The Frustrations of a Flat-Hunter
That’s me. A little birdy staring out of a window, watching the world go by. Well, not really. Well, kind of. I sit here in my make-shift bedroom everyday, looking out of the big windows, across at the ocean. It’s pretty nice. If I could, I’d just stay here. Put up a beaded wall hanging, to make this a ‘real’ bedroom. But alas, that most likely can’t happen, so my guitar playing man-friend and I have been looking for a place of our own. And that is not such an easy feat in this here town.
In NZ, I’m used to arranging a viewing with a real estate agent, which involves both of us turning up at the same time, and at the same place. I mean, you’re paying a real estate agent a commission right – so they should, really, have to do some work for it, no? Not in Melbourne, it seems. See, we found this sweet apartment, just a stone’s throw from our current res, and wanted to check it out. So, we called the company, they told us to come and collect the key (this is how it’s done here,) and bring it back within the hour. Not having our own wheels, we hopped on a bus, then a tram (actually, we missed the first tram so walked about two kilometres down the road to the office) and picked up the key. We then trammed and bussed back to said apartment, checked it out, and instantly both fell in love. The nice thing about viewing this way, is that you don’t necessarily have to contend with a million other people, all after the same thing (or so you think.) We then got back on the bus, managed to get on the tram, and arrived back at the real estate office with moments to spare. We were quickly given application forms and eagerly started to fill them out.
Only to have our dreams ripped away from us in a matter of seconds. When we were almost finished filling out the application forms, after the receptionist had told us yes sure, please come and get the key to check out the apartment. It’s still available. She then came out and promptly, cold-heartedly, as if we wouldn’t even care, told us that oh, you checked out THAT apartment? Oh, boy, it’s actually JUST been leased. (Actually. It happened while we were in the office. I heard the phone call.) Um, excuse me, if a property is to be leased, there is a 24-48 hour application period – they would’ve had to know this was happening. Yet they let us traipse backwards and forwards, fall in love and have our hearts broken, anyway. Cold-hearted bitch. That’s what ran through my mind.
So we’re back at square one. With the hoards, we plan to brace ourselves and go on a flat-hunt attack tomorrow. I hope we find something good.