Exams were killing me. Between the constant worry of actually passing Spanish and trying to complete the umpteen assignments that had somehow piled up, I was near exhaustion. Combine that with being homeless in a little over a week, and I was going out of my mind! I needed to find a home fast, or else start collecting boxes from Food Basics which I could use to build a very cute ‘box apartment’ in a moderately clean alley. (Hey, I might be homeless, but I still have standards!) I knew that I could always move back in with Mom and Dad, but they are so far away out there in Banjo Country. No, I would find a home.
Then a funny thing happened. I saw my new home. I think it was in a dream. The room transformed into a blurry mass of colours, gradually focusing in on an image of two massive apartment towers, with the words “For Rent” floating as if by magic in the crystal clear sky.
Come to think of it, I probably fell asleep on a ‘Renters News’ book.
When I awoke, there in front of me was an ad for the perfect apartment:
“1,2 and 3 bedrooms
available. Large
units. Swimming
Pool. Walk to GO. Great location. Starting at $780. Call for Details!”
I immediately called the number and made an appointment to view my future home!
The next day I was
exiting the highway, and navigating the short distance to
They were beautiful. The view, the kitchen, the lovely hardwood floors – all of them exactly what I wanted. The price was a little much, but when she said they had ‘unrenovated’ units, I became hopeful.
You see, if a little elbow grease can produce THIS beautiful apartment, I can do the work myself and save a fortune!
Let’s just say that these units would be a snap to fix up for a team of 20 or so highly trained professionals. A young, single, not-so-handy female would be over her head. All the decorating shows in the world couldn’t help me.
I was still in renovated-apartment-love when I saw the ‘as is’ units, and I think my brain was clouded with the Martha Stewart hormones and chemicals that are produced in such a state of DYI lust. To make a long and rambling story somewhat less long and rambling, I took the ‘as is’ apartment.
Yes, I agreed to take it. Gave them my cheques, signed the papers, and voila, I had a home. Complete with hole-filled walls faded by 40 years of abuse, worn floors with streaks of caked on dirt, hideous wallpaper that smelled a little funny, carpeted bathroom (I wont go into how nasty THAT was), kitchen walls covered in floor tiles, a leaky kitchen sink and a water soaked kitchen cabinet.
And that’s what I knew about.
I figured a day or two, and it would be good as new. And before you say anything, yes, I am blonde.
When my mom offered to help me paint, I agreed whole heartedly (not because I thought it was a big job, but more because I figured we could go shopping in the afternoon, once all the work was done!) She took one look at the apartment and sighed. Apparently she felt this would be a big job. On second look, I agreed that we may have to cancel the shopping plans and work the entire day.
Three days later (and that’s three days of working sun up to sun down with mom AND dad’s assistance) we had the living room, master bedroom, kitchen and part of the hallway completed. Enough so that I could move in and not feel disgusted. Several of the things that were supposed to be fixed by the time I arrived to paint had not been done. The floors had not been waxed (promised to me by the building manager), there were no appliances in the Kitchen (I was told they are removed while the unit sits vacant) the light fixture in the dining room was still hanging by a wire, and there was still no screen in the master bedroom window. I complained, and was assured it would be finished by the time I moved in one week later.
If you ever move into an apartment, and the management tells you “don’t worry, we will get it done this week”, plan for the job to be completed 5 months later. With the exception of kitchen appliances, nothing was done when I moved in.
Back to the three days of renovations. We all were tired, and disgusted at the former tenants of the apartment. The Bumpi, as I called them, must not have cleaned the entire time they lived there. They also must have enjoyed banging holes into the walls for kicks. There were not only picture holes, but random holes that could have only been made by someone highly intoxicated or generally stupid. Seeing as we were dealing with Bumpi (and if you have seen the movie ‘A Christmas Story”, you know what I’m talking about), I would guess it was the later option.
Anyway, after three days of hard labour, I could see the end of the tunnel. Don’t get me wrong, there were still many many many things that needed to be done, but the apartment had been transformed from “Hell-hole” into “Dingy Pit”.
A significant improvement!