I come back from another round of apartment hunting – in a wild panic. I have found an apartment that I like. It is in the high 80s on the East Side, faces the south side of the street, so great sunlight. Has laundry in the basement. It is across from a gorgeous church and on the fourth floor of a five floor walk-up.
It is, however, small. Really small. At 312 square feet it is 228 square feet smaller than what I am in – so in essence I am losing about half of my space. But before I can worry about moving my stuff I need to fill out the application and get approved.
I go into my lateral file (this is something that I won’t be taking to the Upper East Side) and begin pulling out my papers. In addition to needing to prove I make 40 times the rent (this means to rent a $2500 apartment, I need to have a salary of $100,000 – which I don’t, which is why I am moving into a teeny tiny walk-up apartment off of First Avenue) I need to make copies of my bank statements, pay stubs, retirement accounts and related financials.
I sit down at the desk and fill out the form, make copies, scan the document and send to the broker.
And then I wait. To be approved. Or rejected. Hhmmm – feels like dating.