Dear San Francisco,
We’ve been together almost seven years now. Though I was long infatuated with you from afar, I never imagined when I moved in that we’d be going as strong as we are today. Which is not to say our relationship isn’t without its rough patches.
Let’s face it, your hygiene is a constant issue for me. And the cigarette smoking is really obnoxious; I can hardly go an hour without smelling smoke all over you. When I step in feces on the street, or sidestep hostile street urchins, or when that driver got out of his truck and head-butted me, I have to ask myself: Are we really cut out for each other?
Lately, our living situation feels strained. My landlord is quite possibly mentally ill and knowing he lives above me is not positive for my own mental health. So I’m looking for a new place for us to share. But you don’t make it easy.
It’s not just that this is what passes for a kitchen in many apartments.
It’s that you have to pay $2500 a month for it – that’s if you make the cut over the 20-50 other apartment hunters lined up with credit report and rental history folios. Please note the kind of appliance normally relegated to the basement in the photo, as well as the lack of counter-space.
There was the place in Lower Haight that was essentially a bedroom and an eat-in kitchen for $2400. And then there are the myriad oddities which seem almost expertly placed to make an apartment less attractive.
Why does one need a corner-mounted TV in their home?
Let alone a corner-mounted oven…
Oh, San Francisco, I really love you, but I must admit, my eyes occasionally drift to other locales. There are houses with yards and dog-friendly landlords, practically just across the bridge. And while I feel torn and sad about splitting up, maybe it’s best that we spend some time apart and see what it feels like.
I promise I’ll bring my dog over to visit.