Beginning the apartment hunt – again. Dublin appears to be divided into numbered zones and I’ve been told I should live in Dublin 2, 4, or 6. Sean says apartments come fully furnished in Ireland, which, from what I understand, will include furniture and appliances like a washer and microwave. The rents are what I would have paid in Queens or Brooklyn before the hipsters moved in. Many of the apartments I’ve been looking at are in old Georgian homes, “minutes away” from St. Stephen’s Green. St. Stephen’s Green is a large park. There is a pond. Swans float on that pond.
The names in the rent ads are pretty but mean nothing to me. Harold’s Cross. Terenure Village. Kenilworth Park. Fleet Street. Christchurch. How much is 600 euro in dollars? How far is Harold’s Cross from school?
Last week, I found an apartment that seemed perfect – just a few minutes away from school, a couple of hops from a Luas stop, and an inch away from the swans of St. Stephen’s Green. I was to contact a man named “Sincere” for more information. “Sincere” – could have been one of those funny Irish names, like Eoin, Aoife, Laoise, or Sean. It was probably pronounced “Frank.”
Hello Sincere, I wrote. My friend and I are looking for an apartment and yours sounds wonderful.
Ah, my dear E, Sincere responded. Calvary greetings to you. I would love for you and your friend to live in my apartment. Please be advised, however, that I am a humble man of GOD – it is he who has named me “Sincere” – and, as such, I request that you both sign a morality clause before accepting a lease.
“Delete,” urged Sean. “Delete!”
I’m e-mailing a few other apartment lessors today, but am wondering if I should have asked for the a copy of the morality clause. Just to see.