Wicked Good

When I was in undergrad my fellow poli sci girlfriends and I took an International Relations course, which was required, and taught by a very energetic professor. She would come to class with UN helmets on the day we were supposed to learn about, well, the UN. Her class was worth getting up for only because it was a comedy routine. There are two things I remember about this class: 1) I know what OPEC stands for, and 2) I learned what a Boston accent sounded like for the first time.

One day she began talking about the Quber missile crisis. The three of us stopped scribing our notes and looked puzzled at one another. Quber? It took another two lectures for us to figure out she was talking about the Cuba missile crisis of the 60's. She was from Boston.

In 3 short weeks, J, Edgar, and I will be packing up and moving to the land of "Ha-vahd," where somehow all "r's" were lost in the English language. J landed a fellowship at the famed crimson establishment and well, its just not something you pass up. So we're trading in the life of playing cornhole (yes, it is a game) and race car ya ya's for the land that is NOT brought to you by the letter R...unless the word ends with an "A" and then you add the "r". (e.g. Cuba-r and Idea-r)

We went out to find housing just two weeks ago. Lemme put it this way, it was an "adventure." I had done my research before going. Because rent is so expensive, real estate agents make their money by charging a fee if they are the ones who show you the property. The fee is usually equal to one month of rent. J and I had less than 48 hours to find housing so we were really pushed for time. I called and found a couple of agents who seemed like they were more than willing to do research for properties matching our requests and take the day to show us around.

Our first appointment on Saturday morning was 1.5 hours late. He showed up in an old SUV with the engine light on, the gas warning tank light blinking, and no seat belt. He lead us to the charming neighborhood of Beacon Hill. Envision brick lined sidewalks and brownstones. Beautiful right? And a pretty penny. Our first "showing" was up a narrow staircase to the front door. This led down a 30 foot hallway with oddly enough, an intercom in the middle. Now why you need that is beyond me. There were two tiny bedrooms at the end of the hallway, a bath, and one tiny kitchen with a window that overlooked the conduit system for the heat. They wanted something like $1700 for that. We figured we only could go up from here.

We couldn't get into the second place and so our guide dropped us off while he was (surprise, surprise) late for another showing with people who were calling him. J and I wandered a bit around the neighborhood to find that the old coal delivery doors are actually now turned into people's front doors because the real estate is so prime. Its like Alice in Wonderland and I seriously needed something to drink quickly.

Our next agent picked us up in his Audi and drove like a maniac out to Alewife (hey, you've got to love the name) while chatting on his cell the whole time trying to make a deal. We saw the "full service, luxury building" with a 24-hour concierge (what in the hell will I need a concierge for anyway?) but only after the leasing manager took our drivers licenses hostage first. As if we were going to lock the door behind him and say, "Dibs! This apartment is mine!" Then after the tour he said they didn't allow dogs. Um, ok, deal breaker.

We drove back to the city and into a place called Brookline to another "luxury" building. Again, what the hell will I need a concierge for? There a quick talking Asian leasing agent was so busy she took a bunch of us and our agents on a group tour to see the "large one bedroom" (600 sq. feet) which came with a parking spot (for a mere $400/month) in addition to the $2700/month rent. I was depressed driving up to the white 1960's building and smelling what other tenants were cooking while walking down the hallways. I seriously wanted to cry by now.

The last place he took us was back in Beacon Hill and the tenant refused to let us enter. At that point, the agent said he ran out of places to show us and proceeded to line up another showing for another client over the phone in the Fenway area. Highly discouraged by the "hospitality" of the agents, J and I wandered down the street looking for lunch at 3:00. We tried the French restaurant by MGH only to be greeted with a, "Veer closed! You read door! Closed!" and shooing motions. I responded, "See, we don't need to go to Paris. We just experienced it first hand here!" We ended up at a tavern for a large beer and lunch. There I began to call whatever craigslist leads I had to schedule our own damn appointments.

32 oz of Samuel Adams later, we hopped on the T and rode out to Cambridge to meet another agent. I couldn't help but believe that she is my stereotype for what we will find out there. Here was a young mid-20's female who used words like "ubiquitous" in regular sentences, had two liberal art degrees in music management and music theory, didn't know what to do so got her real estate license and is now thinking she might go back for some "post-bachelors" classes for pre-med. Oh, and by the way, NPR was her station of choice in her father's minivan with the handicap sticker.

She showed us a place for $1700/month that literally had a 3 ft by 3 ft HOLE in the kitchen floor. Yes, a burned HOLE...for $1700 and no parking, no air, no washer/dryer, no dishwasher, no disposal, no nothing. But it did have its bathroom linoleum peeling away from the edge of the bathtub. After showing this to us, the agent had the audacity to ask, "So, do you want to jump on this?" Um, gee, let me really think about this one. Once she dropped us off at the T she called us back to say that it was an exclusive listing and we couldn't call the landlord directly to haggle with him. I think its safe to say we wouldn't be doing that. Then, we watched a drug deal go down. As you can tell, our first impressions of our new city weren't going so well.

Our last showing of the day was out in Allston where we took the T and then caught the bus to land at a loft apartment across the street from the fire station. It was beautiful, but really small. I mean really, really, small. However, it was the best thing we saw all day. At this point we missed our dinner reservations which I envisioned us getting a bottle of champagne to celebrate our new digs. Oh, not so much. We ended up in the hotel restaurant at 10:00 PM just trying to get by.

The next morning, we ate again in the hotel and had the same waiter from our previous breakfast. He asked about our progress to which we said, "It sucks." After breakfast, we took a taxi out to Watertown, Massachusetts. There we saw a duplex. Hardwood floors, a fireplace, crown molding, picture rail, claw foot tub, built in cabinetry in the butler's pantry, and a small yard. I was ready to throw the landlord any amount of money possible to secure this place. I didn't care it was an hour commute in or that it had oil heat. Stick a fork in me, I'm done. She said that she had another couple of parties that were seriously interested and she had to do due diligence checking out references, etc.. She would email us applications and would let us know by the end of the week.

We took the bus back to the T and then off to another agent to see two more places. The first resembled that awful 1960's building only think 1980's and the second was a "triple decker," where we would be on floor two. It was a bit basic (think no amenities), but definitely a possibility. It was also close to the T.

By now, we're both feeling a lot more encouraged and grabbed Indian buffet for lunch to celebrate before getting on the plane. I spent the next week filling out applications, tracking down credit references, finding personal references, and whatnot trying to secure the place in Watertown. I finally heard on Saturday that we got it. Hot damn! Since that time J and I have been wandering around talking to Edgar saying things like, "You're going to be a Beantown Bubba!" However, endorphins wear off quickly as task lists grow. Resign from work (check). Pack. Sell car. Find movers. Complete house sell here. Set up utilities. Rent uhall if needed. Get medication refills. As you can see the list is growing.

While many will be out this weekend by the pool celebrating the 80 degree weather and race day down at the Brickyard. I will be amidst cardboard boxes, Goodwill piles, and trying to keep calm.