No pugs allowed

After a wonderful day of rejection and scary pool houses, we nursed our wounds by drinking margaritas at dinner. The California cost of our meal was about $15 more than our typical El Mezcal dining experience, as if we really needed further proof that we weren’t in Kansas anymore. We get it, ok?

Tuesday (or Monday, as Alan insists)
Our second day in the area proved less eventful. We continued waiting for our cell phones to ring, and calling, calling, calling and leaving message after message. I’m actually looking forward to the West Coast lifestyle, because not only is the weather beautiful, but it appears that no one goes to work, or answers the phone, until at least 10:30 a.m. As much fun as it is to drive around waiting for phone calls, it gets even better when they start calling back. “What do you have available? How much is it? Do you take pets? Ok, thanks.”

It’s amusing really, how much the pet question bothers the landlord set. You’d think I asked, “Do you rent to serial arsonists?” or something similarly ominous. Often we’d get the response, “We take service animals…” as if they were being extremely generous by complying with what is undoubtedly California law.

We finally get to see a 2BR, “pet friendly” joint that goes for a costly $1750 a month. All hardwood floors, no dishwasher, no washer dryer, for $1750. Ouch. But it was in the perfect location so it was worth considering. We take an application as we depart.

We head across town to see an affordable 1BR. We’re a little unsure of the address, so we drive, then walk to find it. We were told to go to #24 and let ourselves in to see the apartment. We end up at what we think is the correct complex and look for #24. No note on the door, the door isn’t ajar, basically no indication that we can just walk right in. We stand there a minute, trying to decide what to do. As we’re debating possibly breaking into someone’s apartment, a guy comes out onto the lawn with a turtle. His pet turtle. Alan and I leave, off to make sure we’re at the right place. After a drive around to find the address and a bathroom break at Starbucks, we head back to the original correct #24. The turtle guy still outside. I, laughing at our silliness for being afraid to go up to the apartment, joked to Alan that the guy was going to think we were crazy for coming around again. Alan just looks at me and goes, “He’s walking his turtle.” True.

So #24 is, of course, a slight heap, but huge. Unfortunately it reminds both of us of an apartment Alan lived in, which had white brick walls. I just don’t do brick. It lends more of a jail-cell vibe than a home-sweet-home vibe, and I just can’t put myself in prison.

Our trip at an end, we head to the airport. Get through security. Sit down for a drink at the bar. My phone rings and it’s United Airlines telling me via automation that our flight from Denver to Kansas City has been canceled. Great, we think, but just get us to Denver and we’ll stay the night. Luckily, I went up to speak to an agent, who informed us that because so many flights were canceled on the East Coast, Denver’s hotels were likely booked. So we got another day in California. Rebooked on a new flight, and got to check out San Jose’s Chinese restaurant scene. Funny, too, because the night before we’d called United to see if we could change our flight to have additional time to apartment shop, and it would have cost us $230. And now we get an extra night thanks to the weather.

The next morning we’re booked to leave at 7:30 a.m. Get to the airport, through security, just to find out our flight is delayed. Then we sit on the runway for a good hour or two—I’m not sure how long because I slept much of the time. We finally head for Denver and are sure that we’re going to miss our connection. We get off the plane and run to look at the screen, and lo and behold, something has gone our way! Our connection is also delayed, so we have just enough time to grab a bite to eat and hop the plane…just in time, of course, to get on the plane and sit for another couple of hours on the tarmac while we’re having mechanical difficulties and changing the entire flight crew. Needless to say we were extremely happy to see Kansas City soil and head to Topeka to get our little pug girl, whom no one in California was welcoming to the state with open arms.

I get back to work and to my email to find out that all of my networking at The Rental Show the previous week had paid off. It was the stuff that only dreams are made of: An email from the editor of a KC-based magazine (equipment of course) telling me the publication was looking for an online editor who could also help out with print. Working from home was fine because their staff all worked from home. It was too good to be true; I had to pinch myself. Coincidentally I had already made an appointment to speak with the publisher for my final RER article, and he informed me that he thought they’d filled the position already. I had to work very hard to keep calm. The editor finally wrote me back the next day saying that they had indeed filled the position. As disappointed as I was, I was able to add another person to my list of “may one day contact me for freelance work” contacts.

If you think that’s all the disappointment a two-person, one-pug family could take in a week, you are wrong. We decided to go ahead and apply for the 2BR, $1750 apartment. We reasoned that I wouldn’t be jobless forever, and after doing the math figured that even if I went months without getting a job, we’d be fine with our savings. So I sent off our application. The next day, however, I get this email:

Hi Erin. I did receive your application yesterday. Thank you. We have decided to rent to another applicant who was willing to start immediately and did not have a dog.

DID NOT HAVE A DOG?? Not “you’re obviously too poor to afford this.” Not “You said that you could start paying immediately even if you couldn’t move in for another month and we want actual people IN the apartment, not just paying for the apartment.” The lady was rubbing it in. She could have just left off the dog portion of the sentence, but she wanted to let us know that that had played a part in our application rejection. So now, not only do we still have to FIND an apartment, which is hard enough, but we have to apply for the apartment and then risk getting rejected because of a dog they said they would allow! Oh the humanity!

But somehow, I’m not worried. I figure something has to come through for us. Our luck has to change. When you hit rock bottom there is nowhere to go but up. So, I don’t think we’ll be homeless. And if we are, well, I guess it’ll just be more fodder for this blogger.