The Privileged

“White privilege.” “Rich privilege.” “Pet privilege?”

Let’s talk about the baffling nature that is the “pet privilege” fee at most corporate apartment complexes. We’re running into this arbitrary fee more and more with each place that we tour. And let me just jump in before the “well most places have pet deposits”: yeah, they have those too...in addition to this so-called “fee.” The general numbers that we've been encountering are: $200 pet deposit (refundable), plus $20 a month pet rent AND $300 non-refundable pet privilege fee. It’s not for the extra cleanup and airing out that inevitably comes with renting to people with pets; that’s what the deposit is for (like most apartment deposits). And the rent is...just like people rent, I suppose. At $20 a month, I’m not going to complain a whole lot.

But a completely random non refundable $300 just because? What the shit?

If you want some extra money, just say so. Because you know that if you have a particularly messy pet, they’ll sure as shit keep most or all of that deposit and charge you if any additional services are required; it isn't coming out of that “privilege” fee. And what’s with the name, “pet privilege fee”? Like they’re doing us a solid by letting us have pets.

Out of all the complexes we checked out, only one didn't allow pets, but were in the process of changing their rules (as they were losing a lot of prospective renters because of that policy).

Pets are already expensive enough without these fees. And in a way it’s punishing people, such as Halbastram and I, who adopted an older pet so that it may have a second chance at living in a home environment. We’re not doing it for the lolz; we did it because we care. And apparently caring costs about $500 up front.

So, figuring conservatively at one of the complexes on our short list, before we've even received a key we have to pay: $500 total for the cat; $975 (one month’s rent); $35/each application fee; $125 security deposit; and some other stupid numbers I can’t remember. But just using those above, we need $1670 to get the ball rolling, not to mention the truck rental and the time off from work. With those numbers, I could just take on a mortgage payment. Sheesh.

This is why I avoid doing good things; there’s always a price to pay.

Quality Bars

It takes a special kind of person to make a determination about future residential prospects based on the neighborhood dive bar.

I am that person.

Last weekend we went to check out a neighborhood in Kansas City’s downtown known as Quality Hill. In addition to being indicative of its landscape, Quality Hill is so named because it’s where the elite of the city lived back in the day- way back in the day, like Grover Cleveland’s day. Now it’s home to a series of townhomes, apartments and other dwellings for KC’s working professionals. While many urban downtowns are usually fraught with high-end dwellings that only the money crowd could even consider living (I’m looking at you, Chicago), Kansas City’s downtown is still in its own “Times Square” transitional phase, and they are trying to remake it into a place where residents and visitors alike will come to play, dine and drink. As it stands, the only thing hopping in downtown KC is the Power and Light District, a very tightly packed city block with bars and restaurants that connect to an open-air courtyard/concert venue, right across from the Sprint Center. Outside of the P&L, driving around downtown KC feels like driving down a town that completely closes down- on Sunday. At the moment it’s still mostly utilitarian, with the office buildings and the corporate lunch locations closed until Monday.

Quality Hill sits just south of the convention center, Bartle Hall, a good jaunt away from the P&L district. What Quality Hill lacks in its location to Party Central it makes up for its quaint buildings, its impossibly narrow sidewalks and its neighborhood dive bars.

The first bar we attempted to patronize, as sports bar, was apparently run by people who are fans of “Spinal Tap,” as the 200 televisions in the establishment were all blazing at 11. Despite that, it was actually quite crowded, which isn’t necessarily a sign of a great place. I’m a card carrying member of Club Laziness; sometimes you just can’t be bothered to find other means of drinking and watching stupid college sports. Luckily for me, I left my membership card at home that day, so we promptly left in search of other libations, remembering a Mexican restaurant we passed on the way to the leasing office.

(sidenote: the leasing office is packed to the brim with candy. that’s all I remember about our visit with the leasing agent. also, something about no units being available for another 60 days. but, so much candy. everywhere. it’s like they knew I was coming.)

Anyway, having failed to locate the actual entrance to the Mexican restaurant (to be honest, we didn’t try that hard), we managed to find the entrance to a dark, ominous-looking bar and decided that, as we were now less than a block away from the car, it would have to do.

The L-shaped bar sat roughly 10-12, with a video poker machine tucked into the corner. Three high tops lined the partition on the side with the bar, and several low tops made up the rest of the space. We took a seat at a high top that was so wobbly it could give a weaker person car/sea sickness. As a frequent view of Bar Rescue, the dark brooding nature immediately gave me pause- in addition to the fact that the paper menus looked like they served the food right on top on it. However, I took a moment to take in the patrons in the bar at the moment, most of whom were there to watch the stupid KU basketball game. A bearded hipster and his floral dress-wearing lady friend sat at the bar, sharing a pitcher of PBR; a professional-looking guy nursed a vodka, waiting for his takeout order; two gray haired ladies sat at a low top, sipping sodas; a group of preppy college boys also sat at a low top, scarfing down wings and water; and a guy and gal who had obviously just come from a Color Run sat in a corner, talking intimately. The mix put me more at ease, in addition to the fact that the drinks were cheap and the selection of craft beers was heartening.

Halbastram ordered a plate of nachos (clearly made with either Ro*Tel or Velveeta, but who cares) and I enjoyed a Fat Tire, while admiring the sign above my head that read “Happy Hour Special: Coors $1.75.”

“I could see you coming here after work,” Halbastram remarked.
“Well, yeah. I mean, Happy Hour Coors for only $1.75. This could be my ‘Cheers’.”

We drank and ate for a little while longer, until the trash factory couple showed up and decided that the bar might be interested in their argument. Despite the gentleman’s repeated pleas of “Megan, stop; Megan...Megan...MEGAN! Stop!” Megan had other plans, so we decided to depart.

Although we didn’t even get to tour a unit (nor were we even sure that there would be anything available for us), I found myself wanting Quality Hill to work out more than anything...because of cheap beer. Within walking distance. Beats the hell out of a “community exercise room” that I’ll never use.

The unforeseen roadblock

When people get into the business of apartment hunting, some of the more prominent things that they think about are location, schools (if they have kids), rent, acceptable pets and quality of neighbors. However, as more and more apartment complexes are snatched up by corporate entities, one thing keeps popping up that most people sometimes forget to associate with leasing- the credit check. And it’s this thing in particular that is wrecking havoc on our current search.

Following the wonderful recession,, Halbastram & I ended up in Kansas to attend graduate school after relinquishing our condo to the bank (for which we would later be compensated because we were improperly evicted; don’t get too excited though- it was only a few hundred dollars…). During our time in graduate school, we picked up a couple of student credit cards to help keep us fed and housed and for three years we were consistent with payments.

Following more job losses and another housing crisis, we once again found ourselves financially unable to pay certain bills.  And as a result, the credit score we were working hard to build back up suddenly took a HARD tumble.  Sure, it’s our fault for acquiring credit card debt when we were in grad school, but at the time those cards were lifesavers.  And, as I said, we were actually good about payments.

Now that we’re back in a position to pay our debtors and afford a fairly decent apartment, as anyone who’s been denied a car loan or an American Express Black card knows, it takes time to get that credit score to move.  It’s like a numerical ice glacier.  Short of walking into the leasing office with a satchel DMX-style and offering to pay all of the rent for a year, we expect to be turned down for many places.  Ideally, I’d like to rent a house from a private owner, as they are generally easier to work with, but the better houses are a couple hundred more than what we wanted to pay.  But it may be worth it to be spared the embarrassment of being turned down for residency at Generic Vista View Gardens Terrace because Capitol One is angry at us.

Logistics aside, I haven’t yet ruled out the Briefcase Full of Cash scenario...

Sooo...jobs DON'T grow on trees?

As much as people may hate their jobs, I’m quite certain that they hate having to search for new ones even more. There’s nothing as soul-crushing and disheartening as the trudgery that is updating and fine-tuning one’s resume. The last time it was updated was the very last time you promised yourself that that would be the last time you’d ever have to update it. And even though you think you’re being smart by reminding yourself that a responsible person would keep it updated every six months, even if you have no intention of looking for new employment, the minute you get comfortable in your new job, that whole idea is dust in the wind.

Which brings me to where I am today. Despite the fact that Halbastram has REPEATEDLY told me & my lady about the importance of regular resume updates, and despite the repeated reassurances from us that, yes, we heard him, well, sometimes you just forget, you know?

So now here am I, trying to make this mundane thing sound more exciting and that totally big deal seem like it was nothing. It should come as no surprise that it’s really hard to spice up your previous experience when 99% of it is “retail with a stopover at the Post Office.” I’ve never regretted any of my time working retail; in fact, I made a lot of great friends over the years and bought a lot of great things at great discounts. But let’s be honest: they were just jobs to stay out of the poor house. And making the best of an unfortunate situation helps make the job a little easier to bear.

This time around, we’re skipping the retail route. We’re going straight for the Big Kid jobs now: marketing, communications, social media coordinator. You know, things I’m actually trained in. Incidentally, so are thousands upon thousands of other Millennials coming out of college. And they have an advantage over me: entry level. Sometimes, education and experience can work against you in the worst way: you either have too much or not enough. Some days I’m proud of my Master’s degree; other days I just feel that college is one big scamola.

But no matter where I’m hired, whether it’s within my field or someone else’s field (because I stole yo’ job, sucka!), I’ll do the best job possible. I just want to settle and be happy. And when I’m happy, my work shows it.

My name is Tiny Elvis and I approved this ad. #HireMe2015

Chronicles about nothing

At the urging of a good college friend, and some others who I have conveniently forgotten (sorry), I have decided to keep track of the process involved with our move 20 miles to the other side of the Kansas/Missouri state line.  In fact, I may make such a big deal out of this that you'll swear that I'm moving to Kansas City, Jupiter.  It's a real place, you know.  I just can't afford it.  So I have to opt for Kansas City, Missouri for the time being.  Maybe when we're all gazillionaires we can move to Jupiter.  Except you.  You know who you are.  You who don't bring beer or snacks when you are invited to a house party.  You can stay wherever you are.

Anyway, the blog will be threadbare for the first few weeks, as I work out my formatting and marketing and whatever.  With the exception of this particular entry, I will keep this blog fairly clean and professional, as I will use this as an example to provide to future employers as proof of my coding/HTML/writing skills as I start to navigate the murky waters that is "looking for gainful employment."

My ramblings on FB may decrease, as I will try to keep my longer rants confined to my other Blog About Nothing, All This is That.  I will do my best to keep from boring you to tears and I hope to keep you captivated about my great 45 minute migration East.

Happy travels!  Or something.