Please Trust Me with Your Property

Tomorrow my mom and I are making the trip down to Minneapolis for a day of apartment hunting. Since Carleton keeps most students living in the dorms for all four years, it’s my first time searching for a place to rent. A little scary, but mostly exciting!

Naturally, since I’m an adult and stuff, I set up our appointments myself. It’s the rare landlord that actually answers his phone, or so it would seem. I often found myself leaving awkward voicemail messages on a stranger’s phone. Usually this was no big deal, but in my first round of calls I had one catastrophic failure. After giving the usual spiel about who I was and why I was calling, I completely blanked on my phone number! Or more specifically, I couldn’t remember my area code.

My train of thought went something like this:  651 . . . no, that’s the Minneapolis area code! . . . This has been a really long silence. . . . Maybe I should try this message again — wait, no I can’t! Oh my god, this guy is going to think I’m an idiot. I basically became Ross on Friends in the episode with his hot cousin, but with less creepy undertones.

Eventually I was able to spit out my phone number with area code. Of course, that was the one person from the first round of phone calls who didn’t call me back. I didn’t feel too bad about it though because I got a few others showings set up that day.

Of course, I made the mistake of falling in love with one of the apartments. This one just seems like the perfect setup, the price is reasonable, etc., etc. They may have just had a better photographer, but I was already picturing myself living there. Cut to today when the manager calls to cancel my appointment because the apartment was just rented out. That’s what I get for hunting from four hours away, I guess.

Now it was time for round two of phone calls. Since the place did look promising, I swallowed my pride and left another message for the man who probably thought I was an idiot. This time I made the mistake of calling on a brand new cell phone. While leaving my second voicemail, I got a text. Long story short, I thought someone might be trying to call me and — ta da! Another message complete with awkward silence.

But, wonder of wonders, he actually called me back this time. The man must have a sense of humor. I’m crossing my fingers that we find something promising. Feel free to cross your fingers too.

This small child is better at talking on the phone than me.

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