The Landlady Didn’t Land This One

I am currently apartment hunting, but it has been a long and time-consuming project trying to find something within my budget. I only have two requirements: it must allow my cat, and it must have a balcony I can grow food on. I don’t think that’s insane criteria, but in my city, it sometimes seems like it is.

I found one unit that was slightly above my budget. It was tiny and ugly, and it would mean almost an extra hour on the bus to visit my girlfriend or my doctors, and I knew the layout would make me want to scream within weeks. But it allowed cats, and the ad had several pictures of a balcony large enough to support enough of a garden to make gardening worth it, so I figured I could make it work. I fired off the email I had tailored to introduce myself and explain what I was looking for, and after a couple of days of chasing them down, I finally set up a time to view it.

The day arrives. From the outside, the building is in a nice quiet area, close to stores, and would even have something that could be considered a half-decent view. I’m starting to feel better about potentially living here — excited, even. I meet the landlady, and we head upstairs to the apartment.

She unlocks the door, and the first thing I notice is… there’s no balcony.

I stare at her.

Me: “There’s no balcony.”

Landlady: “That’s correct.”

Me: “I specifically told you I was looking for a balcony.”

Landlady: “Well, I never said there was a balcony!”

I turned around and walked out without another word. I still have no idea what the h*** she thought was going to happen.

I’m also baffled by the builder that would bother putting balconies on a building, but only for half the units.