Ever heard about the horrors of finding a place to live in New York?  Here's my story, which apparently is really normal and average.  Kind of hard to believe, but people's apologetic reaction to you telling them you're apartment hunting supports that notion.  I've learned that sometimes you really have to just laugh it all off to survive and keep going.  So I've been laughing a lot lately.

Goal: Find new apartment by October 1.

August 9: My roommate tells me that she's moving home to CT until she figures out her next move. While I'm super sad because I like her and our place so much, I totally understand her reasons and I shake it off and search for motivation in my spirit. 'This could be fun' I thought. 'I have so much time' I thought. 

August 10: I make a sappy but optimistic Facebook post that I need a roommate for Oct 1, so anyone who has friends looking, send them my way!  Nothing but likes.  That's fine, it's only August 10, geez.

I let the news soak in for a few days and relax a little more because I have SO much time. 

An old high school friend messages me and we talk about the possibilities of living together, with his boyfriend and dog. A few days of texting back and forth about StreetEasy listings, our living style preferences, we eventually decide that timing and budgets weren't matching up. No worries, let's grab a drink sometime. 

August 14: I'm going to be responsible and get a serious head start. I signed up for Symbi, a website for losers with no friends looking for roommates.  A couple people send me messages but I ignore them because I'm still getting used to this concept and I don't need anything yet anyways.  I'm so early!

August 18: Looking through StreetEasy is addicting! I love looking at places.  I decide to reach out to brokers to go see a few places for the following day, can't let these gems pass by.

August 19:  Loved the places. I start going through all the things I need to do by tomorrow to apply for it: Get a job that makes me a ton of money, find two roommates with a budget of $1800+ each.  Maybe I could also just sublet my room for a month, I mean this place is perfect.

They rented the apartments that night.  I realized how ridiculous my imagination was. 

August 20: I went looking again and spent my day trekking across Manhattan, mapping out the addresses between all the open houses. It worked out that I was pin-balling across the city, barely making it to each, arriving drenched in sweat since it was during that hellish heat wave.

There's two guys looking at all the same apartments as I was, and we eventually jump in cabs together to see the same places. We even open the discussion about looking for a three bedroom together.  "We could take down this wall and it would really open it up." He says. I responded with excitement, "Yeah that'd be perfect then we could put the couch here.  Btw, do you have kitchen stuff?"  We didn't even know each other's names yet. 

August 21: K, I'll start responding to people on Symbi, why not. "Hey sorry for the delay! You still looking?" No response. Karma I guess. It's fine, they have a cat anyways, next. I start looking at Gypsy Housing posts on Facebook. Wow there's so many rooms, and they're so cheap.  Eh but most are in Brooklyn, I want to be in the city. I start messaging people anyways.

August 25: A few unanswered messages introduces a little stirring in my gut. I went on a messaging binge to make up for it. All of the profiles started to muddle together in my head. Almost 99% of them said, "I'm clean, respectful and enjoy wine nights and watching Netflix!".  I start losing direction as far as who to pursue because everyone seems the same.  

The two guys I met at open houses texted me and said they found a place together on the UES.  "Good luck on your search!" I respond, "Jealous! Congrats, lmk if you have friends looking." 

August 29: I've been messaging back and forth with about three girls. Yes! Progress. We're even showing each other StreetEasy listings and agreeing about them. One even has plans to go see some apartments and will keep me posted. She even brings a tape measure to take measurements. So nice!

One girl, let's call her Amy, responds to my message from a Gypsy Housing post. Omg this was the one room I was actually pumped to see.  

'This is already coming together' I thought.  'I even have options of roommates' I thought.  

August 30: I follow up with a couple of the girls who looked at apartments and they never respond again. That's weird. I'm annoyed. Why is nobody reliable.  

I go to see Amy's room in midtown Manhattan. Everything was perfect. It's so big it could fit two king beds plus room to dance and pull out my hip. They told me they'd hold it for me as I was their favorite person they've met. It felt so right. I message Amy an hour later and say I want to take the room. My search was over! That wasn't that bad. 

I tell my friends at work about my excitement about what I had just found and how anxious I was for her to respond to seal the deal. I hear a Facebook message ding on my phone. It was Amy.  

"Tierney! We loved you and would like you to move in! .. " I read that and threw up my hands and screamed and hugged my friends at work.  We danced and celebrated. I let out a sigh of relief as I reveled in my triumph with a huge smile.  "Oh wait... sh*t." I said as I continued reading.  I felt like some idiot that almost won the Olympic race but decided to do a fancy flip, then fell and lost. 

"Soo..this is out of left field but our other roommate just told us that she has a co-worker that's interested. If she wants it, we're going to give it to her. I'm so sorry! But we'll see.." Five painful hours later, "Tierney, I'm so sorry, she's taking the room. Best of luck!".  I briefly fantasized about fighting in a UFC ring for the room.  I chucked my phone across the room and went to sleep.  

August 31: A girl messages me on Symbi and asks to meet up to talk about what we want. Sweet!  Our convo exchanges sounded very promising. We'll call her Kate.

September 1:  Kate and I meet up, everything goes great. We talk for an hour and come up with a loose plan to look together.  We even hug goodbye.  Nothin but good vibes. Yeah Kate.

September 2: I schedule to see some other places to keep things moving. Of all places, the broker took me to the same building with the room I missed out on days earlier. When he wasn't buried in his phone, he answered a few of my questions and said things like, "You won't get anything you want in this city without bribing someone with extra money." He says in an accent I can't identify.  I try to be friendly anyways and I casually ask "So where you from?" He looks down his nose at me with his dark smokey eyes, "Don't worry about it." 

.....k.

We get in the elevator to leave.  Who else would get in the elevator but Amy's roommate, the chick who gave away my room days before?  Talk about awkward.  

September 3: Kate texts me that she found an open room somewhere and she took it. "Best of luck on your search!" Are you &%$*#@ serious.  

I decided to post pics of my roommate's room in hopes that maybe someone would be able to afford it. I get two messages instantly. Wow, this could work out.  

September 4: A girl comes to see the room. I'll call her Esmerelda. I instantly like her, can tell she's genuine, can tell we'd be friends. We share our grief about apartment searching and laugh together with empathy. She tells me she was hoping to share the room with a person. "Wait, like two people in here?" Esmerelda nods. "Nah, this place is way too small. But what if we just looked for a new place together?"  Yes.

September 5: Just in case, I download every roommate/room app that exists. Takes up a whole half page on my iPhone.  God I'm so organized. I get messages pretty often but it's usually something in Jersey,  a 50 year old couple deep in Queens looking to a fill a room, etc.  Between the continued Symbi messages, these apps, I start to get overwhelmed and cloudy. I stopped responding to everyone because I was getting so tired and confused.  

I started looking at total strangers on the streets as competition.  Not to mention people at open houses.  I developed a poker face, acting uninterested and mysterious, as to not give it away that I was planning to apply to anything I liked immediately.  

September 6: I start getting texts from unknown numbers from brokers asking what I want. How did they even get my number??  I continue browsing all my apps, Symbi, Gypsy Housing every morning/day/night. 

I even check Craigslist, and send messages to seemingly normal postings, at least compared to the other posts titled "Seeking young hot female, rent free, lonely man looking for action."  No one ever responded. Sweeeeet. Thumbs up for days. 

September 7:  A text from my mom. "Is this really worth it????"  Just a little extra doubt to throw in the mix. 

September 8:  I called a broker that I thought I was cool with from a prior conversation weeks before. Thought we were friends, somehow got yelled at instead. Guess he only deals with non-peasants. 

September 10:  I schedule to go see some places in Brooklyn. I see rooms advertised for $900 and they are sparkling with beauty.  Fine print, they end up being in super sketchy deserted neighborhoods 40+ minutes to the city. 

One room was cute, but I'd be living with these two guys who were doing the college thing. Sorry brah, next. 

Another was cute of course, but on my way up to the door, a huge man behind a metal gate in a wife beater holding a club (?) repeatedly smacked his lips at me, while his three pit bulls jumped crazily all over him. 

That's how they get you. Cute ass rooms an hour away from the city with dog fighting neighbors. So I saw an amazing place in Williamsburg. I texted the broker that night about applying. He responds "Sorry room taken."  Yay! I pound a heartfelt thumbs up at my phone with a smile dripping with sarcasm. 

September 11: My parent's friends of friends of friends reach out to me to help. Feeling like a pitied little chump right now since I didn't ask for help. They insist we check out Queens to look at places.  I show up half asleep from drinking too much wine the night before over my disdain for this bloody search.  This nice man was giving me the history of the area, volunteering his time, pointing around with a paper map, and the only thing I could manage to talk about was finding a coffee shop and some water.  

Later I go down to the 9/11 memorial to regain some perspective on life. 

September 12: Someone else I'd been talking to (not even going to tell the story) tells me they also found a room. So happy for you!!

September 13: Still checking all the apps, messaging people I'll never meet, emailing brokers, overloading my brain basically. I'm getting really nervous as I only have about two weeks left to figure it out. 

I holler back at Esmerelda and we commit to each other. Faith restored?  I went to see a two bedroom in our modest 2BR budget, typically a price point not found in Manhattan. Why's it so "cheap"? It's a 25 minute walk to the nearest subway, so far east it's basically located in the river itself.  Above a dive bar.  

I got stuck in a monsoon on the way back home, soaked me to the core, which set me over the edge. Being that I had to walk for 30 minutes to the train, my skin had enough time to start looking pruny. I looked like an angry wet cat. All my application papers in my pocket turned to papier machet.  I shivered in the air-conditioned subway on the way home with an unamused glare and mascara running down my face. 

September 14: What is my life?  

September 15:  Symbi: "Congrats! You've rated all the users in our database."  This is worse than dating.

September 16: I see a place that Esmerelda found in East Village, I liked it. At this point, I felt like a shark in the real estate world. I was confident and informed, drilling the broker with questions because I was tired of the BS.  The broker looked like she came from a college cookout without a care in the world and responded to my questions with "I'm pretty sure that's right."  Not to mention she'd get $6k for this sale. Why am I not a millionaire.

We would also have to find another roommate, which seems like hell at this point. I spent a day trying to figure out who the management company even was and what we needed to do if we wanted to apply.  I could never get any answers. 

September 17:  I tried to escape a little and have fun so I was on my way to a party that night.  A block from my train, cops told me to turn back as there had just been an explosion. While everyone around the country is freaking out that ISIS is taking over my street, I resume texting the broker about the sketchy apartment trying to get answers. He insisted I give him $1000 to take it off the market and emailed me some sketchy little crooked non-branded application.

September 18: Esmerelda texts me and says that she found out that morning that her credit is terrible and that her guarantor also has bad credit and they can't apply to anything.  I don't even react, I just am numb by now.  We nicely parted ways.  But seriously wtf is happening. 

I started thinking that homelessness was possible. Expectations were lowering a lot. Low key started hating everyone.

September 19: A note from my landlord under my door: "When are you moving out?? We need a move out date ASAP! Spots are filling up!" 

September 20: I decide to apply for a two bedroom on the UES I had seen to give myself an option. I was applying alone so had to take several extra painful steps to apply and qualify. Got approved but realized I'd owe $9k at signing (I talked them down from $12k).  Not to mention having to find a roommate and furnishing it. 

September 21: I start freaking out and scheduled to see a few studios last second. Expensive but hey, no roommate crap. 

I arrive to the worst neighborhood and place I'd seen all along, all for just under $2k! The slimy broker was leaned against a rail, slyly checking me out, and didn't even bother going in the apartment with me or offering any info.  He seemed more interested in shaking my hand, so I gave him a limp fish and an unimpressed side glare. 

Next I made my way up to the complete opposite corner of the city to upper west Manhattan, to see more crap for even more money.  The bed bug infestation really sold me. I took a video to act like I was interested so he wouldn't feel bad. 

On the way out, the old man broker and I were small talking, before mid-sentence he jetted across the traffic-filled road and never looked back.  I thought he'd at least wait for me because that was so awkward. Nope, he was gone, never looked back. Bye.

September 22: Tomorrow I was scheduled to sign the lease and give them $9k along with part of my soul.  I get cold feet. That's a lot of money. I mentioned the dilemma to my coworkers and said that I might have to move home for a bit. "Don't be a p*ssy." They said. Lol. 

Someone messages me about seeing a room in their four bedroom in Chelsea. I sigh even though I had messaged them first.  Whatever.  Zero expectations. Little hope. I went. 

The roommates were cool and the apartment was pretty big. The girl living in my room to-be had this nasty little dog with asthma and I accidentally slammed its head in the door, I didn't even feel bad since half of my soul was gone by this point.  Hell, I probably looked at the dog as competition. 

12 hours before my lease signing, I switch plans and commit to these people that I had known for an hour. 

September 23: I apply to the new place. Still getting messages on the apps from people with broken English, or creepy men in their 40s. Bye. 

I order food on Seamless to celebrate the seemingly end of this ridiculous search. Food never comes. Go to sleep starving. 

September 24: Coworkers I barely know, and friends/family from across the world are messaging me on Facebook, text, and WhatsApp asking about the search status. I'm certain that I've never mentioned it to any of them, but nonetheless I'm inspired by the outpouring of global community support.  

September 26:  I call the management office to follow up on my application approval status.  Lady sounds like I woke her up from a nap — confused and irritated.

"I might look at it today.” What?  "I'll try and hopefully get back to you.” 

Thanks, now I feel really reassured. Just wondering if I should use the boxes to pack my stuff or set up shop on the street. Take your sweet precious time.

2pm Email: hi, your application isn’t sufficient.  (###Censored###)

I call a thousand times, eventually get her and drill her logic as to how she arrived at such an outrageous conclusion.  Two months of searching hell and my fate comes down to someone who seems too tired to properly look at my application.

September 27:  After calling a thousand more times, I get another watery email response at 4pm. "Still looking will let you know when there's an answer." Literally wow.

I very very reluctantly get back on Gypsy Housing on Facebook, the Kmart of apartment searching, feeling legitimately nauseous at the sight of the same repetitive type of posts, each with 57 other people interested.

I messaged people and threw all my pride out the window.  I go off on this raw spiel about my life and how I'm going to be homeless in 15 hours, plz help, save me, my credit score is amazing, I swear I'm the cleanest person you'll ever meet. My comments stick out like a desperate thorn amongst a fluffy forest of modest and polite interest from other people.

September 28: I'm in disbelief that I'm on the F train back to Brooklyn to see more places.  I'm so far away that the train goes above ground, and I watch the Manhattan skyline fade away in the hazy distance.

I lose all patience and send an extremely direct email from my phone to the management company demanding a response today.  Each finger forcefully pounding the letters on my screen and my jaw clenched, nostrils flared. 

She responds hours later asking for materials I sent over three days ago.  I am utterly astounded by this response. 

I call her fuming. "Oh I didn't see that. I'll look and get ba--" 

"NOPE! Need you to look at it right now. Do you understand that I'm being kicked out in 15 hours?  It's as clear as day. I need you to approve it right now, and I need written confirmation by 3pm (in 10 minutes)."  Guess this is the attitude they say you develop in New York, and I can't express how not sorry I am about it.  I'll preserve the southern charm for everything else.

She complies. I get approval. I get the written confirmation by 3pm. Bahah. Omg. Moving out in 15 hours. 

October 5: I smirk as I delete the 98 apps on my phone that I used to find a place.  Despite my growing fanbase of this drama, I'm not telling anyone that I found a place, because the whiplash from the experience trained me to not believe in the mirage of a resolution.  People ask me daily, and I nonchalantly respond, "Oh yeah. I think so. I mean I moved in so I guess so. I don't know."  Even though I just bought Eucalyptus in a vase for my bedside table. 

October 16:  My heart is pounding as I wake up from a nightmare that I was forced to move out.  Images of the StreetEasy and CityMapper apps were burned in my dream vision and slowly melted away as I opened my eyes. It takes me several minutes to accept that this is not true and I actually live here.  I do, right?  Yeah. Definitely.  I double check with my roommate just to be sure.

Late December: Still haven't signed a lease. Still not sure if I live here.

Tags: New York, United States