Living Standard ... or Substandard

When I first arrived at my Airbnb apartment, I freaked out. It wasn’t just the mass of battered trashcans in front or the banged-up front door which couldn’t close securely.

No, it was the row of mailboxes – smashed, broken, and rusted – how could anyone get any mail? The torn-up linoleum and the elevator door opening and shutting at random was just the icing on the cake. What had I done?!? I had paid in advance for a hellhole!

The apartment didn’t reassure me. The bathroom door didn’t open all the way because it crashed into the toilet. Everything was clean – kitchen up-to-date and newish – but there was nothing on the walls except for the nails where something hung once. And one of the lamps – the only lamp, actually – had a burnt-out bulb.

I even phoned Tim to tell him I was freaking out (which is not a thing to do when someone is 4,000 miles away).

I went around the corner to the grocery store. Its doors were a little wonky, too, but wow, their prices were way cheaper than Anchorage! I got a fresh fruit salad, a big Snapple, some organic soups. The people in the store were regular people, New-York-style (an entire subway train can go by without a single blond person on it!).

The man in front of me on the checkout line asked, “How much was your fruit salad?”

“$3. It’s a great deal!”

He showed me what he had in his cart: a jar of not-fresh fruit salad. “$3.99,” he said. “Not as good a deal.”

By the time we got to the check-out machines, he had told me to only shop the sales, they change on Fridays, pick up the circular. When we parted, he called out, “Make sure you get the frequent shopper card.” I did.

Oh, I love New Yorkers! I love how they’ll talk to anyone, ask them anything, offer any advice. Once again, I’m swimming in my own DNA.

Once I unpacked and found places for my things, the apartment didn’t seem so shabby or frightening. My friend Steve mentioned in his blog how he had to get serious about fixing up his home, that “It's easy to get used to a water stain on the ceiling, old worn rugs, cracks in the cement, and other minor problems. …that visitors [must] wonder how we live in such a well worn space.” It’s all about familiarity. When things become part of our lives, we don’t notice their shabbiness any more. Before Tim and I replaced our carpeting, I began to think that visitors might look at our floors and not want to walk around in socks.

And now, here it is just a few days later, and I’m sitting on the couch in the apartment and feeling quite comfortable and homey. It’s snowing outside, and I’m relishing feeling cozy inside. I don’t notice the things that bothered me at first. And mostly, I actually appreciate them.

I appreciate that I am living in an affordable neighborhood. Last time I took my month in New York City, I was in Midtown, on the East Side. I couldn’t afford groceries there and the stores were uninteresting because their merchandise was out of my price range. $800 shoes! I wrote wondering why class warfare hadn’t broken out.

But here, in the Lower East Side, I can get my $3 fresh fruit salad, my 99¢ slice of pizza, and 64 ounces of Snapple for $1.67. The stores are useful for living: hardware and shoe repair, laundromats and school supplies. Yesterday, a man was out power-washing the sidewalk in front of his building. Regular people live here, and I like being among them.