February 02, 2010

Despite all my tough talk about using spreadsheets to track everything from how often the dog poops to how much radishes cost at the corner store, I make most of my decisions by stumbling around blindly and grasping at things.

Take last week, for instance.

I figured it was time for me to move out of Jason’s basement. I wanted a place with tall windows, windows that in the summer open to a busy street and let the bustle of the city fly up right into my living room.

Sure, I could’ve made spreadsheets with prices and pros and cons.

But instead I said ‘fuck it’ and clicked the first online ad without any photos attached. Online ads without photos are the best kinds of ads.

In this case, the ad lead to a late-night meeting with a lady who rents bachelor apartments above the tattoo studio (next-door to the massage parlour). We spent about half an hour breaking into some dudes apartment. The key just didn’t want to work.

After long moments of awkwardness, the door finally cracked open. Dirty dishes were scattered everywhere. The dude ate lots of beans and liked iron crosses a hell of a lot.

“Good people live in this building,” the lady said. Her boyfriend with tattoos all the way up his neck agreed.

“No dealers or anything,” he said. “I used to deal when I was growing up but not anymore.”

I liked him instantly. The apartment not so much. The windows were the type that didn’t open - just one solid piece of glass buffering you from the outside world.

“I have another place,” she said. “It even has a balcony.”

We climbed a crooked stairway that smelled like urine. All the doors were painted red and awesome. This other apartment had no working lights, and also no dirty dishes. It was vast and superb. The windows were the type that opened to the street below.

“I love it,” she said.

“And you can watch the Christmas parade from the balcony,” she said.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

Two days later I got a call. “The landlord wants to meet you,” she said.

***

I met him in the middle of King St. He walked towards me with a limp, looking old and wise, and opened a door to an empty storefront.

Inside an armless mannequin waited for better days.

“So you want the place, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to see it again?” he said.

“No, it’s perfect.”

I’m moving in less than a month. It’s going to be awesome.

Posted by Tudor at 09:46 PM in Here & There | TrackBack