That’s it: I seek room.
Let’s say room in a shared flat, a whole flat or a tiny but cosy studio. What I want is a place to live in; I mean, to live far from the family. It’s not that I have anything against the family, sometimes. It’s just that at some point your home becomes your parents’ home. When this day comes, it doesn’t matter how nice your parents are, how free to do what you want you are, that they are never at home, being maintained… Whatever. The only thing that matters is that the umbilical cord is more than biodegraded, or rotten, and you need to start your own completely independent life.
Yes, I know that complete independence is almost a utopia in the current economical scene; even for the parents. But imagine that I have a humble but sufficient source of income for the decency minimums. Imagine it because I have it, basically. Imagine as well that my consumerism level is null, because I’m Catalan and money is money.
The thing is that the first step, which represents the clearest evidence of your transition to adult life (your age doesn’t matter, as long as you live at your parents’ place you feel stuck in childhood), is getting your own place. It’s a place of variable dignity depending on your requirements and urgency, but it’s yours. Congratulations, you are an adult. What? You are sharing with students? Well, there are different levels of adulthood. We must save some evolution for the period between 27 and 57.
The problem is finding the place. In my case, with regret, I need to settle in the great capital, Barcelona. And I have three main problems.
First of all: the prices, exorbitant. Do Human Rights allow the charge of more than 200 or 300 euros for a lumber room where you can only have an 80-centimetre bed and half a chair? The wardrobe is in the corridor, between Toni’s bicycle and the clothes horse, which you can only use when nobody is going to enter or leave the kitchen in eight hours.
Then: the state of the property. Humidity, types of filth unknown by Cillit Bang, bathrooms and kitchens reminding of B or Z horror films, retro tiles and wallpaper and furniture. I want to live in this century; with our looks and, most important, our health conditions.
And finally: the sex. Society in not so male chauvinist as they say. For some strange reason, they rent rooms only to girls in some places. They can justify it saying they are cleaner, more sociable, more interesting, tidier, quieter; better in general. Well, I’m a gentleman and I’m not going to say they drop longer hair, make the arguments last longer and have a high-pitched voice which can be pernicious after long exposures. But it crossed my mind.
In short, only a reduced size woman with no aesthetic taste and used to live among fungus can find a place nowadays. Unfortunately for the landlords, Smurfette already has her own mushroom.