I’ve seen many hilarious signs, but this is the first wet floor sign I’ve seen with a stickman having fingers but no toes or feet. He has FIVE fingers, mind you (not the usual four in cartoons).
I recently made a first attempt to rent an apartment in NYC. Even though I had lived in the city for four years before, I previously dealt exclusively with the university for housing (In retrospect, this was a luxury). The manner I approached the process truly showed my naivete to the housing market–I believed that there was a housing market slump. Several months ago, the NYTimes published an article regarding the amazing deals to be had. I was wrong.
I had been on the hospital housing waiting list for over a year now, and initially hoped to take the first available opening. After calling the housing office daily for two weeks, I was finally told that I had two days to accept an offer before the unit was offered to someone else. I frantically requested a personal day at the hospital, and made a trip up. To maximize my trip, I also found two real estate agents to show me additional apartments.
The hospital housing was atrocious. The building itself was nicely maintained, with an ornate, marble lobby. The apartment was a first floor unit directly next to (3 feet away) the loading bay of Gristedes, a local supermarket. It was still under “moderate” renovation when I viewed it, and the electrician was trying to patch up some nonworking electrical outlets. The bedroom also had an elevated 4′x4′x4′ cube in the corner, which apparently formed the ceiling of the outside walkway down to the garbage alley.
Some of the realtor listed apartments in the neighborhood were situated in a more ideal location, but still had major issues. I encountered one listed with a “renovated” bathroom. The bathroom wall tiles resembled those at my high school, a distasteful pale yellow. The tub, toilet bowl, and wall-mounted soap dish were an algae-green. The toilet seat was an off-white color. The shower wall had four knobs–I did not inquire their functions. Indeed, the bathroom was “renovated”. No missing tiles though!
Have I been watching too much HGTV? Is it too much to ask for matching bathroom fixtures? Hell, if I’m going to shell out $1200+ a month for a 280 sq. ft. studio, shouldn’t I get one without brown fungi oozing out of the water faucet? Fortunately, subsequent apartments I viewed were slightly improved, although they wielded a price difference of several hundred dollars.
Weary after several hours of hunting, I finally settled on a modest 1BR apartment on the 1st floor (geh!). The laundry room is located in another building across the street, but at least there is no visible hyphae growing in the bathroom walls. With the recent housing market slump in mind, I attempted to negotiate a better price. This neighborhood was not in a favorable part of Manhattan, and the building was close to hundred years old (with minimal updates). My realtor smiled politely at me, and told me that she would speak to the landlord.
Several hours later, my realtor informed me that another potential tenant for the apartment was interested in paying more than the asking price. So much for bargaining.
For now, my apartment hunting adventure continues…
I hate the post office. Unfortunately, it is my only means to send mail economically. There is nothing wrong with the post office itself, only the experience of being there. Back in NYC, the post offices rarely make any of their supplies available–no delivery confirmation stickers, priority mail envelopes…anything. You usually have to wait in a line the length of the Great Wall just to get any assistance. The postal employees are unlikely the ones at fault; it’s a fact that most governmental offices are understaffed.
I religiously use the automated stamp dispenser to avoid the dreaded line. Today I scurried off early to the post office to brave the early crowds. At 8:30am (the post office opened at 8am), the line was already to the doorway, with only two employees. Fortunately I was mailing a flat-rate envelope and did not require human assistance. As I smugly deposited my letter in the bin, I caught eye of a customer at the counter epitomizing the cause of long post office lines.
She was attempting to mail a poorly sealed cardboard box while claiming that the automated stamp dispenser ate failed to print out her postage. As evidence, she displayed a crumpled receipt of dubious origin. The postal employee was kind enough to dispense new postage AND correct the erroneous zip code marked on the box. Ironically, the customer scratched out the corrected zip code and rewrote the original one, seconds after being told that the zip code did not correlate with the destination city. I could sense the frustration exuding from the rest of the crowd. I ducked out before I became visibly irritated from the scene. Good grief.
How difficult would it be to package your missive properly before leaving home? Is it too much to ask to KNOW where you plan to send your letter? Postal workers are overworked without having to deal with incompetent customers.
I dream of the day I have postal pickup in my office. That would be paradise. In the meantime, I guess that the automated stamp machine will have to do.
I took this photo right off the campus of the University of Delaware the day after a rainstorm. Nice fluffy clouds with accompanying grain silo. For some reason I am always surprised to see silos outside of Kansas.
The refrigerator is a great place to extend shelf life of products, whether edible or not. Batteries or film will stay fresh for years in the fridge if kept in proper humidity. Storing preservative-free eyedrops or Forteo (for osteoporosis) in the fridge will also help maintain their efficacy.
I keep chocolate in my fridge. Large amounts of it. Right in the left crisper drawer. Ever since I started counting down the weeks before my move, I’ve been frantically trying to clear out my food items. I’ve amassed a formidable stash of European delicassies in my fridge and cabinet over the last year, and it’s been difficult whittling down my stores. The photo above shows about a fourth of what I had 2 months ago. I simply am unable to consume this stuff in large quantities because the chocolate is overpoweringly rich and it seems like a waste not to savor it. In NYC, the Leibniz cookies sell at $5 for 3.3oz. The Swiss waffle chocolates? $6 for 3oz. I bought 5 boxes of each earlier in the year. (The gold standard for cookie comparison is the Oreo, which usually sells for $3 for 16oz)
I’ve started distributing some of my goodies in the hospital, and they go like hotcakes. A box of Ferrero’s lasted 3 hours. I wonder how long a box of French schoolboy cookies (Le Petit Ecolier) will last…