I moved to a new city (Philly) in late November of 2011 and had already relocated to another part of the country (Indiana) by New Year’s day. Strange, no? I’m a fan of over-explaining myself in lieu of allowing others to assume I’m: an idiot; a flighty, flaky sort of girl; one to make decisions without much thought; another brainless model. Read along if you care to know the story behind my hot minute in Philly.
After visiting Philly for month-long stretches in the Winter and Summer of 2011, I decided that a move was the most logical next step after realizing that Florida wasn’t going to offer me anything else worth another month’s rent. I loved the city, and it happened to hold the heart and body of my best friend, Jill. I met Jill in 3rd grade, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Upon hitting our mid 20s, we were both looking for the same things: a new outlook on life, a new group of friends, and, most importantly, a career. What better place to relocate than the (very affordable and fun) city where my best girl was pursuing her dream of getting that first, “real” job? Frustrated with the job offerings that we found, we both knew that toughing it out in the big city would be much easier if we could do it together.
Upon moving into the sublet Jill had rented for us, which also held our sub-letter, whom I’ll call “Kay,” and another roommate named Greg, I found that all was not going well for my best girl. A lot had changed since my last visit to Philly in the summer, and the Fall season had come down hard on Jill. We had both hoped that my relocation would bring some spark back into her life, but it was too little, too late.
Jill was absolutely miserable. She was really going to try to stick it out in Philly until the following Spring, but things just kept getting worse. She was miserable at her job as a waitress. Countless interviews and applications never panned out, so she was forced to continue down a path that she felt lead nowhere (which was probably true). Her love life had taken a turn for the complicated, her circle of friends was beginning to dissipate, and the best girl that she had in the area, Kelly, was moving to California. Jill felt horrible for announcing the news shortly after my arrival, but she just couldn’t stay in a city that was causing her so much strife. She planned on moving out a few weeks after New Years and heading back to Chicago to join her family.
Without Jill, Philadelphia felt empty; “over.” Without my best friend, I no longer had a reason to stay.
(Animal lovers, take note of this next part! This is where it gets juicy, and where you’re going to get really, really pissed.)
As if it weren’t bad enough that my best friend was moving away, my subletter, Kay, was a nightmare.
Kay, a 25-year-old teacher, was probably one of the dumbest girls I’ve ever met, and that’s only because I avoided the sorority houses while in college. Kay could have been plucked straight from the halls of Kappa Dumma Slutta. She was ditzy, ignorant, and inconsiderate. She had a hard time figuring out that I wasn’t required to pay for the utilities used before I moved in. The girl thought that decorating her house in Pier 1 tapestries and peace signs made her a hippie. She ate organic food without really knowing why, except that it probably made her feel more like an actual hippie, and then later described her organic diet as “making up for all the bad things I do in life, like smoking and drinking.” The best quote to ever exit her mouth occurred during her viewing of the Victoria’s Secret fashion show. “Last year, the fashion show was just SO beautiful that I cried!,” Kay explained as Jill and I rolled our eyes, walking away.
On top of her intolerable personality, Kay was an extremely irresponsible pet owner. Assuming that it would be a good idea to burden 3 strangers in a small, city apartment with a pet, she had purchased a Blood Hound puppy 9 months prior to my move-in. This energetic puppy was so poorly trained that it was forced to sit in a metal cage during the entirety of Kay’s work day. She suckered some friends into coming over to take the dog for a walk, but it otherwise sat in the cage and whined every time someone came downstairs and attempted to enjoy the living room. Jill and I let it out once or twice out of pity, but that idea was quickly ruined for the future. When released, the dog peed indoors, caused general destruction to various parts of the house, and chewed up anything it could get it’s teeth on (including my favorite pair of boots). Kay made no attempts beyond the confining cage to attempt to lessen the burden of her pet. “Dog training” came in the form of a motherly “No, datsss baaahhhd” when it did wrong (which was constantly). Gee, I wonder why it had no sense of discipline?
I gave Kay notice of my impending move-out date, which was to be January 2nd to give myself and my visiting boyfriend time to recover from New Year’s Eve. A few days before NYE, Kay texted me and insisted that I leave on January 1st, aka Hang-Over Day for everyone in America, to accommodate her new sublet roommate. No ifs, ands, or buts: Call it an early night on New Year’s Eve, pack up the entirety of your life while hung-over, and drive 12 hours back to Indiana the morning after the biggest celebration of the year.
In short, there is only 1 word that I can reserve for a creature like my subletter, Kay: cunt.
If I had really, really wanted to try to stick it out in Philly on my own, I could have worked harder to make it happen. When I want something bad enough, I’ll find a way to make it so. However, after all that transpired in only a month’s time, I didn’t want Philly so badly anymore.
Printed in Playboy magazine
Take in as much air as you can.
This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.
This is my favorite Chuck story. It will only take a moment of your time to read it, and I doubt you will vomit. Promise. ;)