Entry tags:
Welp, that was a bust!
Drove down 101 (my favorite) to see a possible place.
I have had a certain amount of impostor syndrome over Being A Grown-Up. This was ... well. I didn't feel like I was the incompetent one.
Really, my mind was made up after I drove around in search of a parking spot, found none, wound up at the management office and not the leasing office, and saw the shabbiness (no, Android, not stabbings) and breathed the sadness. There was no street parking left. Once I found the leasing office, the contrast between its shininess and the dingy look of the other grated.
Plus I was parked super illegally in the driveway. There were four other cars also parked badly, but they weren't blocking the handicapped spot as badly. (Based on the way my mobility is improving, I have not tried to apply for the hang tag or plates.)
I explained that no, the one I was interested in was not the 2nd floor studio as stairs are a Bad Idea (and I waved my cane) and I'm coming from a studio. Despite having clicked on the thing, apparently it came through wrong.
So we went to look at the 1st floor studio.
The architecture is unfriendly. One door was chained open across the edge of a portal. I cleared it but with some misgivings.
She unlocked the apartment and switched on the bathroom lights.
I poked my face in.
The bathroom was long and galley-style, combining the worst parts of tiny bathrooms with the worst parts of galley kitchens.
"No," I decided out loud.
"...Would you like to see the rest of the apartment?" she ventured.
I might as well. I liked the kitchen, though I was dubious about whether the 2/3 size fridge could pass the shelf removal test.
On the way back (to get the keys to the van to drive to the 1-bedroom) I asked about the laundry situation.
7-7? "That's a dealbreaker."
We didn't see any other apartments.
I wound up at work.
I have had a certain amount of impostor syndrome over Being A Grown-Up. This was ... well. I didn't feel like I was the incompetent one.
Really, my mind was made up after I drove around in search of a parking spot, found none, wound up at the management office and not the leasing office, and saw the shabbiness (no, Android, not stabbings) and breathed the sadness. There was no street parking left. Once I found the leasing office, the contrast between its shininess and the dingy look of the other grated.
Plus I was parked super illegally in the driveway. There were four other cars also parked badly, but they weren't blocking the handicapped spot as badly. (Based on the way my mobility is improving, I have not tried to apply for the hang tag or plates.)
I explained that no, the one I was interested in was not the 2nd floor studio as stairs are a Bad Idea (and I waved my cane) and I'm coming from a studio. Despite having clicked on the thing, apparently it came through wrong.
So we went to look at the 1st floor studio.
The architecture is unfriendly. One door was chained open across the edge of a portal. I cleared it but with some misgivings.
She unlocked the apartment and switched on the bathroom lights.
I poked my face in.
The bathroom was long and galley-style, combining the worst parts of tiny bathrooms with the worst parts of galley kitchens.
"No," I decided out loud.
"...Would you like to see the rest of the apartment?" she ventured.
I might as well. I liked the kitchen, though I was dubious about whether the 2/3 size fridge could pass the shelf removal test.
On the way back (to get the keys to the van to drive to the 1-bedroom) I asked about the laundry situation.
7-7? "That's a dealbreaker."
We didn't see any other apartments.
I wound up at work.
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