When my husband and I first got an apartment together, our sole criteria was cost. How cheap is the rent? Cheap? Okay, when can we move in?
(Actually, that’s not entirely true. It was: how cheap is the rent, and how lenient are you on the credit check? We’re not out there writing hot checks or anything, we just didn’t really have any credit then.)
So, we found a place that was pretty cheap and accepted our credit. It was a third floor apartment, which is good for keeping in shape, but sucks when you come home from a 13-hour shift waiting tables and then have to climb 2 flights of stairs to get to your bed.
This first place was not in the best of neighborhoods, and, a side-effect of them accepting people with crappy credit, anyone could get in. We didn’t have a lot of trouble with our neighbors at first, but after a while we noticed that our next door neighbor had at least three dogs. Big ones. And he left them alone all day. Every day.
They did not suffer silently. So there was barking all day.
And then we noticed an odor. I guess he wasn’t home often enough to take them out for walks. So now it’s loud and stinky.
And apparently they’re all infested with fleas. Which meant our cat was suddenly infested with fleas. Awesome.
We just kind of trudged along, accepting our crappy-neighbor-having fate, until one day, we came home to find Animal Control there. They were taking his dogs away. I guess he’d been away too long. And those dogs were huge. And hungry. And sad. It was like an ASPCA commercial.
We were pleased that suddenly our living situation had gotten much better…until it got much, much worse.
The apartment complex had big ideas about attracting a better class of resident, so they started improving things all over the complex. This meant construction. Which would have been inconvenient but not life-altering, except for one thing. I mentioned the 13-hour serving shifts I worked then? Yeah, those ended at about 1:30 in the morning. So I would go home, take a bath, eat dinner, unwind, and be in bed by about 3:30 am, knowing that I’d have to be back at work at 10:00 am.
But at 6:30, construction would start. And they started with the roof. And we lived on the top floor. So it sucked.
Then we came home one night to find a notice on the door from the apartment management saying they assumed we’d heard about the shooting, so if we had any information, please call the police. That sucked more.
Then one morning I went out to find my car’s passenger window shattered, but still intact (which was actually pretty impressive.) We weren’t sure whether it was an attempted break-in or a bullet, but either way…that sucked the most.
So we decided to move.
Stay tuned for Part Two tomorrow!