Landlord traps me in my apartment, but I find a typo in the lease that sets me free.

I moved to the Big Apple in April from LA and signed a lease for an apartment, sight unseen.

It was the same price as my LA apartment, but while in LA $1,350 gets you a master bedroom with a walk-in closet, private bath and three

roommates, in New York City for the same amount of money they've turned the walk-in closet into

the bathroom, and I now weigh 135 pounds thanks to the seven flights of stairs that I've had to walk

up every day. Some days I'd raise my arms to put on

deodorant and scrape my elbow on the ceiling. One of my five roommates was an RN, though,

so there was the upside. The only saving grace of the space was that this apartment was pet-friendly

and had an in-unit washer and dryer. I honestly would have moved to New Jersey instead had I seen the apartment beforehand.

I just wanted proximity to my office and thought, hey, this is just like my old place.

Boy, was I wrong. I hated living there, and after two months, when my job said I could work remotely,

I packed up and went to the Caribbean. While I was there, I won

the New York City Housing Lottery. For the first time in my life, I could afford to live by myself

in the Big Apple of all places. The Housing Lottery, while I'm grateful to be the winner, is further

evidence that we, basically in the city, live in a dystopian society. Basically, in New York City, when new construction

happens, a certain number of units are set aside for a lottery for low to middle income individuals

to apply for. In exchange, the developers get tax breaks, so in the case of my unit, although

it's built specifically with the intention of being a lottery unit, which means smaller

with different finishes, it would be at the market rate probably about 6 grand per month,

otherwise.

As a lottery winner, I'm paying 1,900 with the amenities included.

Tens of thousands of people apply on the Housing Connect websites, so they randomise the numbers

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