[img]958|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — My apartment is on the market. The owners, who are good friends of mine, have been great about communication. They email or text about when there will be an open house or a showing. We have lived together for almost seven years, my landlords and I. When we met, they had lived in their place for a year, had no children and two cats. I was single. Then I got a cat. Then they had their first child. Then I got a boyfriend. Then they had their second child.
Not only were we good friends, our cats were, too. We used to have Kitty Playtime. We’d open up our doors, and our cats would switch apartments. Kipper would come to my house and make a beeline for the kitchen so he could eat Shelby’s food. Shelby would go to Kipper’s house and settle herself on a chair. When they were done, they switched back again.
Now I’m moving in with my boyfriend and they need a bigger place. Our living spaces, right across the hall from each other, are on the market. All those months and weeks and days and hours of watching Home and Garden TV really paid off; I staged my living quarters in one day. I removed almost all the pictures off my walls, got rid of tchotchkes (has the word “tchotchke” ever been in a spelling bee? It should; it is the most difficult word to spell), and made it more impersonal. Anyone could imagine living there!
Last week, C emailed me that there would be a showing on Saturday at 9:30 AM. I said no problem, because I was planning to be at Boyfriend’s house anyway. She also emailed me something about an open house; she didn’t know the times. Friday, Boyfriend and I talked about our evening plans and decided that I would stay at my place and catch up with him the next day.
They Are Coming Already?
On Saturday, I got up at 8, watched a little TV, made breakfast, and got a bag of laundry ready for the laundromat. Before I hopped in the shower, I texted C and asked when the open house was (hadn’t she said something about an open house?). I wanted to make plans so I’d be sure to be out of the way.
After my shower, I went to my computer because I remembered some email from C. I wasn’t sure if it had a time on it. As I was checking my email, I heard the lock on my door being fiddled with. Oh, my god! I jumped up and opened the door, still wearing my bathrobe. There was the realtor, and behind him, C. I gasped, “Is there an open house??” The realtor said no, a showing at 9:30, but the viewers were early. It was 9:15. C was getting ready to leave, saying, “I sent you an email!” I had totally forgotten. I told them I’d be leaving right now.
I ran around cleaning up the place and getting dressed. I shoved the pizza box from the night before (with one slice of pizza still in it) under the loveseat. I looked like a whirling dervish. Thank goodness I had already washed the dishes. Somehow I thought if I left dirty dishes in the sink, they wouldn’t sell the place, and it’d be my fault.
For some unknown reason, I grabbed my inhaler, shoved it in my bag, and got out. As I was wandering away from the house, not sure where I’d go, the realtor and viewers were walking towards the house.
I made my way to Starbucks, an area of comfort and relaxation to me. And, apparently, also to the first person I saw when I walked in. There was a guy in scrubs who was slumped at his laptop computer, dead asleep. His coffee cup was perched precariously in his hand, as though it might tip at any moment. I wanted very badly to take his picture. As I pondered this creative project, he suddenly jerked awake, looking very embarrassed. I averted my eyes to make the moment less awkward.
I stood in line, got the usual (tall Awake tea, sweet bread, banana to offset the sweet bread), and settled down to write this, while I waited for my apartment to be shown. At one point, I saw C and her husband, G, driving by in their van, no doubt looking for something to do themselves while they waited for their apartment to be shown.
I calmed down, settled in, eavesdropped a bit, and at the end of it, had half of an essay and a full belly. Forgetting that my place was going to be shown on Saturday at 9:30 a.m. turned out to be not so bad. I never did use my inhaler; god forbid I’m ever in a fire and have to grab something important. At least I’ll know where to go to relax.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at her new address, snobbyblog@gmail.com
