So, my apartment caretaker knocked upon me door as I was emptying my last box of possessions from Move #9, feeling all proud and cozy.
Him: “Have you heard the news?”
Me: “Wha?”
Him: “How long have you lived here?”
Me: looking at watch “Um, about 3 days?”
Him: “Oh. You’re not going to like this. I’ve lived here 10 years.. and in 120 days we’re all going to have to find new places to live. Turns out somebody bought these places and they’re turning them into condos. Here’s the Notice of Conversion legal documentation.. sorry, dude.”
Hm. So. Um. Soooo. Um. Like. I am not done moving yet? You mean..
Remember in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off where they take Cameron’s dad’s car out and realized that the seedy characters at the parking ramp took it on a 100 mile joyride? And then Ferris looks right into the camera and says “This is the part where Cameron freaks out.” Yeah, that was pretty much me right there and then.
But I’m gonna enjoy my blue bathroom and the rest of the place while I’ve got it. There’s plenty o-places to scout around here and I’m not about to go the route of Howard Hughes when he stopped clipping his toenails and started peeing in milk bottles. Hells no! It rules being in my own place and this one didn’t work out, so I’ll just find me another one, yes ah will. I’ll just make my sure my next landlord signs a “don’t you dare fucking sell this building to a money-hoarding apartment-to-condo converter” form.
