If you want to lease an apartment, you will need to sign a lease, and pass off some money. In the past, I’ve only had to provide personal checks, and leasing agents came to me. Maybe I’ve been spoiled, maybe I’ve been dealing with some shady characters. Either way, this time (my fourth moving in two years- yay!) I was instructed to get a couple of cashier’s checks in the amount of “All the money you have,” rights to my first born, and a pint of unicorn blood (don’t ask) and make my way to their office. After doing what it took to secure the latter two items (ask about me in Tijuana, son … actually, don’t. For your sake), I took to the streets of San Francisco to get my hands on the checks. In case you ever have to go about this, please read through my journey. Don’t make the mistakes I did:
Go to the bank near the agency’s office.
Find that the bank is actually just an ATM, which advises you to “Get real, kid.”
Go to Safeway instead. Request that of course you’d like the cashier to scream the amount you need at the top her lungs. Do I look like I don’t want to get robbed today?? Come on.
Try to pay with a debit or credit card. Cashier looks at you like you’re an idiot, because you are one.
Go to an ATM inside the Safeway. Try to take out loads of cash. ATM mentions it’s heard of you, reminds you that it doesn’t work for your bank. Tells you to go kick rocks.
Leave Safeway in a flurry of confusion and frustration.
Locate a real, live bank, smack in the middle of the Castro after walking 30 or so “Mission Blocks.”
IMPORTANT: Make sure you’re wearing lots of layers. It’s never warm in SF. Except today.
Notice the man in front of you in line is *literally* holding a black leather whip.
Recall you are in San Francisco. Be unmoved by the man, his whip, and the ass-less chaps on his black pug.
Walk toward the leasing office. Wait for gay-man compliments on your shoes.
Don’t walk under the ladder that a young man is using to place a decal of a rainbow-colored peace sign smoking a bong. It’s bad luck.
Sign over your life the lease.
Have a curious conversation with your cab driver about the crazy legislature coming from the Republican controlled state of Florida. Tell him about the Republicans’ nationwide efforts to change voting laws so that young people and minorities can’t vote. Discuss the fact that his grandparents were Republican, and how that’s as far as fealty to the man who freed the slaves goes, generation-wise.
Note that the cab driver has teeth on only one side of his mouth. Summon you inner hipster and “be cool with that, dude.”
Breathe. You are home. And will not be homeless come July.