Never heard back from John Tuesday so I call the management office first thing in the morning. John doesn’t work Wednesdays. Well is there someone else I can talk to? “Just the landlord of the building.” I call Maria and no answer. I stalk her life almost every hour – there’s no voice mail so I can’t leave a message. At around 6pm, she finally picks up. “Oh, yes, John doesn’t work Wednesdays.” OK, glad to get the confirmation on that, but what’s happening with the apartment? “I wouldn’t worry about it. Just call him when the office opens tomorrow.” OK. Breathe. Maria sounds like this is normal. There’s nothing I can do about it until tomorrow.
Thursday morning I sit up in bed and call John. “Hey, Lindsay, you’re all good with your referrals, so now we just have to wait and see what your credit score looks like.” You didn’t already run it? “No, that’s the last thing we do. I’ll call you back.” Ugh, I thought it was the first thing they do. Of course I’m second guessing myself. I think my credit score is fine but I don’t really know. I’m in the bathroom when Mike is running up the stairs calling my name. “Your phone’s ringing! I could hear it vibrating from downstairs.” Hmm, I wonder if Mike is eager to hear about the place. It was John, and there’s a voicemail. I listen before I call him back, holding my breath. “Hi Lindsay, sorry it’s taken so long, but you’ve been approved for the apartment.” Exhale. Jesus, John, you had to start the message with, ‘I’m sorry’? As I’m listening he’s calling again, and I switch over to take the call. Hi John. I’m smiling ear to ear. “Hey Lindsay, everything checked out, so you’re good to go with the apartment. Thank you thank you thank you John! Thank you so much! As if it was all up to him. “Well thanks for your patience.”
It’s a celebration. I’m screaming. Mike is thrilled. I can’t believe we got it. Call Mom, obviously. We start talking about furniture – I haven’t wanted to think about it until we actually got a place. I’m so ecstatic I post it on fb. Approved for our very own first studio apartment! Probably the most likes I’ve ever had on a status, and then I get a phone call that night.
It’s George; Maria’s husband. He’s been on vacation for some time and just got back. He sounds Indian on the phone which is unexpected since Maria is this pale, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Russian, or at least that’s what I made up in my mind. Naturally, I imagine her husband to be a hulking, fit Russian man. How stereotypical of me.
George tells me – and I have to ask him to repeat everything at least twice because I can’t understand him – that I should bring a cashier’s check and meet him tomorrow to sign the lease. Which means I need to bring him the first month’s rent times two plus and extra hundred for security. It doesn’t matter how much. OK, fine: $2,290. So, it has to be tomorrow? “Well, I could wait until Saturday at the latest, but if you don’t sign the lease I have to keep showing it to people.” Panic mode. No, no, no. I can have it by tomorrow. We hang up and I tell Mike and Troy.
Realize that I don’t have cashier’s checks and there’s no way I can get one by tomorrow. I still have TD, which is no where to be found in LA, and ING, which will take at least three days to mail me something like that. I have refused to get bank of america or chase or any other account out here. I don’t really know why. I just don’t like having so many accounts open, but I don’t want to close my TD because all of my monthly payments are automatically taken out of it, and oh, shut up. In any case, I can get money orders from the post office. It’s settled. Tomorrow morning I will get however many money orders I need and give them to George.
I’m stressed, hoping everything will work out, especially since I just announced to the world that we got a place; a place that we really don’t even have yet.