Thursday, February 19, 2009

He's just not that into living with you

I am walking down the street looking for an apartment on 15 ____ St. and I found a door marked with a 15. The door leads into a hardware store. I tend to get a little over dramatic about things like this. I call the guy up and point out that I think I'm in the wrong place. He suggests I am not and comes traipsing down and out the door of the hardware store and leads me back in. He jogs up a set of stairs talking on the phone with someone else carrying a beer and barefoot - laid back. I dig that. I struggle with the door for an eternity 45 seconds because I am equipment challenged particularly when I'm a bit nervous (for example when I am following a strange man through a hardware store). The guy thinks he has lost me and comes running back down the stairs nearly running into me in the process; he is still on the phone. He shows me a room, this big funky carpeted room with this adorable boy sitting on the bed. "Hello adorable boy." Adorable Boy is moving out, in fact he is moving to LA to make it big in the music industry. Beer Boy is the one I'd be living with. Cigarettes are on the front porch - the first sign that I won't do well in this environment. A giant bucket of empty beer bottles sits next to the trash can - the second sign I won't do well here. I joke around with the guys; I make them laugh. I flirt with the Adorable Boy and wish he was the one staying. I am ushered back through the hardware store 10 minutes later. Beer Boy shakes me hand. A finger shake. You know where he doesn't have the time to go palm to palm with you it makes the shake insincere. I feel like saying "shake my hand like man, dude." We both know that he isn't going to pick me. And even if he did, I'd say no.

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