Nolite te bastardes carborundorum

I have clocked up a lot of hours at my computer over the last few weeks sifting through Craig’s list for apartment listings. It’s a gruelling job. There are literally thousands of apartments, but the number that I can actually afford is significantly smaller, and the ones of those that look as though they might actually be suitable is smaller still. Half the issue is that I need a bedroom. That might seem like an obvious requirement, but the fact is that if it was me alone I would be able to live in the tiniest of one-room bedsits and be just fine. The fact is though that I have a two-year-old, and if I plan to do anything in my apartment after about 8pm that involves either lights or sound then I need to have a room, with a door, that I can shut.

After a lot of false starts, I thought that I had hit the jackpot with a one-bedroom apartment in Chelsea, within my budget, and I was holding my breath. Several emails went back and forth between the lessor and me, and I was optimistic, until a few things started raising red flags in my mind. The first thing, which seemed more of a frustration than a reason for suspicion, was that despite asking several times the woman did not give me a phone number. She eventually explained that she had a hearing disability and would rather communicate by email. Fair enough, I thought. The second thing that raised a flag was that she refused to let my friend go round to view the apartment for me until she had received a cash deposit, and from this point we hadbeen going round in circles for a couple of weeks. I refused to part with any cash until the apartment had been viewed, and she refused to arrange for a viewing until I had paid a deposit.

Now, ordinarily, if I had been on my own turf and felt more confident, this would have been enough to send me running for the hills, but for some reason my natural instincts were dulled, and I pursued this apartment for one reason: it was too good to be true. And it was that phrase, eventually, that told me what I needed to know. If something seems too good to be true, it usually is. All the red flags I should have spotted were no match for my optimism, but my senses did, thank god, finally sharpen themselves up and work for me.

So today, after having lunch with my dad and talking it all through I did a bit of detective work. It didn’t take long. I tried googling the lessor, but her name alone didn’t get me anywhere: I got far too many hits, and nothing of any use. What did it though was including the word “scam” in my google search. Suddenly, I hit upon literally dozens of people posting about this woman who had ripped them off. She would insist upon a cash deposit before showing the apartment and, once the money had changed hands, would disappear. The name to watch out for, incidentally, is Dorry Dimos, presumably not a real name. The woman (or man, who knows?) is a phony and will rip you off.

So, I had a lucky escape, but I feel better equipped to side-step the potholes now. I feel like I will be able to spot a rip-off merchant a mile off. I’m not so determined to find a place for the whole six months straight away.  I think I may have found a place for the first month of my stay, which will put me in the significantly stronger position of being able to apartment-hunt once I am actually in the city. And I’m not going to let these little obstacles get me down. I will, by hook or by crook (preferably fewer crooks), make this work. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.