Climbing the Alps

The following Saturday; 80something and West End Avenue. Arrived in front of slumlike entrance exactly at 9:00. No sign of Amy. Not at all surprised. Sat on bench on Riverside drive, watched traffic and river. Walked back, passed many Hasidic Jews. There must be a synagogue nearby. Returned to slumlike entrance at 9:15; received voicemail that she would be a bit late. She finally arrived at 9:30, complaining because the keys were labeled incorrectly and we could not get into the apartment. “It’s not a big deal. By the way, is this another walk up?” “Yes.” “What part of I don’t really want a walk up did you not understand? Aren’t we going back to the co-op? We returned to the co-op. Miraculously, through the wall of windows, the place had some light. What about the other unit in the co-op, the one with light?” “That was rented. But I have one more walk up to show you, if you’re interested.” Darn. I had gotten my hopes up about the co-op, but it was Saturday morning and I had nothing better to do. We approached 84th and Columbus. It was a beautiful block, and the house was pre war beautiful. Unfortunately, the apartment was on the 5th floor with very steep steps. “Can I get some oxygen here? This is like climbing the Alps.” I don’t remember much about the apartment, except it was too small, had a brown kitchen, no closet space, no light, and a broken bathroom window. On the way down, she showed me a second floor apartment, a beautiful 2 bedroom, with white kitchen, plenty of closet space, and a private deck. “That’s way out of my price range. Why’d you show it to me?” “I don’t know. Are you interested in the other apartment? I’m showing you this building because she is a very caring landlord. She lives in the building and will work with your identify theft issues. I don’t understand why the guy who moved in here moved right out and is suing us. I think he bought a house.” “What’s the lawsuit about?” “I can’t talk about it.” Or you won’t. “I really liked the co-op. I wish I could have it for longer than two years.” “I’ll contact the owner and call you when I find out.” “By the way, how much is the deposit?” “I think I can get these owners to agree to three months rent plus first month and security.” “That’s five months? What happens to the three months, does it go toward the end of the term?” “No, it stays in Citihabitat’s escrow account for a year.” Unless they remodel their office again, while the bank statements take flight across Columbus Avenue. “These are no fee apartments, correct?” “No. Whatever gave you that idea?” Common sense? Misplaced confidence? Belief that you would do the sane thing and find me a no fee apartment, when there are many available? “How much is the fee?” “Fifteen percent of a year’s rent, plus three hundred cash application fee.” “Why cash?” “We’ll give you a receipt.” “You didn’t answer my question. Speak to the co-op owner. Find out how long I could rent the apartment. Meanwhile, I’ll think about it.” During the week, I did research. There were no guarantees. I might be forced out of this co-op after two years. It would be interesting to find out what she’d tell me. My dwindling faith in her credibility would boil down to her response. “This is your broker. I talked to the owner. He won’t make you move after two years. You won’t have to move in two years. There is no such law in New York.” This, coupled with the ridiculously high fees and questionable cash application procedure, led to only one decision. Bye, bye, broker.