They're everywhere. Oversized, glass and plastic condos, filled with people I feel like I loathe, though I'm sure most are perfectly fine and I'm just being a resentful bitch because I'm being priced out of my neighborhood.
After much elusiveness, my landlord finally confessed yesterday that she's selling our building and weakly protested that the "deep pocketed" buyers might keep us on as tenants. Mmmm hmmm. That's why someone pays millions for a small building with three rent-stabilized tenants, two illegally deregulated apartments and one warehoused rent-controlled place. So they can lose money on their ridiculous investment.
The only question is just how evil they'll be about getting us out.
Six apartments will be leaving the rent regulated rolls because who wouldn't rather have a big ugly building, filled with rich kids who can afford $5000 a month rent or three quarters of a million bucks for a shoddily constructed, cookie-cutter apartment with granite countertops (gross) and stainless-steel appliances (less gross, but hardly a selling point when the rest of your apartment is tacked-together sheetrock)?
I can't really blame my landlady. She's old and tired and now she gets to retire a millionaire. I can't say I wouldn't do the same. I blame Bloomberg for rezoning this neighborhood and turning it into a playground for people who have strollers that cost more than any car I've ever owned. I read something today that said "using data gathered by the the U.S. Census Bureau, The New Yorker calculated that the income gap in Manhattan is comparable to that of countries like Sierra Leone and Namibia." Oof.
And while I know it sounds like I'm throwing myself a great big pity party (okay, I am), I also know that I'm a whole lot better off than most. I'm marginally employed, my boyfriend is completely employed, and while we're definitely going to have to leave Williamsburg, we're going down fighting, which we can afford to do. And when we do finally get dragged out of our home, kicking and screaming, we will be able to find another apartment (I hope!).
Maybe I'll find a new neighborhood that I like even better. Where people push those umbrella strollers from Target and obnoxious bitches in labia-baring shorts don't ruin my dinner with their unbearable uptalk and make-believe gluten allergies. True, I probably won't be able to choose between Australian, Swedish, or pretentiously American artisanal coffee houses, but maybe I'll be able to find an apartment with an actual bedroom door and a little outdoor space. Who knows.