Every apartment has issues. Rent, neighbors, and location don't matter. When Matt and I first moved in here we had a leak in the ceiling. For weeks we were frothing at the mouth and leaving nasty messages with the building management.
Then I went to speak to someone for an article I was working on whose apartment was infinitely fancier than ours, and got a cold slap of reality.
To start, the building overlooks Manhattan. This is the first indication that it's overpriced living; you need to
pay for view of a bunch of buildings a twenty minute bus ride could get you inside of. After I walked through the front doors, I was greeted warmly by a doorman in
full regalia* and then directed to a Men In Black style front desk. The lobby of the building was open and quiet; there was just the funny dressed doorman and the squirrelly fellow at the desk. He asked me who I was there to see, called the apartment, and directed me upstairs.
This woman's apartment is roughly three times the size of my apartment. Her living room was as big as my living room, dining room, and kitchen combined. She had French Doors everywhere. French doors that led to her office, her bedroom, her terrace, Narnia. Everywhere.
I took my coat off, eyes squinting against the brilliant sunlight pouring in from her
balcony, and she calmly says: "Are you cold? My heat's been off for the last week. I got it back today."
Her heat. Was off. For a week. In January.
One month's rent for her (or mortgage, however it works) is easily,
easily approximately 6-8 car payments for me. And that's under-estimating. HER HEAT. WAS OFF. FOR A WEEK.
I don't get so upset about my apartment anymore.
* That's not the doorman, but I think the uniform was the same!
