Stiffed again. I could not wait tables any longer. The obvious solution? Move to New York City and attend fashion school. Six months after making this decision, I served my last table and began scouring through craigslist for a place to live.
Two bedroom converted. Bedroom is 7’ x 9’, no windows, but charming early century walk-up. Full-size refrigerator in the kitchen. Unfurnished. We share hallway coat closet for clothing storage.
$ too much.
Mature 29-yr-old female looking for quiet, responsible roommate. Must be away during business hours as I work from home. No late nights. No guests. No kitchen privileges. Cat-lover is a must.
$ yeah right.
FREE RENT! Male seeks female roommate for severely discounted or free rent in midtown studio. Compensated by you occasionally walking around in your underwear, no physical relationship, I just want to look. $ rape is not rent.
Animal-loving widow seeks responsible roommate to occupy 12’ x 15’ upper west side bedroom. Private bathroom, windows, furniture, walk-in closet, utilities, internet + cable included. I have two lovable pets, a large dog and a cat. Pre-war doorman building 1 block from central park.
$ yes please!
Though I contacted over 100 of these postings (excluding the underwear perv), the choice was clear. Gay, the craigslist “widow”, returned my email, drilled my references, and finally called me. I had made the cut—just 10 days before I was to haul all my belongings 831 miles from the quaint southern charm of Chattanooga, Tennessee to big city bustle.
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