The Tell-Tale Walls of an Apartment

Moving to a rather large city can be frustrating. On top of the emotion from leaving one place and moving to another, we are also forced to deal with getting a job, meeting new people, conquering the DMV, and then of course, finding an apartment.

When I moved to D.C., I hadn’t the slightest clue at a price range, neighborhood or what was acceptable to live in, so I turned to Craigslist. I soon realized that 1) I couldn’t afford anything, 2) descriptions of apartments were completely inaccurate and 3) I still couldn’t afford anything.

Thus, I settled on a tiny apartment located a block from the Library of Congress. In theory, this was going to be a “happily-ever-after” story, but what’s an epic tale without a dramatic plot?

Hot water tank, enter stage right.

During the first month, I took ice-cold showers. I complained to my roommate, I complained to my parents, I complained to everyone who would listen to me. “Wake up earlier,” they said. “You have a small hot water tank.”

Normal people would just open their utility closet and check to see if the pilot light was out, or even check to see the size of their hot water tank. But, here’s the kicker: the closet had a lock on it and someone threw away the key.

If I had been looking for a sign, here it was. And, if you’re wondering the outcome of my hot water situation, the hot water tank was on vacation mode, because apparently life is a beach.   

Moving on.

My kitchen was decorated in the sweet shades of metal and cork board, just incase you wanted to hang your latest art work. Counter space was nonexistent, so we usually dried our dishes on top of the washer. Our dryer actually hung from the ceiling and had a timer – that’s it. It usually took three 40-minute cycles to dry three towels. And, in my belief, the microwave was on loan from the “That 70s Show” set.  It only had a timer and it loudly “ding-ed” when your food was ready. Normal.

The crime scene
The crime scene

Note: If I die of cancer, please blame the microwave.

But, as they say, “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Or, in my case, “When you radiate your food, you will probably turn into a robot.”

So, that is enough of a picture for you to get the hint that my first time apartment hunting was quite eventful and rather unsuccessful. However, I survived and on the bright side I am now prepared to be a contestant on “Fear Factor.”

Great news, though, folks! There are companies out there that serve as a matchmaking service for you and your apartment. So you can check out neighborhoods and see their pros and cons before you even have to relocate. Genius, right? I think so.  And, if you’re thinking about moving to D.C., Urban Compass  – an apartment-to-human matchmaking service – will soon be offering their services to the district. So, definitely check them out and let them assist you with your apartment hunting.

Be sure to share your hilarious apartment mishaps with me – I need to know that I wasn’t alone in this struggle.

2 thoughts on “The Tell-Tale Walls of an Apartment

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