The walls aren’t painted, tiles on the kitchen ceiling are missing and there’s a bat swooping around the bedroom.
Ah, the thrill of moving into a campus-area apartment.
You think the thrill will end once you are finished moving the couches, microwave and every unnecessary item you over-packed.
Well, this is dedicated to the naíve sophomores or juniors who are moving out of the dorms into an apartment or home for the first time and are excited to throw parties to make money off the new, supposedly more naíve, freshmen. I have come to warn you of the disasters approaching. It’s only the beginning.
I moved out of my apartment on Bowen Court two weeks ago with a sigh of relief. I couldn’t imagine moving anywhere worse. I mean, I loved the slanted kitchen floor, molding shower and crooked windows with a certain fondness, but it was time to move on. Over the course of a year, my five roommates and I experienced what we thought was every problem possible.
The very first day we moved in, we noticed an awful smell in our basement, later to find out the five guys who recently moved out had decided to leave us a house-warming gift–a 40-lb. box of uncooked, rotting meat stashed in a corner behind a washing machine.
I never got a chance to thank them. The layer of dead maggots and flies on the floor were wonderful home decor.
Slowly came October and the desire to throw a party for “friends only” to make our infamous (and deadly) wop. Our Christmas lights were swirled around the basement poles and a bar was placed in the corner. A roommate put her boyfriend in charge of the door and a few hours later we realized we didn’t even know anyone in our over-packed house–our friends were waiting in a line outside to come inside.
Somehow a pipe broke, and water streamed onto the cement ground. As we tried to push everyone out of our house, two guys took off with a couch from our porch, and two others decided to kick in our basement windows.
We woke up the next morning in complete astonishment–our basement had flooded with over two feet of, um, water. As we stood at the bottom of the basement stairs, we watched two empty kegs float by.
The guys next door got a kick out of the flood. Two of them actually rolled up their jeans, climbed through one of the broken basement windows and rescued one of the kegs that had not yet been tapped. Hey, free beer for them; we weren’t going in there.
A company tried looking for a drain for about three hours. Later we were surprised with a visit from Madison Gas & Electric, which then turned off our water and heat for three days.
Every time we needed to pee or shower we had to run next door and use the neighbors’ bathroom (10 guys lived there at the time–that should speak for itself.)
I remember waking up one morning to an incredible amount of noise. I watched two cars being towed off our narrow block as four monster-machines took over. They had to drill the entire street to fix the pipes at our house, which later were discovered to be made of lead, which is both poisonous and illegal.
About two weeks later, we had two break-ins within seven days.
During the first break-in we were all sound asleep–a roommate had left the front door unlocked after a drunken night at the bars. A laptop and money were the only items stolen, and there was no damage done to our house–only to our perception of security.
The second break-in was a bit different. We had all left for Thanksgiving Break and returned to the presence of a police officer. Someone had broken two basement windows to get inside (yes, after we had them replaced), punched through the thin door leading into the kitchen and our house, and did the same to each bedroom door. Odd items were taken–only two leather jackets, a Walkman and a jar of coins.
The police informed us we were only two blocks from a building that houses criminals on probation–great to know after we moved in. The landlord did replace the doors, though it apparently wasn’t a priority to him, because it took a month.
Then there was another pipe problem. Every time someone would flush our downstairs toilet, the kitchen sink would gargle and regurgitate some ? stuff. Disgusting? Yes.
Want more stories? Sure, I have them, but speaking to any campus-area housing veteran will yield the same results.
I have now moved into a new apartment only one block away. The walls weren’t painted, tiles were falling off the kitchen ceiling and my roommate woke to a fluttering bat sitting on her futon. We’ve gotten those problems taken care of, but we know there are plenty more to come.
Nina Balistreri is a junior majoring in journalism. She can be reached at [email protected]