Adventure at the Apthorp

I hadn’t heard from Amy for awhile, until Sunday, February 15, 2009. The first Sunday morning that I got out of bed with a purpose other than opening the front door to accept delivery of chocolate chip multigrain pancakes with a side of scrambled eggs, soft. In New York, unless you order eggs soft, you get a plasticized, brown tipped yellow mass with the consistency range of Frisbee/hockey puck. Plus you pay extra to account for the additional electricity/gas they use to overcook your food. That fateful morning, I was on my way to my first adventure in real estate. I was going to the Apthorp. I had no idea why I was going; all I knew was there was a meeting and I wanted to enter the Apthorp. I had absolutely no chance of living there, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to see what I was missing. After I indicated my interest in the beautiful prewar architecture of the upper west side, my CitiHabitats broker offered to invite me to the next meeting at a fantastic apartment that would never be available but “was like a circus and really something to see”. She invited me. I’d go. Why not? As I approached the intersection of 80th and Broadway, I realized I had no idea what to tell the Apthorp doorman. I didn’t know whose apartment it was, or why I was there. The guard had just told a madras-wearing, camera snapping, fanny pack toting tour bus brigade to move along, that this was private property. How could I gain access, with this lack of information? Darn Amy. She was supposed to meet me here. Should I retreat? Hell, no. I was going to see this apartment. No matter how stupid I might appear. I went inside the pharmacy to think. I didn’t want to stand outside the building, looking like one of the buffoons who stand outside the Dakota, blocking the sidewalk, gawking and looking up. It was only a matter of time until a pigeon with my sense of humor crapped on one of their heads. To be mistaken for a tourist- how humiliating! I channeled my club hopping days. Must appear confident. I belong at the Apthorp. Most important, keep moving. Two headbands and a tube of Clarins moisturizer later, I walked up the courtyard path, smiled at the guard, and said, “Good morning, I’m here for the meeting at apartment 3B”. “To your left, the man will take you up in the elevator.” I congratulated myself. “Well played.” I wanted to stop and sit in the courtyard, but coolness prevailed. I could only glance fondly out of the corners of my eyes at the sculptures, fountain, marble benches, and foliage surrounded by this high rise palatial prewar masterpiece. I found two elevators, but no attendant. I entered the prewar looking elevator, and hit the 3R button. The door closed but the elevator didn’t move. Panic stricken, I hit the open door button. After the longest 45 seconds of my life, the door opened and the attendant was there, grinning. “I feel like a jerk. Can you please take me to apartment 3B?” “Don’t worry; you’re not the first one to do that. First door to your left.” “If someone’s stuck later, you’ll know it will be me.”