The Fly Route
I don't know if you've been apartment hunting recently.
I have, so I can say with some authority the good looking girls they hire to work behind the desk and give tours -- geniuses they aren't.
I moved in with a high school friend last year, and after 12 months in our nice, but perhaps a little too expensive apartment, we decided to look for something cheaper.
And we found it. In addition to costing about $100 less per month, not one, but two tennis courts jumped out to us as we took our initial drive-through tour of the joint.
Two tennis courts! Sweet!
Sweet, that is, until we actually got closer to moving in. A week after we first scouted the place out, we went back to sign the lease. Right before we did so, we were told which apartment was to be our eventual new home (at the time, we still had about 90 days left on our first apartment.) So we wandered over to check it out. As we drew near our actual apartment, a terrible realization dawned.
This was no tennis court. Well ... it was no longer a tennis court. Where four support posts for two tennis nets had once stood, four tiny stumps remained. Where the lines once lay, a thick coating of blue paint sat.
It wasn't a tennis court, but what in the heck was it?
"It's an all-sport court, J!!!!" our apartment guide explained. (Note: the smiley faces and exclamation points weren't actually a part of the conversation, but added at the author's discretion to help paint the picture.)
"An all-sport court K???" I asked. (Note: confused and angry face.)
"Yep," she responded, completely missing my tone. "Everyone loves it."
"Everyone does, huh?" I asked. "What exactly does one do on an all-sport court? Why on earth would someone carve up a perfectly good tennis court? What in the world is wrong with this apartment complex, our new home?"
The questions came tumbling out of me, and she finally realized that the all-sport court was going to need a wee bit of selling to these two tough customers.
"It's great," she said. "You can play ... ... ... ... ... ... hacky sack."
Hacky sack? You mean that game were the junior high kids kick the beanbag to one another? Didn't that go out of style with the band Korn? (i.e., the turn of the millennium for those unaware.) Even if we were hacky sack aficionados-- and we are not -- wouldn't that be a game at least equally suited to grass? Why cement?
Those were just the questions on the top of my head. Deep down, even more brewed, mean ones about her graduating high school and the number of times she burnt herself on the stove.
I couldn't do it though. She was nice and seemed to think we'd love a gigantic fenced in cement slab at our front step.
So, we're bound and determined to like it. We signed the lease and the goal this summer -- in addition to all the regular ones like ditching work every Friday and grilling out as often as possible -- is to learn to love the all-sport court.
Check in here throughout the summer as we test out the wonders of our new cement slab.
Got a suggestion? Don't hesitate to pass it along.