Living like a high-class hobo (or how I moved into my apartment)

StockSnap_DD5Z08UIE0I struggled immensely to find an apartment which met my needs: close to public transport, as large as possible, with a private garden and a landlord who would accept my dog. I had given up on finding an apartment matching all the above requirements with light fittings and a kitchen too, as this would have been asking far too much, apparently. So when I found something just slightly over my price range, but with a private garden and close to a forest, I jumped to sign on the dotted line, and adjusted my budget to accommodate the higher expenses. I accepted that I would have to pay around 10 euros a day for a dog walker to take my dog out whilst I am at work, and that I would have to buy a kitchen and light fittings, and install a fence around my garden. These were all expenses I had hoped I wouldn’t have to carry when I moved here, but alas, here I am, adulting super hard in German.

I moved into my apartment yesterday. My container with furniture from South Africa has not arrived yet so I only have a few suitcases and a borrowed mattress with some bedding on it scattered around the empty spaces. The apartment is absolutely filthy, and since I don’t have any cleaning equipment I will have to pay a cleaning service to give this place a thorough scrubbing. In order to sleep without nightmares about cockroaches, I made do with some body wash and water in the bathroom, and tried to sweep the floor in the bedroom as best I could using a dustpan and brush. I was shocked that the landlord didn’t force the previous tenant to clean the place.

The used kitchen I purchased was transported here yesterday with some effort, and is being installed today by a man called Serje who speaks no English and has women’s earrings dangling from the ceiling in his van. I’m not entirely positive that he’s not a serial killer and that those are not his trophies, but since I have few other options available to me, let’s hope not.

Update: As it turns out, the kitchen worktop with attached sink is not going to work, so Serje has negotiated with me via Google Translate that he will buy what I need and give me the receipt. I have no choice but to agree to this, and for the hundredth time since moving here, I am at the mercy of strangers. I try to stay positive as my left eye twitches uncontrollably from never-ending anxiety. The financial pressure of making this move has been far more intense than I bargained for.

In the meantime, I am making coffee by boiling water in my clothes steamer, using a cardboard box as a table and hoping that the guys who have to connect my internet will hurry the fuck up.


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