You’d think that after two years in New York I’d have become calloused enough not to believe promises from hasty brokers and landlords, or buy into blanket statements about trendy neighborhoods, or actually convince myself of things like, “$1200/month for one room in an illegal 5 bedroom, street-level, windowless apartment, is a GREAT DEAL FOR THE NEIGHBORHOOD!” You’d think.
I was so happy to have found this place I almost peed myself. I bragged about it to anyone who would listen. All of my living space! My clean white walls and chic reclaimed fireplace! The cool brick inlay on one of the basement walls! Central heat and A/C! It’s “A DREAM COME TRUE, ” a “SUN-SOAKED 5 BEDROOM IN THE HEART OF HIPSTER-VILLE.” I had found real estate mecca!
Well. Of the 5 bedrooms, 3 are illegal; of the 3 bathrooms, only 2 seem to have been built; and the central A/C? Fughettabout it.
So now I’m sitting in my kitchen sweating under flourescent lights, and I’ve been waiting 2 hours for the landlord to come with his crew, and I can hear the rats mating in the dry wall, and my beer is slowly sliding off my kitchen table, and I still cry like a baby every time I realize it’s the first of the month. When did I become such a sucker?
Maybe I am just blind to the details — maybe I possess such faith that I look past all the small things, like street-level windows on a busy night-life corner, and an oven that doesn’t light, and floors that slant inwards, and pans that fall off the stove while I’m cooking eggs, and the vent in my room that’s not connected to the “central heating system,” and the disclosure forms we had to sign because our apartment is actually illegal (if anyone asks, the 3 roommates in the basement are squatters), and the fact that my HOT location in this HOT neighborhood is actually just an ancient building in an old immigrant slum (it shows).
But they sold it to me so effortlessly. “$1180 per person? This deal can’t be beat. For the neighborhood, you know. For the convenience. And what a cool chandelier from IKEA, you know? Check out that detailing. I’d sign right now because there’s probably a line out the door.”
I wish I had listened to everyone who told me not to waste my money. The truth is, I only use this place to sleep, and shower, and sometimes use my roommate’s espresso machine. I might as well live in a bunk. So I guess the advice I can offer, to anyone moving to New York, is this:
You’ll never be home, so don’t waste money on a fancy apartment. If you have the money, splurge on a neighborhood, not a space. Live in a loft, with ten roommates. Share a bathroom with your neighbors. Sleep in one of those tubes from the Japanese hotels. It doesn’t matter. There’s no reason to ever sit at home in this city. Even on rainy days. There’s bars for that.