After graduating from UCSB, many of my friends moved back down to the Los Angeles area. I stuck around though, mainly because my girlfriend was going to stick around. She's now my wife, so I think I made the right call. I stayed with my future wife in her apartment for a couple of weeks as I simultaneously applied for jobs on campus and looked for my own housing.
To save a bunch of money, I just wanted a room in a house or apartment instead of my own apartment. I looked around, and it was a very interesting experience. The first place I went was located right by Santa Barbara City College, and it was a dump. There were two bedrooms, and I was met by three people. They explained that one of the men and the woman would use the room at night, and since the other guy worked the graveyard shift somewhere, he'd use the same room to sleep during the day. The other room would be mine. So basically, no one was moving out, and they just wanted to pay less money. I was pretty sure that they were high the whole time I was talking to them, but it wasn't until they started asking me questions from their list that I was 100% sure.
The first question was, "What's your best Vader impression?" "As in Darth Vader?" I asked. I was pretty sure that that was the only thing they could mean, but I still have to ask. "Yeah," they said, giggling uncontrollably. I'm normally pretty quick and effective with witty retorts, but I was so taken aback (and not feeling like I wanted to impress them) that I barely managed a meager, "Luke, I am your father." It was probably a better James Earl Jones than they were used to, but I would've wowed them more with, "What is thy bidding, my master?" instead of a line that anyone off the street would've known.
The second question, somewhat predictably, was, "Do you smoke weed (giggle giggle)?" "Uh, not really," I said. They nodded unconvincingly, as if they were still cool with me even if we had different hobbies. There were a couple of more questions, and then they said they'd let me know in the next couple of days. Fortunately, I never heard back from them, so I didn't have to let them down easy. I clearly remember walking back to my car and being pissed at myself for shaving before going there, for they weren't worthy of my smooth cheeks.
The next place I went to was a nice house up in the hills. I missed a turn somewhere so it took me 45 minutes to get there instead of the 10 it should have. Fortunately, I'd allotted an hour to get there because it's in my genetic code to do so. They walked me and about 15 other hopeful renters through the nice house and then showed us the outside area. It was a very pretty place with great views of the city. We then followed them down some stairs along the side of the house, and there was the room they were subletting. Not a bad size, but I didn't think I'd ever get used to having to walk outside, along the length of the house, upstairs, inside, and through the kitchen to get to the closest bathroom. Call me a little princess, but I like to be able to get to a bathroom in less than two minutes. With the way other would-be renters were fawning over the couple that lived there, I didn't even end up leaving my info.
The following place was in a different area of town, and it was an ok-looking two-bedroom place. On the phone, the guy who lived there sounded pretty old and really boring, so I didn't have the highest hopes. I walked up and was "greeted" by a guy in his early 40s (I was 22 at the time, so that was pretty old for a roommate). I say "greeted" because it was more of a groan and head nod than anything else. He listlessly showed me the main room, pointed to the doors where the bedrooms were, introduced me to his two cats, and offered me a seat to chat for a little. He was a weird and boring guy, so I was curious to see what he did for a living. His response: "I teach traffic school, comedy traffic school." That was the last thing I expected to hear from this guy. He could've told me that he wrestled alpaca for a living, and I honestly would've been less surprised. We chatted a little more, and the whole time I kept thinking about how incredibly awkward it would be to watch this guy attempt to make traffic school fun for eight hours straight. Then he flatly asked, "So, do you want to move in?" I had made up my mind already that I didn't want to live there, but I chickened out a little and told him I still had a couple of other places to look at before I could make my decision. I thought about blurting out, "Aw, hellllll no!" but that may have come off as rude.
The next day, I walked just a street away from my girlfriend's apartment over to an old Victorian house that had a room for rent. I met two other boarders there, both guys a couple of years older than me who seemed pretty cool. They showed me the room, and it was a tiny box that felt tinier with the large built-in dresser I'd have to work around. In the room, there was a door that led to part of an attic that was at least as big as the room itself. The guys said that could be an office or something, and I started thinking about the possibilities.
I went downstairs and met the owner (who didn't live there). He was nice enough, but pretty pompous and insisted on being called Dr. Mike (or whatever his name was), even though it was from a PhD in something like Economics. He seemed to like me though, and he asked what I thought about the room. "It's nice," I said, "and I really like the extra attic space there. It could really come in handy for work stuff or if someone from out of town was visiting me." He nodded, then said, "Yes, yes. Although, technically that area is not zoned for inhabitation. Therefore, I would be both upset and legally responsible if there were ever a fire in that room and a friend of yours died. So I would caution against having people sleep in there." I fought myself off and didn't make the "did-you-really-just-say-that face," and told him that I would also find that troubling. It wasn't too hard to shake off that bizarre statement since this was hands-down the first place in my search that I could see myself living.
Dr. Whatever told me that there was one other person he had to interview, and that he'd call me after that. One of the roommates spoke up: "Well, if it's up to us, we like him." "I told this other gentleman that I'd meet with him, so it's only fair for me to do so," he responded. Then, turning back to me, he said, "I'll call you tonight." I felt pretty good about it, and jogged back to my girlfriend's place excitedly. Once I got there, I told her all about the place and then called "weird-boring-cat-traffic-school-guy" to officially say no. He was either heartbroken or ecstatic, I couldn't tell.
That night, Dr. Whatever called to tell me that they were going with the other guy instead of me. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask. It upset me, because I felt so close to being done with this heinous process. But after a minute, I got over it; I knew I'd find something else soon - and something better than that place. I was right too, if "better" means "full of stories that will later be deemed blog-worthy." Tune in tomorrow, gentle readers.
To save a bunch of money, I just wanted a room in a house or apartment instead of my own apartment. I looked around, and it was a very interesting experience. The first place I went was located right by Santa Barbara City College, and it was a dump. There were two bedrooms, and I was met by three people. They explained that one of the men and the woman would use the room at night, and since the other guy worked the graveyard shift somewhere, he'd use the same room to sleep during the day. The other room would be mine. So basically, no one was moving out, and they just wanted to pay less money. I was pretty sure that they were high the whole time I was talking to them, but it wasn't until they started asking me questions from their list that I was 100% sure.
The first question was, "What's your best Vader impression?" "As in Darth Vader?" I asked. I was pretty sure that that was the only thing they could mean, but I still have to ask. "Yeah," they said, giggling uncontrollably. I'm normally pretty quick and effective with witty retorts, but I was so taken aback (and not feeling like I wanted to impress them) that I barely managed a meager, "Luke, I am your father." It was probably a better James Earl Jones than they were used to, but I would've wowed them more with, "What is thy bidding, my master?" instead of a line that anyone off the street would've known.
The second question, somewhat predictably, was, "Do you smoke weed (giggle giggle)?" "Uh, not really," I said. They nodded unconvincingly, as if they were still cool with me even if we had different hobbies. There were a couple of more questions, and then they said they'd let me know in the next couple of days. Fortunately, I never heard back from them, so I didn't have to let them down easy. I clearly remember walking back to my car and being pissed at myself for shaving before going there, for they weren't worthy of my smooth cheeks.
The next place I went to was a nice house up in the hills. I missed a turn somewhere so it took me 45 minutes to get there instead of the 10 it should have. Fortunately, I'd allotted an hour to get there because it's in my genetic code to do so. They walked me and about 15 other hopeful renters through the nice house and then showed us the outside area. It was a very pretty place with great views of the city. We then followed them down some stairs along the side of the house, and there was the room they were subletting. Not a bad size, but I didn't think I'd ever get used to having to walk outside, along the length of the house, upstairs, inside, and through the kitchen to get to the closest bathroom. Call me a little princess, but I like to be able to get to a bathroom in less than two minutes. With the way other would-be renters were fawning over the couple that lived there, I didn't even end up leaving my info.
The following place was in a different area of town, and it was an ok-looking two-bedroom place. On the phone, the guy who lived there sounded pretty old and really boring, so I didn't have the highest hopes. I walked up and was "greeted" by a guy in his early 40s (I was 22 at the time, so that was pretty old for a roommate). I say "greeted" because it was more of a groan and head nod than anything else. He listlessly showed me the main room, pointed to the doors where the bedrooms were, introduced me to his two cats, and offered me a seat to chat for a little. He was a weird and boring guy, so I was curious to see what he did for a living. His response: "I teach traffic school, comedy traffic school." That was the last thing I expected to hear from this guy. He could've told me that he wrestled alpaca for a living, and I honestly would've been less surprised. We chatted a little more, and the whole time I kept thinking about how incredibly awkward it would be to watch this guy attempt to make traffic school fun for eight hours straight. Then he flatly asked, "So, do you want to move in?" I had made up my mind already that I didn't want to live there, but I chickened out a little and told him I still had a couple of other places to look at before I could make my decision. I thought about blurting out, "Aw, hellllll no!" but that may have come off as rude.
The next day, I walked just a street away from my girlfriend's apartment over to an old Victorian house that had a room for rent. I met two other boarders there, both guys a couple of years older than me who seemed pretty cool. They showed me the room, and it was a tiny box that felt tinier with the large built-in dresser I'd have to work around. In the room, there was a door that led to part of an attic that was at least as big as the room itself. The guys said that could be an office or something, and I started thinking about the possibilities.
I went downstairs and met the owner (who didn't live there). He was nice enough, but pretty pompous and insisted on being called Dr. Mike (or whatever his name was), even though it was from a PhD in something like Economics. He seemed to like me though, and he asked what I thought about the room. "It's nice," I said, "and I really like the extra attic space there. It could really come in handy for work stuff or if someone from out of town was visiting me." He nodded, then said, "Yes, yes. Although, technically that area is not zoned for inhabitation. Therefore, I would be both upset and legally responsible if there were ever a fire in that room and a friend of yours died. So I would caution against having people sleep in there." I fought myself off and didn't make the "did-you-really-just-say-that face," and told him that I would also find that troubling. It wasn't too hard to shake off that bizarre statement since this was hands-down the first place in my search that I could see myself living.
Dr. Whatever told me that there was one other person he had to interview, and that he'd call me after that. One of the roommates spoke up: "Well, if it's up to us, we like him." "I told this other gentleman that I'd meet with him, so it's only fair for me to do so," he responded. Then, turning back to me, he said, "I'll call you tonight." I felt pretty good about it, and jogged back to my girlfriend's place excitedly. Once I got there, I told her all about the place and then called "weird-boring-cat-traffic-school-guy" to officially say no. He was either heartbroken or ecstatic, I couldn't tell.
That night, Dr. Whatever called to tell me that they were going with the other guy instead of me. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask. It upset me, because I felt so close to being done with this heinous process. But after a minute, I got over it; I knew I'd find something else soon - and something better than that place. I was right too, if "better" means "full of stories that will later be deemed blog-worthy." Tune in tomorrow, gentle readers.
*Remember, please email ptklein@gmail.com with any thoughts, questions, likes, dislikes, or...well, anything really. It makes me feel loved. You want me to feel loved, right?
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