Previously on Ordale's Life: Crazy roommates and shitty housing led our hero to move off campus. And now the conclusion...
I didn't know the first thing about getting an apartment. For that expertise, I turned to my mother. She wasn't cosigning nor was she gonna chip in on the rent, but I knew that she could at least point me in the right direction. I was in DC for the summer so I couldn't apartment shop the right way. You know, actually go see the place first. This was in the days before apartments put up in walk-through tours online. Back then you just got a couple of pictures and you had to hope for the best. This was also before Google Maps and Streetview, so you didn't get a true-to-life picture of the area.
We get down to NC and as we're driving up I realize that it's in a shady part of town I'd never been to before. The buildings started looking progressively worse. I kept thinking, Please don't let it be that one. Oh no God, it can be that one just don't let it be this one. Never mind, don't let it be any on this street at all. It wasn't.
We pulled up to a building that looked pretty decent compared to the rest and I was somewhat relieved. It had a security gate and everything. We went inside the rental office and the lady had the lease ready. I look back on that day and realize that things went way too smoothly. 30-year-old-me now knows that anytime signing a contract is that easy then something is wrong. What I mean is...I assumed that my mother had faxed over my paycheck stubs, sent a deposit, and filled out an application so that they could do a background check on me. Nope.
None of that happened because this wasn't the kind of place that does that. They didn't ask where I worked, because they didn't care how their residents made money. As long as those singles and crack-stained bills were converted to a money order before the 5th of each month, they were happy. Grown up me also knows that any time you move somewhere and the rent is $400 a month for a one bedroom AND you get 5 months free on a 12 month lease then something is definitely wrong.
Have you ever seen The Little Mermaid? I was watching that with my daughter the other day. Right after Ariel signs the contract with the Sea Witch, the witch goes into this maniacal laughter. The same thing happened in the rental office. I asked the lady if my unit was in that same building or one of the ones next to it and she went Ursula the Sea Witch on me. She explained that they owned several complexes in the area, but they all shared one rental office. You poor unfortunate soul, you're not in this complex. Go out the gate, head to the corner and keep going until you get to the dead end street. It's the last one on the right next to the dumpster.
Picture any motel from a horror movie and that's what my building looked like. There were about seven units on both floors and the doors were side by side with a narrow walkway just like a motel. The mail area was a metal post next to the dumpster with about fourteen cubby holes with each apartment number labeled with a glittery sticker. There was no door, no lock or anything to keep your mail from blowing away in the wind. It was wide enough to fit one letter if you bent or rolled it up first.
I went inside and it looked like the kind of place you go to die. There were two windows in the whole apartment. The one in the living room had a view of the equally depressing apartment across the street and the one in the bedroom had a view of...wait for it...wait for it......A cemetery.
I don't mean that I could see one in the distance. No, I could jump out my window and into my own grave if I wanted to. The closest headstone was about fifteen feet from my window. I told my mother straight up, I can't stay here. The neighborhood isn't safe and I'm in front of a cemetery. This is the same woman who made me go back outside to fight when 15 kids in the neighborhood chased me home. The same woman who gave me a stick to take to the playground when I told her I saw a bunch of dudes drinking and selling drugs on the playground. In not so many words she told me to stop being a bitch. She told me to just put a chair up against the door at night and I'd be okay.
I lasted four months in that apartment before I moved out. At the time of my move I had the distinct honor of being one of two units that hadn't been robbed that Christmas season. Some happened while the people were still home. They just tied them up and kept it moving. The lady underneath me was raped during her robbery. It appeared that they were making their way sequentially through the building. I went to the rental office to see if they were hiring some security or something and the woman looked at me sincerely and told me, I'm not supposed to talk about it, but for your own safety I want you to move out of your unit. I'll waive the rest of your lease and I can even transfer you to a different complex if you like, but I think you need to get out.
A week later I was completely moved in to a new apartment. Campus wasn't looking so bad after all.
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