Photo CreditSomehow, I expected this whole apartment search process to bring about more glee than stress. Not so much. I rushed over to view a place after work yesterday that left me scratching my head. I tried not to look in the owner's direction during the viewing in an attempt to shield him from the "you've got to be fucking kidding me" expression that was stuck on my face. This space was advertised as "beautiful" and "move-in ready". The pictures in the listing did a hell of a job covering up the dirt and raggedy ass trimmings and fixings in that place. And the gigantic water heater located RIGHT NEXT TO THE FUCKING STOVE. It was beautiful alright. A beautiful disaster. And I thought the place with kitchen-so-small-I-could-possibly-light-my-ass-on-fired-while-cooking was bad. Ha!
Nyumbani: Swahili term for Home
In the few days that I've been searching and viewing, I have learned a couple of valuable lessons:
1. If a building looks old and rundown on the outside, chances are its gonna be the same way on the inside, no matter what story the pictures try to tell, apparently. I had been told good things about this guy's properties, so I was in "benefit of the doubt" mode. Didn't want to knock it until I saw it. Didn't want to judge the book by its cover. I should have just gone with my first damn instinct and saved myself a trip to hell. Lesson learned.
2. NEVER fall head over heels in love with a place, because after you've fallen head over heels in love, and you've made your very best impression, upon learning that you are coming from a low-income playing field, the owner will turn their nose up and tell you to take your broke ass elsewhere. Or at least that's what it'll feel like. I mean, I really did love that apartment. Everything about it was so right, and so right for us, or so I thought.
My grandmother says the right place is out there. I sure hope so.