My last apartment in Packard's Corner was great for the year after I moved out of a cell-like room in this creepy old lady's house in Newton; but after several years plus a couple more, I hated it. The people above me must have been practicing for Riverdance: there was barely a time when something wasn't crashing against my ceiling. The nest of undergraduates across the hall communicated only in shrieks. People tossed their trash in the stairwell, where it remained for days or weeks until the maintenance man got around to removing it. And there were bedbugs, which management refused to acknowledge until too late and which proved impossible to get rid of. After I'd tossed furniture, clothing and possessions, and was reduced to sitting cross-legged on a bare floor, staring bleakly into space, I decided that it was time to move.
I spoke to a kid in a realty office near Great Scott. He told me there were no apartments that met my "requirements" for under $1,300 and that between rent, broker's fees and security deposits, I'd have to pay at least $5,000 up front. It was the middle of March, I was looking for an apartment for September, and I was hearing the "You'd better find something fast; all the good stuff will be gone in a couple of weeks" speech. And this smarmy punk was telling me that he had just the thing---which he described in vivid detail---but he wasn't going to show it to me because he didn't think I wanted it bad enough. I must have looked like I'd never rented an apartment before.
And then I met Xiomara (Zee-O-Mah-Ra) who, I can fairly say, changed my life---or maybe just made me slightly less of a loser. Linden's rental office is no longer on Kelton Street, by the way, but in the basement of an apartment house at 1128 Commonwealth Avenue. I stopped in one evening after work and my first impression was that Xiomara was typical of realty agents: fast-talking, a little pushy, always in a hurry. But she told me that all of her buildings were with one property management company, that she didn't charge a fee, and that because I had a job and wasn't a student. I probably wouldn't need a security deposit. I gave her my list: no bugs, no basements, a small building, no undergrads, lots of light, clean. She said, "I don't have anything for you right now but call me in a week or so. I expect something to come up soon." They always say that.
I stopped in a few days later but she had nothing. I called a week after that---still nothing. A few more days and the usual "I'm getting new apartments soon." A few days later, however, Xiomara called me at the office and asked me to stop by after work.
We looked at an apartment in an old, smallish building on Kelton Street. Top floor in the front, decent sized rooms. $1,095. The walls looked like they were painted in this century; the floor had a nice shine. But this was the first place I looked at and I was indifferent. Xiomara did her best: "Oh look at these big rooms! Look at this nice wooden floor! This is a great building! You'll love it here!"
Between Xiomara's exultations and my natural aversion to making decisions, I had only one thought: Escape. But it was the end of the day, I hadn't eaten, and my resistance was low. I thought of all the months I'd spend dealing with rental agents, looking at apartments and finding fault with each of them until, at the last minute, I ended up settling for something worse than what I was looking at right then.
I got back into Xiomara's car, wondering how I could get away from her. We went back to her office. She offered me some ginger ale and put an application in front of me. I told her I didn't have a check for the deposit. She told me not to worry. I seemed responsible, she said, and she knew I was serious because I called her so diligently for the past couple of weeks. She handed me a pen.
I filled out the application, asking about the consequences if I changed my mind. Xiomara said she wasn't going to rent me something I didn't want and that it was OK if I left. I felt a little green but I said I was fine, signed all the documents and brought a check by a few days later. I spent the spring not obsessing about apartment hunting but instead about whether I made a bad decision. I walked past the new place a bunch of times. I found my way into the building and wandered the halls. I stood outside looking up at my new bedroom window, thinking, "It'll just be for a year. It's bound to be better than where I am."
And it is. The building is quiet and clean, and management always seems to be doing preventative maintenance. Xiomara isn't one of those people who forget who you are as soon as you sign the lease. She waves when she sees me in the street and she asks how I like my apartment. Xiomara comes off a little tough but I think she'll take good care of you. read more
