With graduation rapidly approaching, I’ve spent way too much time lately dreaming about where I’m going to live after college. Rather than look for jobs at architecture firms – or, even before that, finishing the portfolio I would show them in the interview – I’ve been visiting real estate websites, poring over the Apartment Guide and spending many a late night clicking through ads on Craigslist. I don’t have a source of income yet, but I’m already debating the merits of an apartment in Columbia Heights versus a rowhouse in Capitol Hill.
This past Valentine’s Day, I fell in love with a three-bedroom apartment in Rockville. Two of my friends and I were out apartment hunting, visiting places in Montgomery County even though our leases in College Park don’t run out until the summer. It had everything you could hope for: hardwood floors, granite countertops, track lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows. Not only that, but it was literally on top of a grocery store and a slew of restaurants, meaning that those top-of-the-line appliances in the kitchen wouldn’t be getting used very much. My fantasies of living the yuppie dream were finally going to be realized.
But the leasing agent at this complex had already decided that we weren’t worth his time. He refused to answer our questions about the complex, saying he “didn’t know” what amenities there were, and didn’t even give us a price list for the apartments. While walking us to a model apartment, he turned to me and said, “Why are you really here? Because you don’t look like you could afford to live here. I mean, if I was your father, I wouldn’t like you living here.”
He was right: We don’t have jobs. (Yet.) But what he said was still illegal – and besides, why would he think my friends and I unfit to live in Rockville, a town just half an hour from where we all grew up? Was it our standard college-kid uniform of jeans and a hoodie, my unshaven face, my messy hair? Or was it any number of prejudices against our group, which was composed of an Italian man, a Jewish woman and a gay, half-black-half-Indian man? We could’ve passed for the people in the ads for any apartment complex trying to look young and progressive but, instead, we were getting turned away.
As graduating seniors, it’s easy to forget that the outside world doesn’t look like College Park. When we walk into those job interviews or leasing offices, we’re going to be judged more as big kids than little adults, and the first hurdle we’ll have to overcome is simply earning the respect of those with more experience.
After being sent away by the leasing agent, I called his manager and explained to her what happened. Horrified that he had behaved that way to us, she apologized, promising that the agent – who turned out to be a temp that wasn’t even authorized to show apartments – would be properly reprimanded.
While it was a rude awakening, I’m glad this experience gave me a little taste of the real world, making me just a little bit more ready for life outside of College Park. Now, of course, all I have to do is find a job.
Dan Reed is a senior architecture and English major. He can be reached at reeddbk@gmail.com.
