Roommate Wanted: No Freaks or Serial Killers

One of my big fears in moving to New York City was finding a roommate. I knew I wanted to avoid living alone if at all possible, but all my college friends moved to the city immediately after graduation and had secured roommates six months earlier.

Hypothetical Movie Poster

I was terrified to do the whole Craiglist thing to find a roommate. Just thinking about it made me picture my life turned into a Lifetime Movie posthumously. It would probably be called, Dead Before Her Time: Emily Howe's Story or maybe Dead in the Big Apple: The Emily Howe Story. The TV commercial would probably go something like this - *Happy Music* Voice Over: "Emily was a happy, bright young woman who trusted easily and made new friends effortlessly" *Dramatic Music* Voice Over continues: "Until one day she trusted the wrong roommate" Followed by the image of a blood stained New York apartment. Then the title flashes across the screen and everyone rushes to add it to their DVRs.


So Craiglist wasn't really an option in my book. I needed to find a friend, or a friend-of-a-friend that could be vouched for, or I would have to live alone. As luck would have it, my friend Gracie's boyfriend's friend from growing up was on the hunt for a roommate. Sure, she did not exactly qualify as a friend, but I was promised she was not a murderer, thief, or drug addict (Clearly, my standards are ridiculously high for a roommate).

Lindsey was in the market for a third roommate to join her and her college roommate, Ellie. After Gracie connected us, Lindsey and I got drinks on a Thursday after work. Later we both described it as the perfect first date. We just knew it was a good fit! That weekend I met Ellie, and we looked all over creation (AKA about half of Manhattan) for an apartment. I came to New York with the understanding that you get less bang for your buck in the city, but I did not truly understand the reality of that until we had seen a handful of apartments.

Honestly, I started to panic. "My bed will not even fit in here," I said. Lindsey and Ellie brushed off my comment saying that "Rooms always seem smaller when there isn't any furniture in them." I wanted to respond, "No, seriously, you guys do not understand. I have Atlanta-sized furniture that I must fit into a New York-sized apartment." But I did not want to mess with my delicate friendship with these two girls. So instead I responded, "Let's keep looking." Sunday afternoon we inched our budget a bit higher to see one last place.

All moved in! Sort of...
Look! Exposed brick!

We got to the street, approached the apartment, opened the door to 1A, and I breathed a sigh of relief. This could maybe work. I think my furniture could fit. Mostly at least. Oooh exposed brick! A renovated bathroom! A tiny, but upgraded kitchen! With a wine fridge! I took a video and sent it to Blake, my born-and-raised New Yorker friend who would certainly know what to say {She is also another friend that let me sleep in her living room for a while. What a dear!}. Like a flash of lightening she texted back, "OMG! Take it! Take it now!" So with the blessing of a real New Yorker (and a few phone calls made to our parents) we made our way to the leasing office.

Applying to rent an apartment in the city is much more serious and involved than anywhere else. The long and short of the requirements turned out to be salaries over $60K a year (or in my case a guarantor), $15,000 upfront, a background check, and a bunch of signatures. Somewhere along the way I may have signed my soul over to the New York real estate gods. Who knows for sure.

A little more than a week later we moved in. Although I am not sure you could call what I did "moving in." I took a cab from Blake's place with her air-mattress in one hand, my little suitcase in the other, and a Medium Brown Bag from Bloomingdale's slung across my shoulder. It was a pathetic little set up in the beginning, but it was mine so it was all okay.