The Craigslist Theory

As easy and effortless my move to the west coast has unfolded, there is still one small factor that has become a huge burden at the moment; finding a place to live. I’ve been staying with my cousin Alex and his wife Natalia in San Mateo for the past five weeks. The experience with them has been both truly memorable and totally awesome. But, I've also been busy looking for a place in the city to end the additional two hour CAL Train and BART commute that I make four times a week, to and from the Academy.

I have a question for all you people out there; have any of you tried to find a place to live in San Francisco?

It’s absolutely nothing you might think it is. In the old days living in suburbia, I could just pick a town that I might like, drive around looking for “For Rent” signs, write down the phone number and make the phone call. Most of the time you can see the apartment during the same day. Not in San Francisco. But you see, there’s this system that’s been around for a while now, a means for mass communication over the Internet. This system is called Craigslist.

I’ve never used Craigslist before in my life, for anything. If I needed a car, I went to a dealership. If I needed a job, I went to the establishment. And if I needed a place to live, I drove around until I found one. I’ll say it again; not in San Francisco and especially not to find a place to live. I’ve been on Craigslist for five weeks now. I’ve seen several places that were "inhabited" by the weirdest people; having numerous experiences trying to locate this new homestead of mine.

So how many apartments had I seen? I couldn’t even recall as I drove around, searching for a parking space that Valentine’s evening. I had made yet another appointment to see a room available somewhere in the Castro and there was absolutely no parking within a mile radius of the address. The woman who owned the home assured me that there would be. This was the first red flag. How I found the place was a miracle in itself. The woman told me that it was an old Victorian home nestled between two modern apartment buildings and that I couldn’t miss it.

Well, I missed it alright. There wasn't a glimpse of an old Victorian home anywhere in sight. I had to call the woman over my cell phone so she can step out of her home and flag me down. The funny thing was, I was standing right in front of the house. Old Victorian…that was red flag number two. Then, there was the woman.

She carried a short handled purse over her shoulder (in her own home, mind you) as she stood at the rickety front door. Her long and frizzy, dyed red hair didn’t cover up all the grey roots that sprouted out from her pale and flaky scalp. Her gaunt features (the sheer sign of a vegan) only enhanced the ghoulish scene of an already moist and foggy evening that could have been mistaken for Halloween.

“We take our shoes off,” she said.

Now, I didn’t mind this of course. But as I reached down to untie my sneakers, I noticed the long vines of hair that hugged her chicken skinned legs. I almost barfed in my mouth. I plainly knew that this wasn’t gonna work out but I just didn’t have it in me to leave right then and there. What I needed was a camera.

The wooden floor creaked with every step as she walked me down the extra long hallway, which clearly revealed itself to be somewhat of a hostile. We passed by two doors that were marked A & B with cheap, hardware store stickers. Didn't I just leave Texas and the shot-gun homes I'd driven by so many times, I thought to myself?

“Here is your room,” she said.

When she opened the door, I couldn’t believe my eyes; it was a closet. It was an expensive closet, I might add.

“You’re asking how much?” I asked, trying to refrain my sarcasm.

“One thousand,” she answered, wth the overhead light in the glossy painted room giving her a jaundice hue. She looked me up and down, deciding to release her clutches from her baby-blanket purse. She smiled at me and asked me how long I had been looking for a place. I told her that I had just started. She now wanted to show me the kitchen. Humor me, I thought to myself.

All I could hear when we entered the kitchen were the sounds of frogs ribbiting from the back yard. A plethora of frogs, possibly hundreds, kept sounding off into the night behind the door leading to her back porch. I was startled for a moment, thinking that this could have possibly been her food source. Nah…it couldn’t be. She’s vegan. She showed me all the cupboard space that was already taken and assured me that I would be allowed a shelf in the refrigerator. Gee, thanks!

“And now for the best part,” she said, and she opened the back door.

All at once the orchestrated frog ribbits filled the kitchen as she escorted me out to the back door. Was I in the everglades? With a smile on her face, she did all but pick up a wand to conduct the frog symphony that empowered her back yard.

“How did you acquire so many frogs?” I asked.

“They’ve been very good to me these past years,” she said. “Isn’t it just beautiful?”

Now...I love nature, everyone. Just ask anyone who knows me. I appreciate beautiful things. But she actually thought that her frogs were going to be the final selling factor? Wow, I thought. She probably does eat them.

“Do you model?” she asked. “You’re very handsome.”

"Thanks,” I replied.

“So, do you like the place? I really hope you do. You’re fun to look at, too.”

And there went the final red flag, even though the first one was enough.

“Is it too expensive for you?" She said, probably seeing the angst on my face. "Look, why don’t we discuss it over a glass of wine,” she said, somewhat stepping into my space. “Maybe I can wave the deposit…”

Now, who wants to know what I did at this point? You guessed it! I wasn't about to copy-cat Woody Harrelson in "King Pin". I fled the tree huggin’, frog leg eatin’, old floozy who was tryin’ to get me to braid her leg hairs!

What do I have to say about this so called system of conveniently trying to find whatever you need over the Internet? This list (which I have found to be mentally abusive) can be either deceitful or in some cases, unforgiving. It doesn’t surprise me to hear about the fatalities of innocent people who have responded to ads, which they assumed led to a promising future.

“Haven't found a place to live yet, Erick? Have you checked Craigslist!"

"Fuck Craigslist!" I’ll remain the old fashioned guy that I am. I'm confident that networking through my own channels will ultimately lead me to that one special place that's been waiting just for me. What’s the old saying? Oh yes…good things come to those who wait. And that is, without a shadow of a doubt…an ERICKISM!