appear that it will blow up upon starting. THE ONE. Quick, like a bolt of lightning, you must put in an application. Fax the form to the roommate who lives across the country; email the photos from your phone to mom to get another opinion. Because in the time it takes you to practice writing your new address on the corner of an envelope...
It's gone. Poof. "We're so sorry, but someone just submitted an application yesterday." "I hate to tell you, but a lovely group of girls rented this apartment three seconds ago." Just when you thought you had it, the real estate gods laugh in your face and yank it away. So you do it all over again. And again. And again. And then - alas! - you find one without an application! And you like it! Worried that this is as good as it gets, you hurriedly apply yet again for an apartment. Social security number? Check. Letter of employment on company letterhead? Check. 2006 and 2007 tax statements? Check, check. Two recent pay stubs? Check. Left arm, firstborn son, and your soul in a gold vile that can be worn around someone's neck? Check, check, check. (And someone still miraculously beats you to the punch. They must have opted for the platinum soul vile and both left and right arms.)
But eventually, after days, weeks or months of exhaustion and the development of a total disgust toward the whole idea of moving, you find the perfect home. You decide you really can go above 89th St, or that a 5th-floor walk-up isn't so bad, or that the maid's quarters actually can be made into a bedroom. You fork over the money, eat Ramen noodles for a couple months, buy a desk on Craigs List, pay a guy named Vinny $50 to move all your earthly possessions in the back of his van, and plot the trek out to the Ikea in New Jersey. And then every month, you mail off half your monthly earnings to a management company in Queens, and use the rest to live it up in this fine city...
Because, really...what other city in the world could possibly be worth a hunt like this?
