3 Trains, 2 Taxis, 20,000 Steps Later, and Still No Apartment

The Upper East Side has some pretty brownstones.

On Saturday, I went all over upper Manhattan looking for apartments and didn’t find a thing.

But along the way, I did see beautiful parks in Inwood, old school brownstones in the Upper East Side, and a naked man in Harlem.

So it wasn’t a total bust.

I’m being a bit picky at this stage in my life because up until now I’ve lived in shitholes.

My first apartment was a studio next to campus my sophomore year. It was tiny, dirty, and you could hear everyone through the walls. The acoustics were weird though and you could never tell where the noise was coming from. The girl below me reported me to the landlord saying that I was loud and constantly moving around. I was barely home, so I knew it wasn’t me she was hearing.

One time she came knocking on my door to complain. I opened the door and immediately started screaming at her, “I got up to walk from my bed to the bathroom. Other than that I haven’t moved from the bed in a fucking hour!”

She was surprised and all she could say was, “Oh” before I slammed the door in her face.

She moved out.

Oh, and I once found a bum sleeping in the laundry room.

My last apartment also had very thin walls and loud neighbors. I could hear the girl below me screaming during sex (obviously faking it). There was also the neighbor across the hall who was constantly kicking her son out and screaming at everyone in the apartment.

The apartment itself was poorly insulated and freezing in the winter. In the summer, I had one air conditioner in the living room that was supposed to cool off the entirety of my two bedroom apartment. More often than not it just blew a fuse, causing me to have to go to the basement and screw in a new fuse on a 100 degree day.

So, at the age of thirty, I just want something nice. I realize that I’ve picked the wrong city to finally have standards in, but it’s worth a shot.

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