THE TENATIOUS WOULD-BE TENANT

Well, it's been a long, interesting journey finding a tenant for my rental. Perhaps people looking to secure housing aren't their "best selves" - the last gentleman put me through the ringer. Sixty-plus, fastidious, with great sensitivity to noise. Although he owned a condo just 2 blocks away, he was seeking a nest with "zero noise". Now my rental is off the street, facing a quiet courtyard, he checked out the windows and inquired about installing "sound proof" windows. He nervously scoured the 600 square food space, scanning for evidence of annoyances. I suggested he look at unattached housing, to which he did not respond. He asked if he could come back at 9PM to garner findings about noise levels when neighbors would be home. I needed an out. I did allow him to return, and spent most of the time coming up with reasons why he would not find the place to his liking. Still, later that evening, he sent me a lengthy text - asking to return at 9AM to "make more notes". Now, I'm a person who doesn't suffer fools gladly. Yet, I couldn't find a way to extricate myself from this nervous gent. I turned down his request for a 9AM, then he sent another two lengthy texts about his schedules, appointments, and his next available window which would be 9:30 the following morning. I spoke to fellow landlords that gave me an out - but I created my own, a response to his inquiry to purchase the unit after a "trial" period. Told him it would be unlikely that I would part with the unit, to which he responded, "I would be happy to be your life-long tenant." So push-over here let him back in. He began nervously scanning the apartment again, but this time busying himself with a tape measure and copious notes, asking me for exact measurements for ceiling height of closets, I could get back to him that afternoon. I started jabbering away at why he would never be happy in such a space, but he was in the zone. He only spoke up to report he had looked into "sound proofing" - he had a plan that involved staplegunning a double layer of towels to my freshly painted walls. But soon after he determined that he could "never be satisfied" living in a studio apartment; that he couldn't sleep unless he had a closed bedroom door. Although I had suggested this from the very beginning, and he assuring me that this was the perfect fix for his "downsizing" plan, he finally determined after much handwringing and note-taking that my apartment would not meet his rigorous requirements. After he left, I engaged a realtor to sell the apartment. The steady stream of apartment seekers had worn me down. The realtor was eager to see the pad, he brought an associate over the very next morning. We discussed what they would offer, and came up with a price. Yet, the next morning I was filled with doubt. I still loved the space, and it had served me well as a rental, albeit with some drama, for almost the last 30 years. But my inquiries had slowed to a halt. It had been on the market for 9 days, which qualifies it as a stale listing in this desirable Brooklyn 'hood'. As I mulled over what to do - lower the price, hire a realtor to handle the rental, or perhaps a property manager to deal with the drama both before and after move-in, I got a lone inquiry. She showed up the next day, a young advertising gal, very polite. She and her mother walked in, within 30 seconds she turned to me and said, "I love it!!! - I can't believe it's still available!!!" We signed a lease within the hour. This isn't a tale about faith, about the universe, although I don't discount that. I did put my hands together, looking up at the sky - and thanked, well, the sky - but it was most likely just blind luck. As I like to say to myself, "it only takes one." But that can be broad, as I got a doozy of "ones" - until the "right" one appeared.