Unfortunately it was great sadness, and the great sadness was being expressed by the company we sub-lease our apartment from. They’re closing. In the words of the great Maya Angelou, “What a pisser!”
I chose not to ask about our desk that is being used by another tenant and instead expressed my condolences.
Then we headed over to the leasing office of the apartment complex. Apparently we were the second of ten sub-lessors to enquire what happens in early February when our current payment runs out.
The lady in charge had decided to go to lunch. It's a textbook move when faced with a slew of work to head on over to Jack-in-the-box for a Double Jack and Curly Fries. She must be a captain of industry.
Instead, we had a nice chat with her assistant Kyle and the excessive costs of property in the Bay Area.
No, I didn’t miss the irony of a leasing agent and snowbird DINKs complaining about property values.
Kyle's boss didn’t call back. I’m hoping she is hustling to get 10 new leases arranged.
Wasn’t I supposed to be writing about Marin County hikes, San Francisco restaurants and laid-back stoners?