Adjusting

We took a wrong turn and somehow ended up beneath the city. It felt like driving through a tunnel with small gaps overhead that revealed brief glimpses of the buildings soaring to the skies and beyond. The GPS went haywire, spinning meaninglessly, not understanding the multi-level road structure, but through a series of unplanned and erratic turns we pulled up a side street alongside my new apartment building in my new home city. The contents in the back of the moving truck clunked, then reverberated within the metal enclosure as we came to a stop.

“Well, should you get the key?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back,” I said.

I entered the apartment lobby as my parents began fumbling with the parking meter. No one greeted me from behind the front desk but a plastic sign that sat upright on the counter: I’ve stepped away for a moment. Come find me in the mailroom. I followed in the direction that the arrow on the sign pointed which led me into a room filled with identical mail slots stacked, one on top of the other, side by side. Quickly assuming that this room was also empty, I skirted into an adjoining room off to the side. Here I found boxes, large and small, nearly all of which were brown with white labels slapped on them.

“Excuse me.”

I saw someone bending over one of the boxes, appearing to inspect it. Their back faced me and apparently hadn’t heard me enter. I cleared my throat, not for greater emphasis but to help me speak louder this time, leaned in a bit closer, and repeated, “Excuse me.”

The figure stood up, turned, and faced me, maintaining a nonchalant manner through the entire sequence of movements.

“Yes?”

Her face was blank, free from any expression. She had either not been surprised at my appearance or had simply failed to register any of the physical manifestations of the sensation.

“I’m moving in today and the leasing agent told me to come pick up the guest key from the front desk when I arrived.”

I knew she heard me because she walked past me, weaving her way around little, brown boxes, and traipsed through the mailroom towards the front desk. I followed.

“License?” I pulled it from my wallet and handed it to her.

“Floor?”

“18th floor,” I returned.

“Unit number?”

I checked my email. “Unit seventy-one.”

“Ok, here’s the guest key. A lot of the leasing agents leave the keys on the kitchen counter for people moving in.”

“Great, thank you so much!” I tried to smile warmly to show appreciation.

“Yep.” Her face was still blank as I turned from her and headed away from the mailroom towards the elevator corridor.

Unit seventy-one on the 18th floor greeted me with a slim hallway that led past a bathroom and opened up into a small living area flanked by two floor-to-ceiling windows that encompassed the entire eastern facing wall. A granite island separated the living room, on the eastern side of the unit, from the modest kitchen that shared a wall with the bathroom. A small, black box lay on the island on top of a handwritten note: Welcome home. We’re so excited to have you join our community. I opened the black box and removed a silver, rectangular object. After fidgeting with it, and even taking it to the door to try it out, I realized it was a key chain, not a key. Searching the drawers, the cabinets, even the closets, I came up empty. Sighing, I returned to the elevator which soon deposited me back into the apartment lobby. This time the sign was gone, and she stood behind the counter. She greeted me with the same blank face, neither feigning a friendly smile nor raising eyebrows to express frustration at my quick return.

“Hi again.” I tried to say it the way Louisa would have, with a light tone that signaled the need for more precise guidance while also expressing the self-deprecating awareness that perhaps I should’ve been able to figure out whatever minor issue had arisen before returning for more help. But I doubt I succeeded in conveying these nuances.

“Hello.”

“So, I made it into the unit. Thanks for the guest key, it worked great. I didn’t see any keys in the unit, so I’m not sure how I should go about getting them.”

“Did you check the counters?”

“Yeah, and I found this key chain but no key.”

She looked at it for a moment. “That’s odd.” She paused. “You can keep the guest key.”

“Oh. Well, will this become my key then?” I asked, surprised.

“No, just keep it for now, until you get your permanent key.” I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t.

“Ok, and when will I get my permanent key?”

“I’ll call management to have them sort it out.”

“Oh, great! That sounds good.” I waited again, but she didn’t pick up the phone nor did she look like she had anything else to add.

“I have a moving truck with boxes and furniture. Can I just pull up to the loading dock?” I pushed on.

“Yep, exactly.”

I smiled again, this time more out of exasperation than any sense of amusement and certainly not out of joy. It was probably my first genuine smile of our protracted exchange.

“And where’s the loading dock located?” I continued.

“It’s around back. Take two rights and then you’ll see it, on the right again.”

“Great. And I read that there’s a freight elevator I can use?”

“Yep. I can set that up for you if you need it.”

I smiled again. “Yes, that would be great. I’ll pull around now.” With that, I headed back out the lobby doors with her blank face watching as I went.