I can’t believe it. Wasn’t 13 meant to be an unlucky number?
My finger hovers over the accept button as I wonder about the events leading up to this.
For the past two years or so, I’ve been actively involved in finding my own place to live. What with the big four-oh coming up and my parents getting older and all, I thought it was well overdue that I moved out.
The rental system works like this: you add your income, the rental app spawns eligible habitats in preferred areas, and when you like what you see you go clicky on a button.
You are then rejected on either not having a high enough waiting time (good things come to those who wait more than an average of, nowadays, 13 years – I hope you’re not drinking something while reading this as you might spill some, sorrynotsorry).
Or you went clicky on a house where your shown interest is added to a pool of at least 2,000 other desperate clicky-ers and you get rejected because you ended up being number 2.001 in the eventual draw.
So again, I wonder: what’s different this time?
I can’t even remember showing an interest for this place, yet I’ve just received an invite for an open house apartment!
It’s confirmed by an email that kindly asks for an acceptance through the app.
And here’s where it gets really weird: the mail says I am number 1 (!!) on the list of desperate candidates, meaning that if I say yes to this place it’s mine.
Yet… the app says I am number 14.
Makes me wonder: what happened to the other 13 interestees?
MIKA
“It might be big, it might be small,
ain’t no paintings on the wall,
and the bed might not be long enough.
It’s my house!”
I’ll tell you what happened: most of them got scared and ran away because of the bathroom’s renovation that’s due about as much as me moving out is.
Yet all I heard was me getting a brand new bathroom for free! Yea-eah!
Then a lot of the thirteeners got bored because of the cul-de-sac the apartment is in. The tiny village with lack of schools and only one, small supermarket was “just too quiet for them.”
All I registered was no annoying youths or frustratingly awful neighbours. Turn this buzz into a song as it’s music to my ears!
Then the last remaining non-believers declined the apartment because it’s old and needs some love and care. Think new floors and a smudge of paint on the walls.
What other people saw as too much hard work I see as an exciting challenge to make this place my pretty little palace.
And so…
I perform a second clicky, only to receive a very happy phone call two days later: the place is mine!
Right on schedule, I’ll be moving into my own little palace mere months before turning 40.
So much can change in a year. Find the love of your life. Get a permanent contract. Move out.
I am on a roll!
Perhaps 13 is an unlucky number.
But 14 sure isn’t!
Cheers!🥂
Elle Vampa 