My arrival in Dallas was pretty seamless, to be honest. I had connecting flights – LGA to Philly, then on to DFW. As it turned out, the only thing that was not ready for me was my key and key fob – necessary to access the elevator, as well as the front door after hours. The demeanor of the concierge, leasing office personnel, and the rest, seemed to be “general confusion”. I admit that I had been sending package to the apartment “15J” when my apartment was in fact “1509” (more on that later) but the building knew I was coming and my GF had apparently left keys for me.
The GF, let’s call her Betsy, works a finance job that keeps her busy and otherwise indisposed and inaccessible during the day, save for the occasional answered email and random phone call. So, when I show up, bags (and shotgun) in tow, I was less than pleased to wait in the lobby while the concierge seemed convinced that Betsy had been lying when she said she’d left keys for me. Betsy apparently had all the keys. I sighed and tried my best not to be an impatient New Yorker.
Our building is one of those new apartment buildings, replete with amenities – pool, gym, garage, coffee machine in the lobby, smiling employees – but there may be a few kinks to iron out before things are firing on all cylinders.
One large departure from New York, and that irks me continuously, is the lack of recycling in the building. It may be one of those Texas things where they just have so much space and so many resources, they just think, “Hell with it.” For instance, aside from the lack of recycling, all the coffee I’ve had so far in the Great State of Texas has been served to me in Styrofoam cups.
Styrofoam? Really? I didn’t know they made Styrofoam anymore. I figured it was like continuing to recommend thalidomide as a countermeasure for morning sickness.
Another con: no bodegas. This is mindboggling to me. When it’s 3am and I want, no NEED, a frozen French bread pizza, a can of corn, and some yellow rubber gloves, I expect to be able to walk for no more than 35 seconds before encountering a place to buy all of said items. It’s a mile to the local supermarket here, and the nearest thing to a convenience store is attached to a gas station and also serves BBQ. No joke.
