Home, Home I'm Deranged

We finally decided to join the race to move out of our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous building.  As usual, we were off to false starts, much like the embarrassed runner that jets off before the starters gun goes off. I'm afraid that I'm going to wind up like my cranky neighbor who has complained vehemently for twenty years, but the only move she has made is from a two to one bedroom within the same floor.

We are tired of jumping into and out of the elevators for fear of being compressed by its’ trigger happy doors,  leaping around strollers full of recycling left in the hallway, and standing to attention every time something goes bang in case a pipe has burst—best case scenario.  I guess we have to give an honorable mention to dodgy tenants, constant visits from the fire department and blossoming mold issues.

So not surprisingly, the building is half full now—or should I say half empty? That is the ‘scutterbug’, or gossip, according to my friends who work in the building.  Every time I bump into a neighbor, we greet each other with a tacit understanding that we are all in the same boat. Nothing brings people together like misery--and fear.

As my four year old, Lanes, says ‘rough and tough’ neighbors who are not generous with greetings or words, have a lot to say when it comes to this building. There was a very angry man from Kosovo shoving clothes in a washer in the laundry room like he was stuffing coal into a steam engine.  He was fuming and a vein was about to burst in his forehead when he realized he couldn’t load money onto his laundry card because it was broken for the umpteenth time.

I had come to take stuff out of the dryer and had to lose 15 minutes of my time listening to how horrible the property is while his more peaceful wife fluttered around trying to appease him. He is going to move out to an area that has high risk of flood, just to get out of here. Then there is the mild mannered Indian lady downstairs that announced with an air of defeat that she has given up fighting the mold in her bedroom and has bought her husband an inhaler to deal with his allergies.

As for us, we were waiting for P, my dutiful spouse, to have his job confirmed before moving.  While we were waiting it out, we grew attached the neighborhood and developed a routine. It’s quiet and green and I probably can go for a long walk at 10pm, if I was ever so inclined, and not wind up the topic of the 11 o’clock news.  So we sit on the sofa and look across the way at the sturdy building across the street and wonder what life is like on the other side. The grass is literally greener there.

The rental office folks in that complex talk about a ‘waiting list’ all the time and make it sound harder to get into than an exclusive club. For all we know we might have to supply a password, give a secret handshake, and sing ‘Kumbaya’ to get in. P was put off when he called them to inquire about rates, and when he is annoyed, he doesn’t care to hide it. For all I know, he probably told them to shove it.

They called the next day, and Lanes and I went over to have a sneak preview to see how the other half lives. The lobby was gorgeous and actually had a sitting area with no bullet marks on the walls. It even had a gym & sauna room! I say that with an exclamation mark, but those who know me know that I’ll only ever set foot in there if my TV backs up and I want to catch a show.

Their laundry room was ‘cleaner’ looking than ours, but there were fewer machines for more tenants and they lock you out of the room after 9pm! At least here in the ghetto, we can put one pair of socks in each washer and do jumping jacks around the dryers at 2am if we wanted to. 

The lady at the office was going on about the wonders of the apartment and saying how there is a 'list' and they want to rent the suite out by the fifteen of this month.  I looked unfazed and told her I just couldn't pack and rush into an apartment with such short notice.

She went on to say another party was going to come in to see the apartment and she studied my face for desperation or panic, but I didn’t even bat an eyelid. I looked more nonchalant than a cow chewing grass in a field, and I told her its best she gives the place out to those folks then because we are obliged to give one month’s notice (and rent) to ghetto fabulous before moving out.

By the end of the tour, she was telling me I could move in whenever I wanted and she would only charge half a month for the first month. I was craning my neck to check the walls and ceiling of the apartment to make sure they didn’t have a mold problem too. Blast that popcorn paint! I couldn’t see, but the carpets were nicer, they had half a bathroom more and if you stand up real tall and tilt to the left, you can see the mountains.

The bad things were that they didn’t have a store room in the unit like we do here, the windows open all the way out and that’s scary when you have a curious little one in the house, and the kitchen was tiny with half a dishwasher. The one we have, circa 1975 complete with faux wood trim, is literally twice as wide. Also, we have enough storage in our kitchen to fit an IKEA store in.

After weighing those cons—the windows were the deal breaker, we are still in the ghetto, and I’m spared the daunting task of packing and heavy lifting—tasks that inevitably fall upon me, the unemployed spouse. I guess we just like living on the edge.

With that I must sign off, as my parents are visiting for a week before they set to visit my nutty sister in her far more sane and luxurious surroundings, and my father will have to undergo a battery of tests for his cancer.  

They are sitting at the table, giggling slightly hysterically in fear that they might placed in the blog, and counting the hours until Lanes returns from preschool, because for them, 'every little thing she does is magic'. I guess I’ll have to keep her home tomorrow.

They are delighted by her because she plays quietly when they are sleeping and covers them with her blankets and surrounds them with her pillows and soft toys to make sure they don’t have ‘bad dreams’.  Apparently, she is far sweeter than me, their sharp tonged spawn. Oh well. 

For the next two weeks, we will be racing around town with P’s twin as his family! Hopefully, their arrival will distract Lanes when my parents run across the border with my sister. More musings from BC next week...