Dear Toronto Landlords and Landladies,
My name is Alex and I’m a looking for an apartment in
downtown Toronto. In fact, I’m moving to your fine city tomorrow around noon. I’m
moving from Ottawa – Canada’s capital. Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s nice, but
not Toronto-nice. That’s why I’m moving.
I don’t even have a place arranged to sleep tomorrow night.
What I do have is a collection of very generous friends who have offered a
collection of very uncomfortable pieces of furniture (or floor) for me to sleep
on.
In any case, I obviously need somewhere to live in this
mythical city you call The Big Smoke. And I’d rather not sleep on my pal Boris’s
floor for the next month and a half – both for the sake of my back and for the
fact that I hate to impose to such an extent.
And so I’ve come up with this outlandish idea of finding my
own apartment to live in. Crazy, I know, but stay with me here.
I started my apartment search on July 25 – nearly two full
months ago. You might think it’s weird that I remember the exact day…I think it’s
weird that you care. Let’s agree to disagree. Anyways, the enduring point that
you should take away from this paragraph is that I’ve been apartment hunting
for nearly two full months. TWO MONTHS. I’m not looking to buy a house here
folks. I’m looking for an apartment. Bachelor or one bedroom. I don’t care. I
just want something.
Sure, I have a few other stipulations. It must be downtown,
and ideally it should be within 15 minutes walking distance of the Bloor line
between Lansdowne and Castle Frank. I’d prefer not to co-habit with bedbugs. I’d
appreciate if my prospective landlord didn’t buy drugs off one of his tenans
while I waited to see his apartment. I’d rather not be offered a “bachelor”
apartment that is actually an unequipped room in a flophouse filled with
drug-addled miscreants…for the low, low price of $800. I want an apartment that
I can stand up fully straight in without hitting my head. And no, I don’t want
to live in your wretched basement apartment. (And yes, I can tell it’s a
basement even if you don’t say so in the listing. Those paneled florescent
lights and the single, one square foot window are dead giveaways. Go try to
make easy money somewhere else.) Outrageous demands? Not really. A little
constraining, sure. But I don’t feel like I’m asking too much.
Should it really be this hard to find a place downtown? Isn’t
this the city that continuously makes national headlines for having an
overbuilt condo market? Are the owners of these units just letting them sit
vacant while they laugh at nondescript nobodies like myself who vent their unending
frustrations to the cavernous wasteland that is the Internet? Is the city of
Toronto collectively pulling a fast one on me? Is it personal? I don’t get it.
Just rent me a *%$@!#*&@ apartment already. Christ almighty.
Would it help if I offered some incentive (even if that is
your – the landlord’s – job?) How about I tell you that I have six months in
cold hard cash worth of deposit waiting to inject into your favourite bank account?
How about I tell you that I have a credit check ready and waiting to be
examined by you or your favourite personal assistant (my credit is perfect, in
case you’re wondering)? How about I tell you that I’ve even typed up a cover
letter for my rental applications, as if I was applying for a job or an Ivy
League business school? I’m not – I’m just looking for a godforsaken place to
live – but I’ve done it anyways. How about I tell you that I don’t smoke? How
about I tell you that I don’t own a pet, and would never, ever think of getting
one? Do you want me to sign a decade long lease? What do you want?
As far as I can tell, the only way to get a decent apartment
in this city is to sit at your computer and refresh Craigslist, View It,
Kijiji, Pad Mapper and every other rental sight every eight minutes while
remaining in constant communication with all of your Toronto friends and family
to ensure that they are asking all of their friends and family to be on the
lookout for a place for you at all hours of the day. I’ve actually done these
things. I’ve even resorted to such old-school methods as looking at newspaper
classifieds and biking through entire neighbourhoods to find “for rent” signs.
Nothing has worked. And that, my friends, is completely and utterly fucking
absurd.
I’ve come close. Two nights ago I found a great looking pad
at Bloor and Ossington. I e-mailed the guy 23 minutes after it was posted,
including a copy of my credit report and my references, also offering up four
months rent in advance. I didn’t get an e-mail back. This morning I actually
got through to a fella looking to sublet his place at Bloor and Avenue. I
offered six months cash in advance this time. He was reticent, but agreed to
show the place to me. I called him back shortly after to set up a time; the
apartment had already been rented.
This is fucked. You people are fucked and your city is
fucked. I don’t know why I’m letting you do this to me, but I am. I want to
live in fucking Toronto, and I’m going to do it whether or not you give me somewhere
to live. I’ve offered up just about everything short of sexual favours for an
apartment. Please don’t make me go any further.
I just want an apartment. Not a drug den, or an old folks
home, or a squalid basement hovel. Just something normal. Just an apartment:
a-p-a-r-t…you get the point. I know we can make this happen together.
Say it with me now…Yes. We.
Cangetthisguyanapartmentbeforeheloseshismindandgivesupallhopeforyourcityandthehumanrace.
Thank you and good day.
