In Manhattan many of us own coops
My contractor and I “communicate” through text messaging. Hate texting on a baby LG–though it’s the best cell I have ever found. He didn’t think to call me to tell me that he’s resting until Monday. Kids–what’s the matter with kids today? My favorite line from a play you all must have seen if you’ve been to elementary school plays in the past 30 years.
If you’re reading this blog for the first time begin with this post then skip to the third post which is also a page. I’m sorry if I act insulted when people think I’m a renter but renters can leave, not that most want to–if they’re stabilized or rent controlled their rent goes up a set amount–they know well in advance. We are told what our increase will be a month before it happens and can be assessed anything. Last year we were told about a 40% increase a month before it happened. That was the final insult. An assessment is a set amount of money for a set amount of years on top of the maintenance.
Lewis Mumford is considered to be the “father” of American coops. He built Sunnyside Gardens in Sunnyside Queens, just across the bridge from Manhattan It was considered to be a utopian community. I won’t go into the history etc. If you’re interested look it up. I lived a block from it until I was four when we moved to a garden apartment coop community further out in Queens. It was a “true coop” People paid $250 to move in and got it back when they moved out–we did when I was twelve
A present day coop is very much for profit. In order to buy a coop you have to be approved by the coop board. First you have to fill out a huge package with much more than financial info–try ten references and basically your life story. It’s not fun and is the ultimate Manhattan “I am a real grown up” test. I practiced for months for my meeting with them. Was the fastest ten minutes of my life. Was the first of about seven people seen. I assume because I was all cash, and had a “perfect” board package. I did it myself. Most people have their accountants do it. My finances were about as complicated as they can get. But as I did it myself I could answer every question without looking. They basically told me I was approved at the meeting and found out for sure the next day.
However I practiced for two months before the board meeting. I went on vacation two weeks before the board meeting with the “don’t hate us because we’re beautiful, smart and soap stars” family. The husband had initially been rejected by his board as he’s an actor. Ten years ago he was president of his board. We practiced for months and on vacation he would shoot me questions everywhere. Some coop boards even interview dogs. They can ask any question except ones about race, religion, ethnic background and sexual preferences. They don’t have to tell you why you’re turned down.
I did wear three earrings in one ear and two in the other then but my hair covered them. I had my hair cut the day before to just below my neck and had it blown out. I had a manicure several hours before the meeting so it would be fresh.
I wore a black pant suit with caramel piping that exactly matched my hair and very pricey shoes. For luck I carried my father’s old but good briefcase and a nice but unobtrusive Louis Vuitton bag. I took no chances, and approached this as I would approach any job interview. A tad obsessively, over prepared, friendly but not too friendly, and said flattering things about the building. That could have been my Waterloo but I recovered quickly.
Never mention building specifics. You don’t know what they’re planning to change. They even might hate the new roof garden and be planning to change that though the building is advertised as having a new and great one. Mine never had one. The thing I mentioned is too building specific to go into. I realized later that the romantic story I told about the girl who owned the apartment and the contractor falling in love and getting married could have been a fatal mistake. The renovation might not have been board approved. They might have hated the girl, contractor or the renovation. Never tell stories.
I purposely bought an apartment I was considered to be “over qualified” for. It was smaller than I would have liked, but I wanted it to work for me, not me for the pleasure of living in it. Now I work for it.
People don’t own real property but shares in the building corporation. Shares are determined by a square foot/room/floor/view basis
It does hurt when people say I tell cute stories about renting as if I were a renter I would either have been out of this city a long time ago or have put the money I put into this into a summer home.
I wouldn’t be losing my mind over a rental, Manhattan is one of the few places in the country where the housing market is still strong and I would like to get this on the market before it becomes a weak one. I know people debate that. Many people believe Manhattan will always be strong because of the European market. My building doesn’t sell to non American citizens Other people believe that coops are self-policing and there are enough qualified people. I have no idea.
I know I live in what is supposed to be a “model” “big deal” building. I know that a two bedroom has been on the market for over two hundred days. True it was never renovated–the big renovation with the tearing down walls, reconfiguring things, and much more that has to be board approved. One of the reasons I have been renovating is because seeing that apartment hurts. the layout is quirky and it’s hard to picture how it would look renovated. I’m sure they still have fuse boxes. Owners change them when they renovate.
The woman who owned the apartment before me did the renovation and reconfigured the apartment. Mine is the only apartment on the line with two bathrooms and was the first apartment in the building to major in granite and marble. They did keep to the integrity of a pre-war (1929) building. I have ceiling beams, great molding and even better molding I installed in the large bathroom. I will go into more specifics in further posts as some of the “quirks” have been giving me agita.
My renovation doesn’t touch pipes nor anything the board would have to approve and I’m too tired to think of everything but it’s a lot.
Mine is a minor renovation that has taken ten weeks already, is making me crazy as I can’t find necessary stuff, and can no longer count on the love sick contractor. It’s been five days already….He says he will be here Monday morning. We’re going to talk about professionalism.
I had things that I had to do this morning otherwise I would be very angry that once again I got up so early. Actually there was thunder and lightening which is strange for January and I was awake by five AM.
If he doesn’t show up I plan to medicate myself into oblivion as my stereo isn’t hooked up, my Ipod is somewhere in the storage cage and now the music on my Imac isn’t working. Yesterday the computer screen froze.
Intro to the secret life…..
I live in the Upper West Side of Manhattan in a two doorman building. That’s two doormen at peak hours, and one doorman during the rest of the time. I used to think this was a fairly normal way to live. I’m moving. So of course I decided to use a 23 year old doorman as my contractor. I did this partially because he was willing to do much work for less money, partially because like everybody in the building–and we’re not united on anything else, I find him charming, sweet, willing and wanting to learn. He’s a hard worker. I know he can do much and is going to super school. The perks of being a super, in a union building, will be explored in another post
I take after my father and am one of the least handy people in the world. My father never understood why a private home didn’t come with a super. We both thought of changing a light bulb as major home repair work.
I thought that I bought an apartment in perfect condition. I was so wrong. Slowly I found out how wrong.
My apartment was basically in good condition–except for the things that needed to be brought up to code. The living room was three shades of pink and lavender and that seemed a bit excessive even to me. The bedroom was tied dyed blue. Tied dyed from the many pipe floods. I’m kind of an expert on pipe floods. Anything you want to know about pipes, steam risers and the like just ask.
Anything that you want to know about doormen, please don’t hesitate. Doormen are integral to the lives of many Manhattanite. They accept our deliveries, always have a kind word to say–except for the evening doorman who actually asked why I didn’t give him a larger tip. I’m known for giving very large tips not just for a girl but for anybody. More about that in another post. More about the other doorman. And the former super who was a bona fide pervert.The condition of somethings in my apartment have much to do with him.
This blog will attempt to take the mystery out of doormen and contractors. This blog is my attempt to keep from having a complete nervous breakdown.
Everything was going smoothly. Or as smoothly as can be for a simple renovation that turned into every door knob being taken off every door, perfectly good recessed lighting being screwed with and more that I will go into at a later time. I do have locks on the front door. Including one new and very fancy one that I have a hard time using. The door now has to be stripped, repainted etc. The areas around all the door knobs have to be repainted. Did I say the old ones were a beautiful crystal that kept the integrity of the apartment’s deco lines? They were lose and hey probably needed some big repair that I’m not aware of.
My apartment does have skim coated walls and is in much better condition than most. I’m usually a hard person to persuade to do things like this. He became carried away. As it wasn’t going to cost me much extra I went along though I had reservations. Now I can’t afford to make reservations….
We had a good crew. My doorman hired his wife’s cousin, an Israeli with dreadlocks. His passion is making huge bars for parties where he then becomes the bar tender and DJ. This might be an Israeli thing. He’s also an expert carpenter and can do great blueprints.
My doorman/contractor is a former party promoter. He’s the son of a semi famous artist who I’m arranging an exhibit for in one of my other lives.
Ok. Now that I have this slightly laid out, let me go into what happened on New Years Eve. My D/C’s wife ran off with her cousin who might not actually be a relative though my D/C was paying him much as they were all supposed to find a better apartment to live in together.
This is the third morning this week he hasn’t shown up, but only the first when I had to call to see why. Monday I was actually giving him coffee and cigarettes as I advised him not to speak to the other doormen, and how potentially to get her back. That involved not phoning or texting her constantly and some other things.
Today is the first day I have faced reality and realized that he has too much of money and my faith. I can tell many of the other doormen want to speak to me. I’m considered to be the friendliest resident in the building. This isn’t always a good thing. I’m hiding in my apartment and when I have to go out am thinking of wearing a disguise. However doormen know everything. I know as I read too many mysteries, watch too much TV, and have been the recipient of too many of their secrets.
There aren’t going to be secrets anymore. Stay tuned….The post below this was actually written after this one but I played with the timestamp
I’m really looking forward to writing My Former Super The Pervert post. Gives me a better feeling about this whole thing. If this is disjointed and reads a bit weirdly, I went to sleep angry and woke up at 6 AM so I could be ready even angrier. At 9:30 AM when I called….My stuff is scattered all over town or in the storage cage.
Dusting does no good. I should be used to living in chaos as it’s the tenth week. I’m not. I make and break appointments at their convenience. I’m supposed to be the boss but feel like the worker who pays for the privilege. I truly like my D/C. I shouldn’t have given him so much responsibility and the wife running off, that’s tragic. Still he’s young and it’s my dime–many dimes. I just want out of here and yesterday contemplated walking away from the whole selling process. I guess that’s better than contemplating suicide but maybe it bears some resemblance.
I will go through the selling process in this blog.
I began a blogroll. It’s not complete.
