Scoreless and more than 7 years ago, I learned of a county run program that was designed to help the financially challenged live in this, one of the most over-priced housing markets in the world. If your income fit in a very tight little box, and you were willing to spend endless hours filling out redundant paperwork in 2 point font, you might be able to qualify for a very select and difficult to come by group of reserved apartments. Fresh out of college and needing a place to live, I jumped through the 14 billion required hoops, lived in a 300sqft overpriced interim box, and after a 9 month gestation period, an apartment was born in this program that was suitable for me (I just lost all you New Yorkers when I complained about the square footage, didn't I?). It's not section 8, but it's not the Ritz either. Don't worry, tax payers, you're not picking up the balance, we just get a somewhat lower rate on the crappiest apartments in the complex. Actually, the apartment itself isn't that bad, the only real negative is the neighbors.
Well, the neighbors and the fact that we haven't renewed our paperwork in a really long time. As in, ever.
Unlike the vast majority of our neighbors, we pay our rent (on time!), speak English, tip at Christmas, refrain from near-constant honking and ongoing destruction of property, and are always pleasant to the office staff. So I think they've kinda maybe just let us slide. Either that or they're completely incompetent. Possibly a combination of the two?
Anyway, while struggling to save for a downpayment, we've lived in fear that this day would come. Over the last 5 years, each time the office staff would leave a note on our door; about picking up after your pet, pool hours, management changes, etc., my heart would sink and I'd think "uh oh, we're busted. This is it. This is no bulk mailing. We're going to have to move" *gulp*. I'd start visualizing the accumulation of cardboard boxes, the calling of movers and the unassembling of furniture. Man alive, I hate moving. My blood pressure would spike as I opened the letter. Then the notice would turn out to be about picking up your dog crap or asking that your kids not play in the dumpster. (Because, you know, people need to be told not to play in a three ton device designed only to crush and mangle. Note: I say save a tree, let evolution run it's course).
But yesterday, the dreaded "we need your renewal paperwork" letter actually appeared.
So yeah, that paperwork that took 9 months of hoop-jumping to obtain when I actually did qualify for the program? Yeah, they need that by this Wednesday.
We're trying to work around it, but it seems highly unlikely (I make too much to be in the program and B, being a student, currently doesn't make enough). Regardless of how much we suck up to our management staff, they still have to answer to the county as they are the higher authority for all things associated with this program. Short of B successfully flirting (and perhaps proposing to?) the admin staff at the county office, we can no longer stay in our "humble" apartment =(
Perhaps a nice foreclosure in nw.... hmm.....
A foreclosure with a racquetball court is probably asking too much, right?