Apartment Hunting in Alabama

So today I went apartment hunting in Alabama with a friend of mine. I had a few requirements: I wanted a one bedroom with a dishwasher, preferably a unit with a washer and dryer, and a place that didn't look or smell like ass. I had assumed the last one would be self-explanatory, but apparently not. I also like units that are clean with great views and blinds that don't break when you touch them. Some things, however, are just hard to find...

Yesterday I scheduled several apartment appointments for today. I had found an apartment unit that I really liked, and several others that I wanted to check out as well. I also developed a list of alternates that I wasn't quite sold on, but would take a look at if we had time.

After setting off this morning for a relatively boring road trip, we arrived an hour and a half earlier than we anticipated, so we went straight to the first alternate. The first one was an old renovated hotel that is currently renting out large studios. I was willing to settle for a studio since their studios were only slightly smaller than their one bedrooms, and not a single one bedroom was available.

The first unit was a small studio, and I wasn't impressed. Studios have to have a good layout for me to consider them rentable, and this one had a counter top that jutted at an odd angle into the living space. The larger studio was nicer, but every wall was covered in waxy looking old plaster with thick grooves; the walls looked rough like sandpaper - and were a yellowy orange color. The closet was large, however, and the bathroom was nice. The whole space had character - maybe too much character.

I pointed out a small door in the kitchen to my friend. The door was about a foot above the counter top and was about 9" wide by 14" tall. There was a single hook and eye clasp holding the door closed. I opened it to discover a wonderful view of the hallway. It was a leprechaun door into the hallway - otherwise known as a way for someone to steal your coffee pot - and various other small kitchen appliances. Granted, the thief would have to work a little, and you would have to leave the appliances within an arm's length, but it could happen.

After passing on the small spaces with the doors for tiny thieves, my friend and I drove down to another alternate. That's where we met Veronica, and as Beyonce might say: I wasn't ready for those preserves. You would really have to love jelly to love Veronica - she jiggled from almost every angle - and was incredibly slow. I swear it took her ten minutes to get the keys to the apartments. The first one she showed us, I bypassed immediately (no dishwasher), and then we followed her - by car - to the next apartment. She turned down a road with a gigantic hill, and up at the very top were beautiful apartments lining the peak. Her car climbed closer and closer to the peak, when it approached a sign that read: The Hillside. Then she turned - into a parking lot, or a pothole who decided to go to a costume party poorly disguised as a parking lot - to the most ghetto fabulous (or just straight ghetto) apartments I have ever seen.

The first car in this ditch of a lot was a jacked up purple sedan with huge tires and silver rims. I could almost see Snoop Dog smoking some herb. This was sign one.

Sign two was the fact that the stairs up to the apartment were broken. Sign three was the fireplace. It was poorly constructed, probably a fire trap, and one half of it was stained while the other was not.

My friend decided to check out the view from the bedroom. It was okay, if you like dumpsters. This apartment - decrepitly lurching precariously aside one steep ass hill - overlooked a mother f*!cking dumpster - a dumpster sitting atop what used to be a swimming pool that had been filled in with concrete - surrounded by the same ditch-like parking lot (apparently it was tiered). What made it better was when my friend opened the blinds to examine the belle vista, they broke! Vertical blind slats went falling to the floor.

Veronica tried to explain how the complex was going to make the view better - her body still jiggling from the stair climb. But a dumpster, really Veronica? A swimming pool filled in with concrete? There's no coming back from that. I really shouldn't make fun of Veronica, she was nice. Being nice, however, does not make up for bad apartments. Veronica, if you're reading - the jiggling comments are only meant in jest - sure you're a big girl, but big girls need love too... Let's find you a chubby chaser!

The next apartment is the one I hopefully will end up getting. I find out tomorrow or Monday. It was my first appointment and was shown to me by Dietra. Dietra was pretty awesome. She took my friend and I around the apartment community on a golf-cart, showed us the model, and took us to where my unit will be. Amazing community. It's in the northside of the city, and I can walk to the library, the post office, the art museum, restaurants, a street full of kitchy little stores, the YMCA, and a community farmer's market and garden. Words can't really describe how cool this apartment is... I'm very excited.

I almost ended my search then, but I wanted to check out the southside of the city, because it would be closer to work. Granted, the alternates had been in the southside, but these appointments had looked nicer on-line.

The next apartment we looked at was shown to us by Laura. Finding Laura's office was quite the challenge, but once we found it, all was nice. The office was far away from the rentable properties - very off-site. We followed her to our final destination: 33rd Street. The road seemed to stretch on forever, and as we rounded curves and parks, the neighborhood seemed to be more and more beautiful. I found myself thinking that southside might just be better than northside, and that it would be a dream to walk to places in this very gorgeous setting.

We arrived at 33rd Street, went to the top of another hill, looped around and entered the one ghetto block in the entire neighborhood. We pulled up to what looked like a converted house block down a shifty pot-holed driveway. I turned to my friend: "I'm not even considering this if it isn't one of the units in the front." Of course it was a side unit. A side unit that faced the broken down alley-way, and a side unit that the maintenance crews had forgotten to clean! Laura kept apologizing for the cleanliness, but I wanted to tell her that polishing a turd only leaves you with shit. If by cleaning she mean razing the walls and sowing the fields with salt, I might be convinced.

After parting ways with Laura, we met up with another woman whose name I cannot recall. She was nice, but she was one of those women who, you can tell, hasn't really ever grown up. I bet she's at home right now reminiscing about her glory days of high school when she was a cheerleader and a size 0 instead of a 4.

High School's apartments were nicer than the last. I actually considered one of them. The location was great - close to southside restaurants, night-life, and other things. Plus, it had exposed brick in the shower! I'm still not certain that is entirely sanitary, but it led to some fun discussions with High School.

After showing us the two nice units, High School sent us off to another unit (coincidentally across the street from Veronica's units). I was already unimpressed. My friend turned to me and said: "This looks like every movie or TV show where there's a drug sting," and I had to agree. It was clearly a drug dealer neighborhood.

When we entered the apartment, we were pleasantly surprised. It was actually very nice! Great hardwood floors, new appliances, etc. Everything inside was wonderful, except for the smell. It smelled funky. It was a funk that permeated every room and was rather obnoxious. Needless to say, I passed on that one.

At the end of the day, nothing really came close to the apartment on the northside of the city. It was really quite close to perfection. Let's all cross our fingers and pray. I really want this apartment.