The Hipster (Day 6 Continued)

Day 6, continued.

I didn't know the kid's name since his place wasn't on my list of places to check out. I scanned the mailboxes and figured out his last name and first initial but I won't repost them here. Instead, he will be hereto referenced as The Hipster. Not that I know anything about him except for the way he looked when I found him and while that assumption may be an inappropriate one, I need to call him something so that you can follow along. So The Hipster it is.

The curtains drew me in. It's one of the surest signs there is. Walk down a block of industrial buildings, look up above the first couple of floors and scan the windows. Curtains equal privacy equal residents. In most cases at least, according to my boss.

So I took a chance and went into the building. There was some sort of knitting factory on one or both of the lowest floors and I prepared to act lost or ask for a non-existent person if confronted by anyone from the shop. But no one paid any attention to me and I kept on up the stairs.

The top floor was different, I could tell right away. The little signs of inhabitation were there: unfinished hallways, but swept. Hooks to hold bikes, screwed into the beams on the ceiling. And tellingly enough, mats outside the door on which to wipe ones' feet.

Backtracking

Day 6:

I don't like to backtrack. No one I know does. Who wants to cover the same ground more than once? I do my best to refrain from it, but in some instances it's unavoidable.

This is one of those instances.

So back we go. It was, my previous post notwithstanding, a major event, one that defies a quick run-through. As a result, I may break it down into several entries if I find myself running on or remembering small details. I do like details, so consider yourself forewarned. 

Here we go.

I am a hipster detective, I told the truth earlier. The office I walked into was the headquarters of Bushwick Industrial Zoning Commission. It is a small cinderblock room, devoid of almost anything, save a desk, a few plastic chairs and my boss. When I walked in the conversation went something like this:

My boss: "What color is the sign on the outer door?"

Me: "A fugly yellow-green."

My boss: "The job's yours."

Me: "Great. What is it?"

What it is involves is finding apartments that have been set up in industrial or commercial buildings. Illegal apartments that have sprouted up in one of Brooklyn's designated industrial zones. These apartments have long been part of New York City and apparently there has been a just as long a battle to keep industrial zones industrial only by people like my boss. I personally think he's fighting a losing battle, people in this city kill for real estate and in the long run I don't think that a dinosaur like heavy or light industry can hold out against the crush of humanity.

So I'm supposed to find these illegal apartments, get as much info about them as possible, and get that information back to him. But what I found was a dead kid.

The Hipster.

Today

Day 5.

How best to describe today? I think I have distilled it down to this:

While under arrest for murder, I used my phone call to reschedule my apartment appointment.

Rooms and roommates

Day 4.

I don't have a girlfriend but I do have a roommate. She is from Italy and is terrific. Too terrific, in fact, because her boyfriend is so enamored of her that he asked her to move in with him. I, obviously, am not part of the plan. Moving appears to be in my immediate future even more so than it was previously.

What a disaster.

(20 minutes go by)

I just did a quick scan of craigslist for apartment shares and my options abound. Here's a sample:

-Live in a 2BR with one roommate and three cats. (Fluffy and friendly! You won't know that they're around! Really!)

-Live in a 2BR railroad-style with one 22 year-old roommate. (You have to walk through my room to get to yours but it's never been an issue with past roommates! Really!)

-Live in a 4 BR with 5 roommates, 2 couples, one single guy. 1 bathroom. (We're never all around at the same time! Really!)

-Live in a 2BR with a quiet, respectful female, no pets, no addictions and no crazy exes. Reasonable rent, terrible subway access but plenty of slow charm.

Which one should I call?

Sigh.

I have no girlfriend. I don't see that changing anytime soon.

Moving on

Day 3.

I may have to move.

I live in Greenpoint and my territory is Bushwick. The distance between the two physically is not a barrier for my new commute, not by any means and the two areas share a sketchy recent history. Greenpoint is a historically (at least 20th century) Polish neighborhood that sits on a century-old oil spill, festering beneath all of us. Bushwick burned during one dark week in the 1970s and smoldered for a couple of decades after. But it's not that I don't fit in one neighborhood or the other, because I do. This is not to say that I'm accepted in either, just that I'm tolerated as a sign of the times. In most parts of Brooklyn in 2009 scores of blocks are haunted by guys like me, shaggy-haired guys with notebooks, cameras and backpacks, gliding by on bicycles or ambling along on foot and staring up at the uppermost reaches of industrial buildings and the cornices of brownstones. Guys like me knocking on doors in search of apartments and looking for the best local empanada or cup of coffee.

It's because of my omnipresence that I was hired and also why my first day of work went so smoothly. No one registers any surprise when I knock on their door, no one minds when I take photos of their apartment. They might adjust the rent unfavorably by fifty or a hundred bucks because I don't speak Spanish or because I like the work of Andrew Wyeth or because I'm over the age of 30 but I take my notes in my Moleskine and thank them for their time. You see, I'm never interested in renting any of these apartments. I don't want to live in Bushwick, it's just my territory. I want to live in Greenpoint, but my problem is that my new job pays much less than my previous one.

I may have to move.

A New Start

Day 2

I'm the hero of this story.

By page seventeen, I should have a decision to make. By page fifty-five my world should tilt on its axis and by page eighty-five I should hit my low point. But this is real life in New York City and I live month to month, so I can only move forward, because there is nothing for me to fall back upon.

What I'm trying to say is that I got a new job.

I was lucky to get it, my timing was just so. I heard the job open up before anything else, that is I heard the yelling from outside. When my predecessor stormed out the door, I walked in. Five minutes later, I was the new guy. From some of the stuff I heard from outside, my boss might not be the best, but right now work is what I need. Any work. And this is something a little different, definitely different than where I came from or what I plan to do in the future.

I'm a little hesitant to tell you about it because you might want to do it too and it wouldn't be hard for you to dig around a bit and figure out who my boss is and maybe give him a call to see if he needs anyone else. And maybe you would be better at it than I am and he would get rid of me. And that would not be cool.

However, I started this blog to tell you about my life in the downturn and I'll stick to that, so here goes:

I'm a hipster detective.

Personal & Confidential

Day One:

A letter.

"We regret to inform you that due to conditions beyond our control..."

"At that time, the employment of the Firm's employees will be permanently terminated."

"This letter constitutes notice to you of this shut-down pursuant to statute."

"After more than 100 years in business we regret the need to take this action, but unfortunately we have no other choice."

"...we wish you all the best in your future endeavors."

This is how it begins.