For Sale or Lease
I was in Brooklyn, and had just purchased an apartment which was part of the first floor of a converted brownstone. Typical to homes in the area, the brownstone hadn't split up in a particularly orderly fashion, so, aside from the front kitchen and living room, and the bedroom immediately behind them, the remaining bathroom and bedroom were scattered along a narrow winding hallway which snaked along the outside of the building, punctuated with an occasional window into a courtyard area.
I was in the middle of that initial move-in walkthrough, where a person is still acclimating to the fact that this is actually his new home, and exploring all the cabinets, drawers, shelves, doors, and windows of the new place.
I'd thoroughly picked through the kitchen and had discovered my first treasure: an obscured opening, which, when a painted piece of plywood was removed and the shutters (stuck together with layers of paint) were opened, allowed a view from the kitchen into the living area.
Moving into the long back hallway, I couldn't help but notice a proliferation of closets, more than I'd noticed on the initial walkthrough, and far more than I'd ever need. "At least I can't complain about storage space," I thought to myself, looking through each one.
It seemed that the previous owner hadn't given much attention to this area, as most of the closets were dirty and in some state of disrepair, sometimes containing building supplies or hardware. I hoped to find something of value, at least, but all the junk left behind was splintered, rusted, broken, or otherwise unusable.
At the very end of the hallway, I was examining the largest of these closets, which was completely packed with a litter of wooden boards and dried up paint cans, and backed with an ancient water-stained mattress, standing on end. "I need to find a construction person to get this cleaned up," I thought, and as I had turned the light bulb off and was about to turn back around, I noticed a glint of light around one side of the mattress. Taking a chance, I pushed on the mattress firmly in the middle with my open palm, and as I suspected would happen, the mattress fell to the floor with a dust-emitting thump, revealing a room much larger than anyone had expected.
"This is a third bedroom, not a closet!" I exclaimed to myself, exultant at my new discovery. Even the realtor hadn't realized this room's existence, having listed the place as a "moderate 2 bedroom apartment for sale or lease."
I called the construction and repair guy at once, wanting to make the most of this instant addition to my home. His roommate answered. "He's not workin'."
"Tomorrow, then?" I asked.
"No, I don't mean he's, like, off today or somethin'. I mean he's not workin'. I dunno why. We ain't got a clue what he's up to, or how he 'spects to pay us his rent or nothin'. You know how it goes. I'll tell him you called. Believe me, I have no objection to him makin' some money again, or somethin'."
"Okay, um, thanks then," I responded and hung up the phone.
Retrieving a carton of trash bags from the kitchen, I went back to the new room and began clearing out the debris on my own.
I was in the middle of that initial move-in walkthrough, where a person is still acclimating to the fact that this is actually his new home, and exploring all the cabinets, drawers, shelves, doors, and windows of the new place.
I'd thoroughly picked through the kitchen and had discovered my first treasure: an obscured opening, which, when a painted piece of plywood was removed and the shutters (stuck together with layers of paint) were opened, allowed a view from the kitchen into the living area.
Moving into the long back hallway, I couldn't help but notice a proliferation of closets, more than I'd noticed on the initial walkthrough, and far more than I'd ever need. "At least I can't complain about storage space," I thought to myself, looking through each one.
It seemed that the previous owner hadn't given much attention to this area, as most of the closets were dirty and in some state of disrepair, sometimes containing building supplies or hardware. I hoped to find something of value, at least, but all the junk left behind was splintered, rusted, broken, or otherwise unusable.
At the very end of the hallway, I was examining the largest of these closets, which was completely packed with a litter of wooden boards and dried up paint cans, and backed with an ancient water-stained mattress, standing on end. "I need to find a construction person to get this cleaned up," I thought, and as I had turned the light bulb off and was about to turn back around, I noticed a glint of light around one side of the mattress. Taking a chance, I pushed on the mattress firmly in the middle with my open palm, and as I suspected would happen, the mattress fell to the floor with a dust-emitting thump, revealing a room much larger than anyone had expected.
"This is a third bedroom, not a closet!" I exclaimed to myself, exultant at my new discovery. Even the realtor hadn't realized this room's existence, having listed the place as a "moderate 2 bedroom apartment for sale or lease."
I called the construction and repair guy at once, wanting to make the most of this instant addition to my home. His roommate answered. "He's not workin'."
"Tomorrow, then?" I asked.
"No, I don't mean he's, like, off today or somethin'. I mean he's not workin'. I dunno why. We ain't got a clue what he's up to, or how he 'spects to pay us his rent or nothin'. You know how it goes. I'll tell him you called. Believe me, I have no objection to him makin' some money again, or somethin'."
"Okay, um, thanks then," I responded and hung up the phone.
Retrieving a carton of trash bags from the kitchen, I went back to the new room and began clearing out the debris on my own.