Author: Anna Ravenelle
Come September at Cornell, I was already scrambling. Not because classes had picked up their pace, prelims had started, or I was already off track for my annual “New Year, New Me!” plan.
Instead, it was the daunting thought of being homeless next year.
While for some, living on-campus all four years – either as an RA, as an active citizen on West Campus, or in the various program houses – is a viable and valid option, many of us would like to live independently with our friends in a house or apartment.
Yet, the Collegetown housing scramble is no secret. Every September, hundreds of Cornell students make appointment after appointment with various landlords, hoping that the next apartment they see is The One. It’s even more important than your future spouse – after all, your apartment will be the backdrop of so many weekend Insta moments in the coming year.
Regardless of whether you would prefer a stand-alone house or apartment complex, the most basic essentials to qualify as a “good” living arrangement are as follows: big bedrooms, low rent, and a flat walk to class.
Unfortunately, many landlords in Ithaca tend to disagree. They up-sell “charming” wall angles and slanted floors, beer- and urine- stained “original” hardwood, and “fantastic locations!” that probably mean you only have to climb half a giant hill to get to class. Worst of all, they do it all with a smile on their face, and their rent check-ready hand stretched out in front of them.
From a business perspective, their methods are logical: there’s more demand than supply and there’s practically a monopoly on housing in Collegetown. Just a few landlords own almost all the apartments in the area and despite new Ithaca laws designed to increase tenants’ rights, it’s often as simple as a waiver signed as precursor to the lease itself. Refuse their terms and the landlord probably has three or four other groups lined up to take your space.
In fact, once you think you’ve finally found your apartment and are ready to sign, there are a thousand things that could still (and probably will) go wrong.
Your parents/loans/financial aid haven’t yet sent you a check to cover a deposit and two months’ rent? Next, please!
You have an issue with a miniscule clause in the lease? Sayonara.
Your future roommate couldn’t make the showing and needs an extra day to decide if the bathroom in the photo is actually that small or if the camera was broken? Have fun living on the streets or – worse – North.
And even the best apartments have their quirks. Laundry is almost never convenient. Your roomie group always has either one too many or one too few for the otherwise perfect place. You’re miles from campus or in the middle of the party (in itself, not necessarily a bad thing – until it’s the night before a prelim and the frat next door decides going up on a Monday is the new thing). One of the biggest “quirks” is often the landlords themselves.
Just a few weeks ago, a parade of people walked into my apartment (without knocking) because my landlord said it would be okay if they stopped by. They were interested in living there next year and wanted a tour of the place. Usually, that would have been fine – except my roommates and I had already told our landlord we wanted to re-sign our lease for the following year. As I showed the group my apartment (“This is my bedroom, where I’ll be sleeping next year, and this is the kitchen where I will cook dinner next year…”), I finally realized that my landlord doesn’t see me and my roommates as people, but merely as a few extra zeroes in their bank account.
So why do we put up with it?
The answer is simple, really. We have no other options. Let’s be honest: after freshman year, who actually wants to live on North?
That’s what I thought.
