Tell me something good...

I went apartment hunting last month and came across this shabby but cheap complex. This place was perfect for me costwise. So economic, it even included free electricity--just what I needed for the summer. 714 sq feet pretty spacious for that price too. I wanted to move in there so much that I even decided to ignore the fact that it didn't include washer/dryer in the apartment which was first on my must-have list. Anyway, so I go there to take a look at it last Saturday afternoon.



(Again, if you're eating, stop. Or get a bucket.)



Roaches. Cock-roaches. I feel obligated to say the whole word because of the size. Well, to be fair, there were all sizes. Oh, let me also add all types-dead and alive. She kicked one roach and was satisfied it was dead. And then she proudly said "We saturated this place with pesticide. They're all dead." We walk into another room. Another roach on its back, so big that from the entrance I could see its legs move--and I have astigmatism. If I was a vet, I could probably have told the gender too from that far. She kicked it again, it flipped gratefully. "Oops, I lied. They're alive." I hope she was sheepish.



I STILL wanted to move in there. I kept repeating to myself, 'This won't happen in my apartment. I will keep it clean. I will spray insecticide every hour.' We go to the laundry room and I asked how often they cleaned the machines. "We don't," she said, "unless there's a need. Like if someone leaves a crayola in there." I take a deep breath and ask again because I wanted another answer.

"So, you....don't clean the washers at all?"

"No."

"Oh." And now I imagine my old days on campus. Blue detergent spilled all over, white powder on the sides. Hair. And not just head-hair if you know what I mean.

I asked her three times if they cleaned the laundry room. All three times, no, with an explanation. 'Dammit. Now I can't move in here.'

On a later phone conversation with a friend, I admitted to her, "I wish they would have lied to me." It's true. I wanted to move in there so bad, I wanted the advertisement even though it would be fake, and I would lose my head later on.

The same goes for creams, lotions, gels. If the bullshit at the back of the label is not long and complicated enough, I most often don't buy it. I want them to tell me 'there will be results' vaguely but clearly. Then, who defines what 'results' means and how much quantitative good comes from the product--I do.

So, I know Pantene is not going to make my hair strong as a climbers rope, but I want them to tell me that anyway. I know fairness creams don't work in 14 days, but I want to be lied to. And, please please tell me those stretch marks will disappear, and that I can gulp down massive amounts of Saffola oil sans risking cholesterol. Please be confident with your money-back guarantee (it works because we're so lazy to mail back the product.) Tell me I'll be skinny in a month's time.

I need hope, because science doesn't allow miracles.