What was not advertised was that the washer and dryer and been hooked up incorrectly and didn't work yet, that the bedrooms were small and shaped badly and one DIDN'T HAVE HEAT, and that there was no living room. No. Living. Room. Just a kitchen, tiny bathroom, and 2 weird bedrooms. Once again, deeply disappointed, we fled.
With every disappointment, the stakes for us getting the Dream Apartment got higher in my mind. It increasingly felt like if that fell through, we were doomed to live in discomfort or squalor or both. As far as I knew, our application was being processed, and with each hour and day that crept by without us hearing anything, my stress level grew. I got the occasional bit of news from A, the current tenant who showed us the apartment, but it was all vague and second hand. I was starting to get genuinely worried.
This morning, I got an odd message from A, who seemed concerned, asking if we'd ever gotten an email from D, our prospective new landlord. I hadn't, and even scanned my trash and span folders to check. Nada. Befuddled and worried, I asked Ed.
Me: Did you get an email from D?
Ed: Today? No.
Me: Um...ever?
Ed: I got something Wednesday, but it didn't look important.
Me: FORWARD IT TO ME NOW.
Turns out the email that Ed barely glanced at and summarily dismissed was, in fact, directly from D. Not only did it clarify our position and answer many of the questions I'd been fretting about, it contained EXPLICIT INSTRUCTIONS telling us how to drop off the deposit and finish the application process. Things that could have been done DAYS AGO and saved me untold hours of stress.
Needless to say, I considered beating my husband to death with a rolling pin. I am better now.
We frantically contacted D, apologized, and made arrangements to make the deposit and complete the necessary paperwork. I took the World's Fastest Shower and hightailed it downtown in -30. I met Ed and threatened him with many horrible things if he ever did this to me again. We got a money order and sprinted in the direction of the rental office.
It was at this point that I nearly killed myself.
I spotted a #2 bus pulling in to a stop across the street. Catching it would shave precious minutes off travel time and increase our likelihood of being there on time. Traffic seemed to have stopped, so I took a chance and ran. As it turns out, traffic had not completely stopped. The car missed me by a good margin, but it came a bit closer to Ed, as he was behind me. He yipped in alarm, and I turned to see if he was okay.
Looking behind me, I didn't see the patch of ice I hit at a dead run. My feet flew up so that for one instant I was perfectly parallel to the ground, then fall flat on my back. I took all the impact on my lower back and the back of my head, which ricocheted off the pavement. There was a very strange yelping sound which I learned later was Ed, convinced I had just fractured my skull.
A very nice and very alarmed bystander helped me up. I was a bit wobbly, but felt completely fine. Not even...sore. Just a bit shaken. We could the bus and Ed stared at me for the duration of the ride to make sure I wasn't going to start bleeding out my ears. Then he giggled and commented on how awesome the fall was. Sigh.
D was waiting for us, and very sympathetic. We signed the lease, handed over a deposit, got our move in date, and shook hands. Everything was checking out fine. Less than half an hour after we left, the last of the background check was completed and I got a call saying that we do, indeed, have the Dream Apartment for sure by March 1st, maybe even earlier if we can arrange it with the current tenants.
I HAVE MY DREAM APARTMENT.
The saga of the Walschmutz Housing Crisis is far from over. We just informed the current landlords, who were surprisingly dismayed at our early departure. We have to actually move into the place. This is going to be a huge and expensive and ridiculous process, if what has happened so far in any indication. But at the very least, we are moving in to an excellent place in 3 weeks.
Holy shit. I am moving in 3 weeks. Should I, like, maybe get some boxes or something?
Labels: Married Life, Relocation Crisis 2008
