Recently, I was out driving all over the city running erands. It occurred to me that I ought to follow my friend Ma's advice and find myself a "backup apartment," just in case the one with my friend Allison doesn't work out. The apartment manager there seems a little scatterbrained... or maybe just stressed. Anyway, it occurred to me that I should follow Ma's advice right as I was driving past a very nice-looking complex for the one billionth time. It was one of those places I'd always been meaning to check out (because I'm always looking for places to live) but had never remembered to before now.
I abruptly pulled off the highway and silently congratulated myself on the foresight I was exhibiting in finding somewhere to live before I am actually homeless this time. Walking into the front office, I was impressed with the fire in the fireplace and the general atmosphere of comfort. I walked up to the person who was clearly the apartment manager.
"Hello," I said pleasantly. "I would like some information on living here."
She looked at me askance. "Well, our director is already showing someone else around right now. Would you like to make an appointment for later?"
I frowned slightly. This was inconvenient. Weren't apartment complexes supposed to have more than one staff person who could show you around? "That's okay. I'll just take a brochure. Do you have one of those?"
It was the manager's turn to frown. "Well, yes. I suppose I could give you one." She pulled out a thick envelope with a printed card on top. "But I'll need you to fill out this form first."
Good heavens! That was a thick packet. This must be a very nice apartment complex with a great deal of amenities. I was fairly certain it was out of my price range, but I was annoyed by the less-than-stellar customer service exhibited by the apartment manager, so I obstinately filled out the card anyway.
"And who are you inquiring for?" she asked, pursing her lips and eying me.
"Myself," I replied curtly, continuing to fill out my form and none too thrilled that she seemed to think I wasn't good enough or affluent enough to afford such a nice place.
"I see," she replied. "And are you aware that this is a home for people with dementia?"
"No I am not," I replied, abruptly dropping the pen and running out the door as quickly as possible.
As I fled to my car, I wondered if there was a quick way to assess men's intelligence before getting too far into relationships, you know to make sure that I wind with someone super smart. That way all my babies (if I decide to have any) won't be morons like their mother.
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