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It looks like this is going to be my residence in 4 weeks and a half.
I spent last Monday to Friday in Seattle; I was there both to get started off at work on what I’m frivolously calling “Project X” (yes, top secret stuff), as well as to look for an apartment. When I started looking into the latter it became quickly apparent the biggest problem was that there were way too many vacancies to choose from, stemming from a soft rental market spurred by Washington’s currently high unemployment rate. Fortunately, my Seattle coworkers suggested some neighbourhoods to look in, with the general consensus being that Capitol Hill was probably best for a carless bachelor like myself, so I focused in on that area.
As a result, Wednesday afternoon found myself looking at two apartments in the area – both of which I found seriously lacking. Afterwards though I spent the rest of the afternoon walking up and down Bellevue street, taking down phone numbers off the for rent signs that were hanging off nearly every second building. There were a lot of numbers to take down, too – nearly every building there was an apartment complex, ranging from charming brick buildings from before the 40s, to hideous ones from the 60s and 70s, to bland, efficient edifices built within the last 20 years. Based on that afternoon I decided it was a pretty cool place to live: convenient shopping near by, skewed age demographics (I don’t think I saw a single person over the age of 50 that afternoon), and quiet, yet sort of hip enough without being too in your face about it – although if I wanted that sort of thing, it’s only a few blocks to Broadway and its many resident punks and goth types.
I eventually made appointments to go look at four places on Friday morning, and the first one I looked at – the McDermott aparments on Bellevue – immediately caught my fancy. Very much in part due to how together and seemingly conscientous the superintendant was, but the apartment itself looked pretty good given how old the building was. One bedroom, around 700 square feet, 2/3 the rent I’m currently paying, hardwood floors, and the sort of decor I sort of expect to see from a hotel during the 1930s or 40s – complete with a rickety, ancient elevator with one of those neat accordion gate thingies. Piano friendly, too. And the location seems perfect, with the #7 bus across the street taking me to 3 blocks away from work.
So I grabbed an application, filled it out, sent it in, passed the credit check, gave notice at my current place, and sent in the deposit today. Assuming my current landlord doesn’t give me a lackluster recommendation, all I have to do is figure out how to pack all my Lego – and it’s sayonara Emeryville.
