Rental Dementia: Three Grand a Month
One Astor, One University, 95 Christopher, 65 Fourth, and a dumpy little building on Second Avenue, they all look the same to me: 9-foot ceilings, a kitchen, a bath, a couple of windows and some hardwood floors. I cant tell the difference anymore. But if I can find a decent one-bedroom under $3,000, and Downtown, I might survive another month.
Citycribs, Streeteasy, Craigslist, OlR, Real Plus, maybe the Times, someone has to have this apartment. New clients are piling on and all looking for the same place. Some are for August 15, September 1, flexible, just want to take a look and see whats out there, and an October, maybe. They want to see apartments today, but no one needs to move today, and Ive got to make some money as soon as possible.
I take the R train to Union Square, to the 6 train Uptown, walk a few blocks to a doorman building with an attitude, and later a cross-town bus to get keys to go back Downtown to show a Village walk-up. My phone is ringing and my rent is late. At the office its new pictures, old listings, updated ads, cagey agents complaining and looking for the same apartment I amand too many people for too few spaces.
Lie, run, beg, be honest or shoot straight and walk, it doesnt seem to matter. In fact its all starting to feel like dumb luck. Dress up, dress down, get a haircut and buy a pair of shoes. Im starving most days. I need a sandwich or a slice of pizza, but some coffee for now will do, and maybe Ill get a Treo. I should get a Treo. Im late for another appointment. Another pleasant but lame excuse, and the keys are sticking, stuck. The goddamn door wont open. Shit, I got the wrong keys. Sorry
Theyre yelling at me. This know-nothing, khaki-wearing, happy-to-be-a-corporate-guy and the girl hell marry for three years are venting a lifetime of frustration at me, and all because another desk troll, who doesnt work on 100 percent commission, gave me the wrong set of keys. These witless strangerswho couldnt find an apartment with a map and a list of landlordsare giving me hell. I search for a defense, but Im empty.
Its not my fault. I never wanted to be a real estate agent in the first place. You see, Im stuck in this for now, and I swear in another year itll be different because, if I know anything, its this: I was not meant to huff rentals or spend my life pacing open houses. They are incredulous and already gone by the time I think of my pathetic excuse. Im going home. Ive had it. Im simply not cut out for this.
But shit, one more appointment, and this guy sounds serious, sounds nice, sounds reasonable, probably a jerk, probably not even moving only looking. He probably likes looking at empty apartments and having someone to talk to. It wouldnt be the first time. I dont need to do this. I dont need to go. Screw it. Im sick. I cant make it. Clients stand me up all the time, why should I show up? Ill call; tell him Im at a lease signing, reschedule for later.
But then I tell myself, Fuck it. Just go. Be professional. Itll only take a minute, and you never know. Roll the dice. This could be the one. This could be it. This could be my week. Then I can sleep. Take a day off. Relax for awhile. Do one deal this week, you slacker! Thats all, one deal this week. Just go. And so I go.
Its sweltering underground, as I wait for the R train. I just walked six blocks, my shirt is soaked, and I cant stop sweating. The subway takes forever. Late again, this time I dont apologize, as my only excuse is I wasnt going to show at all. Hes in front of the building when I arrive and asks, What can you tell me about this place? I cant tell him the truth: Its overpriced, generic and Manhattan is overrated, so I say, Its nice.
And thats it. Im too exhausted to say another word, and what would be the point anyway? No half-cocked, slick or desperate sales pitch is going to sway this guy one way or the other, not at $37,000 a year for a one-bedroom on Houston Street. I stand just inside the door, while he meanders around the limited space. He either takes it or he doesnt, at this point, I no longer care.
In this crazy rundown and frantic business of limited trust, dwindling inventory and skyrocketing prices, getting someone to agree to a space is only half the battle. He actually wants to rent the apartment. I spend the next two days gathering paperwork, and prepping the management company for our application package. Though by the time we are ready to submit, the apartment is already rented.
In this frantic business of limited trust, dwindling inventory and skyrocketing prices, getting someone to agree to a space is only half the battle.