I once had a Serbian broker.

I don't know if you know, but New York real estate is HORRIBLE. It's like some secret club and, guess what, the old members don't want any new members, so they make it as hard as possible for you to join said club and all you want to do is go home and cry and maybe watch Babysitter's Club because you know they would let you join. Well, maybe not all of them. Maybe Kristy would cause some problems with your approval. She's so bossy! Anyway, I digress.

Initially I thought looking for an apartment in New York would be a breeze. I thought it would be much harder for me to find work or figure out what to do with my life instead of finding an apartment. Oh just how wrong I was...

Originally, I was supposed to be rooming with one person, then it became 3, then 4, then back to three, then we found an apartment, then that fell through, it then it was back to 2. Still is, actually. But that's not the point. The point is I had a Serbian real estate broker.

I was looking at 3 bedroom apartments in Manhattan and found a listing that was in our price range and in a decent neighborhood, so I called the number listed to make an appointement. It rang for a bit before a woman answered, sounding as though she were in wind tunnel. "Hullo!," she said.

"H-hi. I'm calling about the apartment on 64th street." I said.

"Yes, you are from insurance company."

"No, I--what? I'm trying to make an appointment?"

"Yes, you are from the insurance company. When is check coming to me?"

By this time I was very confused. Cornfused, even. I was fairly certain I didn't work for an insurance company, but who knows, I also knew that this woman was not listening to me.

"NO. I'm not from the insurance company! I've never talked to you before! I would like to make an appointment to view one of your apartments!" I said, trying to be firm but polite.

"Ahhhh, okay," she said, seeming to understand what I was saying, "Listen you meet me at Barnes & Noble, we'll go from there. 2 pm."

"Ok...wait, which Barnes & Noble??" I asked

"Ok, yes. There is a small park right across the street from it. 66th street. 2 pm. Goodbye."

"Goo---" I started to say, but she had hung up.

I was quite unsure at this moment. I had a very hard time understanding this woman's English, but I figured it was just a bad connection or something. Again, I keep thinking wrong...ly. I spent most of the next day futsing and trying to figure out the right questions to ask before heading up to meet her. When I finally arrived at the Barnes & Noble, I was 25 minutes early. Nothing like awkwardly walking around a small "park" after walking around a Barnes & Noble for 15 minutes, right? Right. Finally, she called me. She instructed me to meet her across the street. I did. She then had me sign a sort of affidavit which I assume gave her the rights to harvest my organs at anytime, before we were on our way...

Now, I've had my fair share of awkward moments in life (though some may find that surprising!) but this whole experience was really something. I think if I really tried to tell you the whole story you and I would be dead by the time I was finished. Probably by your hands. And even then, I still don't think I'd be done talking. Wow, I'm sorry, that was grim. And I don't think it entirely made sense. Suffice to say, the apartments she showed me that day ranged from junkie-themed heroin den, to pretty-okay if small, to holyshitsomeonewouldactuallyliveinthisplace?

But what was really memorable that day, and what really brought me and my Serbian broker together, was our bus ride. Or bus rides, rather. I'm gonna need you to stay with me now and read the next post for the story of "Vincent". Or, if you'd like, take a break, get a snack, etc. If you've actually made it to the end of this post without giving up, I'd say you deserve it. Anyway, see you reaaaal soon...(that was meant to be menacing.)