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January 09, 2005

My City Dwellings.

In February of 2004, my boyfriend and I were unceremoniously evicted from our place, a 700 square foot, two-bedroom apartment I'd lived in for two years. The space was okay, if a bit lacking in personality... It was just a cement box with new flooring and appliances, nothing special. The windows were high and small, the front & back doors leaked. It wasn't situated in the greatest of neighborhoods, either: the no-man's land between Park Slope and Sunset Park, sometimes called "South Slope" by realtors, and occasionally labeled "Greenwood" on detailed maps of Brooklyn. It was clean and inexpensive, but a long distance from the subway, and far from feeling legitimately "New Yorky." The outside looked like a West coast dental office, and the inside wasn't much better. We did our best to make it cozy.

Another issue: we were on a bad corner, one notorious for drug deals and traffic accidents. There was no stoplight, and drivers were constantly disregarding the big red stop sign, and then colliding into traffic with the right-of-way, twice plunging directly into our apartment. We boasted two large dents in the exterior of our place, one of which left a chunk of bedroom wall entirely uninsulated; only a square foot of thin drywall shielded our bedroom from the elements. We begged the landlord to fix it, told him we could feel a draft, that it was wreaking havoc on our heating bills, anyone could break in with a crude saw and a little elbow-grease, etcetera. The landlord, (we'll call him "Hal,") made some vague assurances and promised to repair it, but he never came through. We soon discovered why.

Hal had decided it was time to rip down the whole building and construct something taller, a structure with more units, a building that would make him more money. Our lease was about to run out, so we had few options unless we wanted to squat... A suggestion made by many of our friends and neighbors.

But we'd had enough of Hal's absentee antics, and preferred the legitimacy of a lease and an apartment free of car-holes. So we moved. I found a new place within days, thanks to Craigslist, and we were out of there within two weeks.

So we've been living in our current digs since March, and have grown to love it. It has faults too, don't get me wrong. 20-somethings living in NYC almost never have a perfect living situation, unless their names are Hilton or Olsen. The place is a fourth floor walkup in Gowanus, it's only got one bedroom, the kitchen is so tiny that only 1.5 people can stand in it (and only if the cabinets remain closed), the passage of the F Train rattles the whole building, the toilet runs all night on occasion, a hooker frequents our streetcorners, and an innocent little boy was accidentally shot right outside during a police chase this past summer.

So yeah, there are flaws. But the place somehow really suits us. We have learned to adapt to its quirks. We think they are charming most of the time.

Things I love most about it:

• It's got a neat layout. Just bizarre and interesting and full of unexpected angles.

• Outside the bedroom window, we have a view of uptown Manhattan and a pretty tree that's always full of singing birds.

• Laundry room in the basement.

• Roof access.

• Great water pressure in the shower.

• Close enough to all the amenities of central Park Slope, far enough away that it's within our budget.

• Cars really can’t crash into our bedroom up on the fourth floor.

So we’ve adapted pretty well, and learned to work with what we have. Apartmentalizing is a little like love in that way.

Please share your own apartment stories!

Posted by Lara at January 9, 2005 01:29 AM

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