To a large set of our country’s undergraduates (of whom we know a few), Brooklyn these days is seen as the holy grail of post-graduation locales—a sort of hipster paradise of bloggers, vegans, flannel shirts and facial hair. Misguided and idealistic? Maybe. But surely these future Brooklynites can’t be entirely naive. On some level, they must know that all’s not perfect in their dreamland of outdoor concerts and roving gourmet. And if they don’t, well, then it’s our job to educate them—not to turn our future readers away (never), but to keep it real—to prepare them for the worthwhile hardships they might just face on the way to enjoying all of Brooklyn’s splendor. And we need your help.
We’re looking for your best (or worst) Brooklyn war stories. Tell us your housing hurdles from hell and weeks of supreme broke-ness. Tell us about the time you thought would be the last straw, the job you’re embarrassed to tell your mother about.
We’ve sure got our fair share. Here are a couple of our own, to get you shy ones started:
From contributor Rocky Mills:
The only room I could *barely* afford when I got here was the front room in a railroad apartment. I had my own entrance, and my roommate blocked off the third room that was the kitchen and bathroom and the second entrance. Without my roommate letting me pass through his dungeon inside, I became a constant creeper in the hallway, either wrapped in a towel or carrying a plate of food.
And from our contributing editor, Tim Donnelly:
I can stand a financial hit associated with moving when it’s expected: security deposit, travel expenses, even clothes for a new job interview. The big karmic skull-fracks that really get me down are the ones when New York is saying to you: “Think you’ve made it so far? Suck on this, jerk.” I had an ill-fated idea of bringing my car into the city when I first moved up in fall 2008. Then one night around midnight it got towed. For a brief moment, I fantasized that it had been stolen instead of towed. But then I came to reality and braced for the ignoble and dehumanizing process of reclaiming my car from the Brooklyn Navy Yard. That weekend, and $200 later, I unloaded the car and drove it back to my mom’s house in New Jersey, where it has sat to this day, through snow, rain, cold and heat, its tow yard numbers still visible on the window. I vowed to never drive in Brooklyn again.
Time for yours. In comments, tell us the moments/days/weeks when the borough almost did you in… but of course, made you stronger (you’re still here, right?).
View Comments (18)
to "a" (who lived in that area between wburg/bushwick): hasn't changed all that much.. i got my ass beat and iphone stolen like three blocks from my house a few weeks back. things get tense around there during the summer, apparently (according to NYPD) because the demographic is like 65 percent people under the age of 20 or something like that.
I was living with my boyfriend when he broke up with me, so I needed to find a new place in a hurry and didn't know anyone who needed a roommate. I found a studio in Bensonhurst in the very top of my price range and was overjoyed...only to find out one month after moving in that the whole building was bedbug infested...and populated by a lot of suspicious residents who wouldn't allow an exterminator into their homes...and owned by a hugely negligent landlord. I couldn't afford to move out, or go to housing court without giving up on NYC and going to live with my parents, so I stuck it out trying to fight them off on my own with varying degress of success for a year. Thank god that nightmare is behind me and I only have bite scars to remember it by.
great, another picture of me.
I first moved into an sub-let from craigslist with a three-legged cat and two rather non-communicative girls. Compared to DC rents, the $650 price tag was a steal. It wasn't until months later I found out the my leaser had been overcharging me and had left the apartment on a bad note with the other roommates. Luckily, the daily 7 a.m. neighbor's screaming domestic disputes in the streets made sure I was awake in time to look for a job.
So the other night, famed Brokelyner Alex Weisler and I met up in Brooklyn for the Korean BBQ advertised here the other day. Keep in mind, I have only been in BK 2 other times and both have ended in similar, although not at all as disastrous as this one.
Upon hearing that the BBQ was 21+, we were saddened and forced to seek nourishment elsewhere. With two others who are picky eaters, we unfortunately had to turn down all kinds of tasty Asian places. We ended up at Pop's and the gourmet ice cream truck, which turned out alright. We then wandered around Williamsburg and ended up at Glassland's Gallery.
Alex was hopped up on the excitement of opening his first tab, the both of us enjoyed one PBR and a "Fancy Drink" each. Which took longer than expected. Being a suburbanite, I rely on NJTransit to get home. My line runs on a limited schedule, one train at 10:35 and the next at 12:48. Now I'm not one to miss a train, but when Alex is around, it seems to happen more frequently.
Once I realized that it was 9:45 and our window for catching the train was quickly closing, we closed the tab and booked it out of there. After hurriedly leaving Glasslands, we almost boarded the J train headed toward Queens, instead of the train to Manhattan. Luckily we did not. However, not wanting to wait until 12:48 in Hoboken, Alex and I called a whole phonebook of friends to see if any would pick us up and return me to my home and Alex to his temporary resting place. One finally agreed to, but just as we were finalizing out plans with her, the one operating cell phone between the two of us lost power and shut off.
Being the geniuses that we are, we begged a wonderful Korean bodega owner to use his phone, which he allowed us to under one condition. That we did not use the phone to call Korea. (We didn't. We called our friend in NY.) She agreed to pick us up in Hoboken, however not knowing how to get in touch with us once they arrived there, we told her that we would be patiently awaiting their arrival in the Dunkin Donuts.
I am convinced that this would have gone much smoother had I not agreed to meet with Alex in Brooklyn and I have since vowed not to go back. Sorry, y'all.
When moving to my second apartment, I went to a place that seemed normal, with a big common area. But the room I was looking at was up a rickety staircase, with only half a door at the top. Turns out that's how tall the room was, and it had no windows. There was a mattress on the floor and clothes strewn around. Basically, a tomb. And someone was paying $675 for that.
My ex-husband tried to kill me 2 weeks after moving to Williamsburg. I win.
To the comment above. Yipes. Sorry bout that.
I make less money here than I did in Texas. I have been and will continue to defer my student loans. I have lived on 75 cents for an entire week. My computer really sucks so I use my roommates alot and ended up entirely screwing up her itunes, a catastrophe that deleted alllll her playlists. Woops. And I've had 11 different roommates in the past year, not at the same time.
Sometimes you have to wonder...and what exactly makes all this worth it?
served with eviction notice by landlord, upon which i discovered that the roommate whom i had been paying had NOT been paying the rent with my money (or bills, either it turns out) for 4 months. Turns out said room-mate is also cooking drugs in his (locked) bedroom. Roommate skips town leaving me with tons of bills (all in his name, thankfully) and lots of sketchy people trying to buzz up into the apt.
i now live alone.
Forgot to mention at my first sublet I was awakened at 6 a.m. by three large detectives banging on my door. When I opened it up, they gave a collective sigh of relief. They held up a warrant poster asking if I had seen or heard from a former occupant of my apartment from well-before I or my roommates moved in. The poster pointed out that the man was a wanted drug dealer and murderer.
In my sleep-deprived state (I was working nights then), I said that we get tons of mail from that guy. I, of course, meant "for," and the police freaked out. When I explained what I meant, the cops gave me the "well, if you see/hear anything..." speech. As they were leaving, the most senior of the three turns back and says, "oh, you might want to reconsider living here. This is a really tough neighborhood. Be careful."