The air was crisp, but the sun was out. The reminents of snow were lingering on the ground but nothing was standing in the way of taking care of business. After an early breakfast at Charlie's on Newbury (we were the only one's in the restaurant at 10AM), we set out on a journey, that we will now refer to as, "My Journey Onward". It seemed simple enough. Charlotte Douglas to Logan International, rent car, check into Westin Copley and find suitable living quarters for wide-eyed southern boy on the make.
I was moving on with my life. I had chosen a path less taken, at least by most of the people in my graduating class.
"Think I'm goin' to BOSTON..." as the song played out in my head, I began to realized that this was becoming a truth. Plans were finalizing and things were really taking off. Was this for real? I thought to myself. Am I really going to live in the north?
I had grown up in Charlotte for my entire life and had never lived anywhere else. All of my friends and even my family had known for so many years that I was destined for something bigger and better than lil' ole' Charlotte North Carolina, but I myself had not made that assumption just yet. Shit, it was barely 6 months prior that I had just moved out of my parents house, and the house that I had grown up in! I couldn't believe things were happening so fast.
Nonetheless, the time had come. It was time to grow up and face the music.
I received a phone call while sipping my mimosa at breakfast with my dad. It was one of the 12 real estate agents that I had emailed from craigslist in a frantic worry. Little did I know that the entire city shuts down during holiday weekends. None of the buildings, none of the landlords, none of the agents were returning my phone calls. The ones that did were letting me know that they would be back into town on Monday, and this was simply no good. I had never looked for an apartment in another city before, let alone a real city.
In Charlotte it is easy. You pick a suburb that you think won't be that much of a pain in the ass to drive home from the city after a night of drinking and you park right in front of the leasing office and meet a perky young woman in cropped pants and a pressed white blouse at the door ready to show you all that they have to offer. It is routine, it is easy, it makes sense. This is not the case in a larger city. First we looked all over the city. I had no clue how to find a place. We looked on craigslist, and none of the pictures did "justice" to the 500 sq foot apartments that they described.
So when an actual real estate agent finally got back in touch with us we jumped at the opportunity to meet someone in person. He took us to a place right outside of the city. This was not what I had described to him. It was my starting range (which has turned out to be my maximum possible). It was twice the size of the places we had seen in the city. It was equivalent in price. There was a fitness center and a pool, also there was covered parking (my only favorite part about it so far, besides the pool in the three months of summer).
The place was intoxicating. After considering my options in the Boston proper, all of which were turning out to be twice the size of my closet in Charlotte, I decided to go with what they described as "A luxury apartment community".
Now I understand that there is a sense of 'relative luxury about it. In the eighties cocaine was considered somewhat a luxury. So I guess since there are dealers throughout the building and the cops have their eye on the place, we could say that I live in a luxury community.
Today my hallway reeks of someone else's 3 day old trash bag that they are too lazy to take to the trash shoot. I have seen dog shit in the hall on at least three different occasions this month from the lowlifes that choose to imagine that there are housekeepers in the building. Of the "staff" that the "community" does employee I saw a lady that looked like she was wearing her pajamas vacuuming the hall. Before today there had been men in khaki pants and uniformed polo shirts that said OVERLOOK RIDGE on the chest pocket. It starts with pajamas, it only goes down hill from here.
Every night for the past week a red sport car has been parked outside of my window blasting his speakers and bass. He plays his music while he works on his car. It may as well be on cinderblocks.
During the summer months you can find a single mother letting her baby swim in the pool in just their diaper or if you are lucky naked. And for the record it is never a swim appropriate diaper, just a regular one. Those are the days meant just for sun followed up with an email to the leasing office with the subject line "Pool Cleaning Schedule?"
If it is not a diaper, then it is a woman who I would assume cannot afford a bathing suit and just swims in her t-shirt, no bra.
I currently live in what some sociologists would call "relative poverty". This phrase always amused me when I was in school. It indicates that anyone can claim to live in poverty, since it is all relative.
The fact that I can live next door to the section 8 government assisted housing candidates that my apartment community is legally bound to offer, despite releasing that information upon moving into this luxury community is hilarious to me. What is even more humorous, is that the apartment community ALWAYS gets paid from these tenants since the money comes straight from the government.
I on the other hand, have not paid my rent for March yet.
Luckily for me, in Boston, legally it is not considered to be late until the 30th of the month.
Whew. I've got a few more days.
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