A friend of mine from Mumbai had been living with me for the past 2 months. I offered that he could live with me as long as he did not find a place to stay. His previous roommate experience in Astoria, Queens was no less than a traumatic one and hence I exhorted him to rather take his time and find a good place with a good roommate and if luck is favoring him, a good landlord / landlady.
He finally found a place to stay after about 60 days of hectic searching, and he is due to move out today. It's a 300 (or 280) sq ft. studio in Soho which he has to share with another 40 (or older) yr old lady. The location is good, the facilities are good, the roommate seems decent and there is no landlord to deal with, the rent is cheap - 800 bucks, but of course there is a major catch. It's so small for Chrissakes! How can two people live happily in such a small place without constantly invading each other's space? It seems a big compromise for me, but my roomie, or rather my ex-roomie thinks that this was the best deal he could find in more than 2 months of searching and hence he is sticking with it. I have my skeptical thoughts, but I am happy for him if so less makes him so happy.
He thinks that this is the best deal, because here are some of his previous experiences when he went out apartment hunting: Another tiny apartment in Manhattan which had 6 dogs in it along with the landlord and still the landlord thought that there was room for another prospective tenant. A decent sized apartment in Manhattan, with decent rent too, which came with a catch - the landlord wanted the prospective tenant to be 'comfortable' with nudity. Hell no! I am not comfortable with my own nudity, let me speak less about somebody else's nudity. When I asked my ex-roomie, was he at least good looking, in the sense would the landlord's nudity be at least a pleasant one, he answered that that landlord was fat and old and bald and had this huge paunch. Good for him if he is comfortable with his nude body. I am not, and neither was my ex-roomie. Then there was this another huge 4 bed room apartment he found again in the city, and the rent was steep. Although the rent was steep, since it was a good location and the place was good, he was ok with it. But then it was another humongous task having to find three other roommates to share the place. Not all prospective roommates were fun. Those who were normal (and thus, fun) could not afford the steep rent. Some did not want to move in immediately, because their lease at their previous places would have ended in another 1-2 months and hence they were just looking. There were an awful huge number of variables, and finally none of the prospective roomies even moved up to being probable roomies. I forget the other apartment hunting disasters, but nevertheless they all had something wrong with them. Finally my friend here thinks that getting a 280 sq ft apartment in Manhattan to share is a 'good' deal. Well, good luck to him!
Living with a woman is not so easy. Men, when with other men can be easy going, laid back and can even change in front of other men. They can talk about sports, beer, senseless movies and they could bother less about cooking and cleaning. That is in general when it comes to men. I don't know how my ex-roomie will cope living with a woman. And not only any woman, a considerably older woman. I wished to narrate to him this anecdote from Phillip Lopate's collection of personal essays "Against Joie De Vivre":
"Another time I sublet in Tribeca from a stylishly pretty woman: her silk kimonos, her peignoirs, her sachets cohabited with my undershorts and T-shirts in the limited dresser space. Not only did I have the pleasure of sleeping in this glamorous woman's bed, albeit without her, I also experienced myself for fractions of a second as a glamorous woman. The low angle of her showerhead, the scent of her oval bath soap, the pegboard arrangement of her pots and pans, all subtly feminized me: by going through her daily motions I was camping in her psyche, my muscles mimicking her reach, my eye level learning to emulate hers."
I can only imagine my subtly feminized ex-roomie after his stint at his new place.
This reminds me of another friend of mine, who having lived as a roomie for God knows how long, decided to finally stay on his own. He had had a raise at his job and he decided to say good-bye to any roomie situations. He is a grown up man now and can live on his own. He decided that he deserves his own space, in midtown or maybe the East Village. A broker showed him a cramped, overpriced studio off Second Avenue. He balked—after all, he’s a grown fella; doesn’t he deserve a little space? He dismissed the broker and started obsessively scanning the rental listings on Craigslist (ah! What would we all do without Craigslist), determined to find an affordable one-bedroom with no fee.
After responding to hundreds of listings and visiting more than twenty apartments — all of which were either dilapidated, vermin-infested, meth-lab-adjacent, or some combination of the three — the search began to wear on him, and he started questioning why he was so fixated on getting a one-bedroom. After all, he’s a single man, and doesn’t he spend all his time at work anyway? Besides, with some creative light-palate decorating and a new flat-screen TV, a studio could look quite spacious. After a few days, this logic sinks in and he not only signs a two-year lease for the Second Avenue place but also recommended the broker to several other freinds of his. Two months later, he broke his leg tragically when he rolled out of his bed and directly into the trash compactor. He is still walking on crutches.
Phillip Lopate in "Against Joie De Vivre" had a few particularly fascinating essays on life in a rented space in the Big Apple. So in his chapter "Never live above your landlord" he narrates this particularly funny tale:
"One day this note was slipped under my door:
Please do not use the wash basin to empty the dirt and the cat litter in. Use a pail and throw it in your toilet. This past week, the Basin was Packed full of junk. And we used $9.95 worth of Drain Power. Then I had to get the Plumber to dislodge the dirt. Let the water run to clear the drain in that sink. Please throw the stuff in the toilet and flush. Next thing the pipes will get leaking.
- Mrs. Rourke
My answer:
Dear Mrs. Rourke,
What makes you think I am emptying cat litter and dirt in the wash basin!! This is an absurd contention. Please make sure you know whereof you speak before you start making baseless and frankly, fantastic accusations.
Sincerely,
Phillip Lopate
I held my breath for the next few days, thinking that perhaps I had gone too far this time. Yet when I ran into my landlady in the hallway, she was almost respectful. Not that our epistolary relationship ended there. I keep all the notes she slips under my door, among which is this quaintly worded favorite:
Please stop that
Jungle Drum Music
_________________
Or whatever it is.
_________________
I'm going out of my mind.
Bang Bang Bang
- Mrs. Rourke
Since I don't often listen to music, I was a bit insulted at the time, but I turned off the jazz station I had on."
It's my ex-roomie's last day with me today. As he is packing his stuff and leaving, I am feeling a bit elated - I have the Whole space to myself, a bit upset - who will I try and find faults about now, a bit excited - I can get more people home now, a bit generous - I helped him out when he needed some help and a bit lonely - who will I come home to? As I said previously, Good luck to him! He will need all of it.
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