Siddity in the City

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Once, I would have smarmily insisted I would never leave this island for the boroughs. I disdained The Queens, ignored the Bronx and Staten Island, and swore the only things worth trekking to Brooklyn for were Target and the BMA.

*shaking head*

Ha. How foolish I have been. Nothing–nothing–on this island is affordable unless you have a friend who has a friend with a rent-controlled apartment going on working sabbatical for a year. Thirty-somethings live three to an apartment, and it’s okay, because what the hell else are you going to do? (I think this extended dorm-like living contributes to the extended adolescence in this town. How can you possibly feel like a grown-up when you’re bunking with three other people and still depending on handouts from mom and dad well into your late 20s and 30s just to pay the rent? Madness.) Did you know that in this town a household with a combined income of $84,000 qualifies for housing assistance? Yeah, it’s like that. Granted, they have to be a family of ten…but you get my drift. A single person can earn almost $40,000 a year and live in public housing, here. Sadly, I make too much to qualify for public housing. And yet, I am so broke.

If I had been a genius, I’d have put myself on waiting lists like this as soon as I moved to town. I am no genius.

And so begins a little Siddity in the City special feature I call “What You Get For The House Hunting Money…IN THE ‘HOOD!” Perhaps you are familiar with the Fine Living or HGTV Network shows of a similar name? Yes, this will be like a cross between those, except with rentals, and in the ghetto.

Buckled in? Let’s go.

Budget: $1000 or less
Expectations: Studio or 1 BR in a decent (risk of rape and murder or death by stray bullet should be relatively low) location in Astoria, Long Island City, northwest Brooklyn (nothing further east or south than Prospect Park, unless it is FUCKING AMAZING) or Harlem (Fuck the Bronx, and Staten Island can die, too. I’ll move to Philly first.).

Last Thursday, I coughed up $150 fee for Rent-Direct.com, which offers no-fee (after the access fee) listings for apartments available in the metro-NYC area. I figured this would be my best strategy, since I have no intention of paying a broker over a grand for pointing to a building and then saying “Sign here!” I have since come to realize Rent Direct is simply where all the shitty apartments brokers won’t take on go to languish on the market…but anyway, Episode 1.

Sid: Hi can I speak with Janice?

Janice: Speaking.

Sid: I’m calling about the flex two listed on Rent-Direct? Is that still available for viewing? (for those unfamiliar with the “flex” concept…this is an apartment in which either the livingroom or a walk-in closet affords enough privacy for a broker or landlord to claim it has bedroom potential)

Janice: Oh sure. You can just go right over and look at it. The door is unlocked. I mean, if you can get in downstairs. If you can figure out how to get in downstairs just go right up.

Sid:…Um, okay.

Janice: And give me a call to let me know how it is, if you can’t get in, whatever.

*Time passes. Sid ventures out to Astoria, and after much hilarity in which she finally figures out what those stupid double-numbered addresses mean and wishes she had realized sooner so she would not have had to walk across 13 avenues, during which time she also calls Stolie to declare her hatred of the silent, cab-free enclave, she reaches her destination*

Sid, to self: Ooh. Actually, cute neighborhood. With a produce co-op right downstairs! Hm. Perhaps I misjudged the Astoria.

*waits outside for someone to enter the complex so she can slip in, stalker-style; enters behind grocery lady*

Sid: OMG. Cute courtyard! I likey!

*strolls to correct entryway and tries quite securely locked outer door*

Balls. *Calls Janice* Hey, I found the apartment complex, but I can’t get in.

Janice: Have you tried ringing buzzers? I mean, the worst they can do is tell you to screw off and stop ringing their buzzer.

Sid, to self:Or have me fucking arrested for trespass, but whatevs. *eyeroll* Um, okay.

*pushing multiple buzzers before finding someone home at 2 in the afternoon…who actually lets me in*

Success!
*giddily climbs five floors to open apartment.*

Oh. Eew. Is she kidding? $1250? *Looking around at dirty, paint splattered floor, peeling/chipped paint in entryway, and old furniture left in middle of room.*

Nuh-UH!

*Checks out kitchen, gingerly opening disintegrating cupboards and examining little gas stove with busted burner, leaking kitchen sink, broke-down floor and then, opens the fridge* Aw!

*retch* *retch again* Fetid garlic juice! Aw, damn. That smell will never come out.

*flees, and peeks in bedroom*

What the hell? Jesus, this place is tiny. I’ve never had a bedroom so small. And what the shit is that hutch thing doing in the middle of the fucking linoleum floor? LINOLEUM? *double-take in disbelief* Are you SHITTING me? $1250 for a linoleum bedroom floor? And it’s so ugly.

*steps out to look at bathroom, which is cramped, has leaking faucets, AND has dirty blinds tossed in the bathtub.*
Um. No. No way. I am so blogging this. *Removes Angus to snap photos and notices bizarre swelling on forearm* Fuck me. HIVES! I have got to get out of here.

*Turning around trying to figure out where the flex bedroom could be* Wait. Are those blinds…in the living room ceiling? Oh, HEYLL NAWL this bitch was not trying to claim that little curtained off four-foot square was a flex bedroom! Oh my god. Okay. We’re done here.

*fleeing apartment* Ooh, but rooftop access…that would be nice. I’ll just take a peek.

*noticing 40 oz. bottles, busted glass and CLOTHES on stairs leading to roof* Or…not.

*Scene*

Next time: Sweaty teenage-boy rags on the floor, only $600!