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drewkittyItty Bitty Bigger World - A Small Apartment
I've been thrown a lot of shade over the years for 'choosing' to be 'homeless.'
Just to be clear, and not to brag, by the standards of San San I am fabulously wealthy. RIdiculously so. As in, if the restaurant pisses me off, I can literally call my lawyer and buy it wealthy. And I have a time or two.
A person who is legally present in San San has the right to housing.
There is a waiting list for _better_ housing.
Sometimes it's a few months. Sometimes it's a few years.
But what you get to live in while you wait is called an "efficiency cube." It's kind of like a capsule hotel attached to a gym's showers. Except your cubic is a little larger than a bunk, and a little smaller than something you could stand in. You can basically sleep, game or listen to music. If you're good at turning yourself into a pretzel, you can type on a keyboard.
In order to support an application, one time, I actually rented an apartment.
###
When you walk in, there's a living room and two doors. One door leads to a bedroom. The other door leads to a kitchenette. There are tiny bathrooms on either side, a toilet/sink combo (1/2 bath) on the kitchenette side and a toilet / shower on the bedroom side (3/4 bath).
This makes the combination a grandly advertised 2 bedroom, 2 bath, which is quite the lie. Except in San San.
The walls are media paint of course. Don't worry about security, there's lights and cameras and omnipresence systems. (The trick is having a room _without_ them. And unless you're as wealthy as I am, forget it.)
The kitchenette has a microwave, fridge and secure pantry storage.
The bed is very plain. It only adjusts for temperature and pressure.
The sofa is built into two corners of the room, with slide-out storage underneath. It also folds out into a bed. This is the second bedroom.
By Japanese standards, it is a five tatami apartment.
Out of curiosity, I looked at the lease agreement. All two hundred and forty pages.
That's what happens when legal ware duels with legal ware for three decades.
Also, I was paying one thousand times the minimum wage per hour, per month.
And I was getting a discount.
###
Needless to say, I hated it.
But it was necessary.
The next day, I had to order and have installed a safe. Even though I had a smart backpack loaded with enough ware to count as brilliant.
Smartgun plus permanent occupancy equals safe.
I built it into the cabinet under the master bathroom sink.
I don't think I ever opened it.
###
Ware is ware no matter where you go.
Then my phone rang.
You know, the one built into the apartment.
It took me six hours and two tech support engineers to disable it.
###
Modern apartments are built with D-boxes.
A D-box, or delivery box, is a secure way in which package delivery services can give you something that you can take custody of later.
The third time my D-box had something put in it that I didn't want, I locked it down entirely.
(The 21st century equivalent of spamming is unsolicited gifts. They are yours to keep, of course, but then you have to dispose of the damn things. You can return to sender unless the sender's address is obscured. That's the spamming part.)
###
So I basically had a kitchenette I couldn't use. Unless I was willing to take a capsule halfway across town to a nostalgia store and buy 'groceries' at inflated 'prices.'
I looked into postal services. The same issue as the D-box. Too much unwanted mail. And no, unlisted postal code didn't help.
Finally I figured out the solution.
Make friends with neighbor. Use shell account to order stuff to neighbor's D-box, to which they gave me the external code.
###
WIth satisfaction I put the various supplies in the living room.
I was ready to prove as part of my application that I was able and willing to live up to the responsibility.
And there would be on-site inspection, if I got that far.
###
At least I didn't have to worry about parking. I could summon a lyftaxi or walk to a capsule.
But somehow there was still a parking fee in my HOA agreement.
Two hundred forty pages.
Legal ware.
###
No laundry facility. Just hangers and drawers.
Most smartcloth washes itself quite nicely, thank you.
The occasional garment requiring special handling has to be handled through a special service.
Only a vandal would put grease and fat laden molecules into the public disposal system.
I believe they were once called soaps and detergents.
###
The center room could be used for a VR immersion facility.
This was not a desirable feature to me. But I had to use it at least once a week, to keep my smartgun license.
You see, you can only carry a gun in San San if you can actually _shoot_. And prove it, in VR.
###
I tossed and turned in the full size bed.
It was just too damn big.
I finally resorted to printing several extra large body pillows and lining the space.
###
The problem with having a medical biolab built (by building code) into your apartment, is that I am sick and tired of being lectured to by my toilet.
I drink too much iced tea, blah blah blah.
I don't work out enough, bleh bleh bleh.
I walk long distances in public instead of running on the apartment treadmill, meh meh meh.
But at least I could express a personal opinion if I held my bladder until it was done talking.
###
I don't date.
I mean, I really don't date.
Most people date, relate and mate in VR. And certain attachments delivered by D-box are much more gifted, talented and creative than anything graced upon a natural human being at birth.
I infrequently met someone and had a brief fling with them, if I were in the mood which was seldom, and if they were into meatsex, which is now considered fairly kinky.
I was fairly indifferent to appearance (any), gender (also any), their own kinks (which I would do my best to keep up with), etc.
They had to not bore me. A very low standard.
Few met it.
###
I technically had two jobs, by the low standards San San applies to such things.
Manage my fortune, which I didn't. That was what management firms were for. But managing the management firm was annoying, often, especially when they went off script with my money.
Work three four-hour shifts as a reserve peace officer. That was full time employment by San San standards. And I was asked frequently why the hell I chose to be a reservist when I put in full time hours.
###
Most people goofed off most of the time.
When they got bored, they did something productive for an hour or two.
San San was by far one of the most productive societies in human history.
People like to work. The twelve hour work week is a legal _maximum_.
###
As a trained firefighter, I participated in the complex fire drill.
By using an override code, disabling the alarm and going back to sleep.
That cost me a fine of two weeks' rent.
###
My apartment was neither conspicuous consumption nor particularly frugal. Just kind of meh.
I was aiming for a low profile.
I hadn't counted on the psychological assessment.
Which I flunked.
Badly.
###
The day after I failed, I listed the apartment for re-lease, at a deliberately too high price.
It re-listed in twelve minutes.
I shouldered my backpack and walked out six minutes later.
I still had to get to work.
###
I slid into the efficiency cube with a sense of vast relief.
It wasn't agoraphobia. It wasn't claustrophobia.
It just felt right, to be in a space where I felt like I was in control.
Not everyone is cut out to be owned by an apartment.
I've been thrown a lot of shade over the years for 'choosing' to be 'homeless.'
Just to be clear, and not to brag, by the standards of San San I am fabulously wealthy. RIdiculously so. As in, if the restaurant pisses me off, I can literally call my lawyer and buy it wealthy. And I have a time or two.
A person who is legally present in San San has the right to housing.
There is a waiting list for _better_ housing.
Sometimes it's a few months. Sometimes it's a few years.
But what you get to live in while you wait is called an "efficiency cube." It's kind of like a capsule hotel attached to a gym's showers. Except your cubic is a little larger than a bunk, and a little smaller than something you could stand in. You can basically sleep, game or listen to music. If you're good at turning yourself into a pretzel, you can type on a keyboard.
In order to support an application, one time, I actually rented an apartment.
###
When you walk in, there's a living room and two doors. One door leads to a bedroom. The other door leads to a kitchenette. There are tiny bathrooms on either side, a toilet/sink combo (1/2 bath) on the kitchenette side and a toilet / shower on the bedroom side (3/4 bath).
This makes the combination a grandly advertised 2 bedroom, 2 bath, which is quite the lie. Except in San San.
The walls are media paint of course. Don't worry about security, there's lights and cameras and omnipresence systems. (The trick is having a room _without_ them. And unless you're as wealthy as I am, forget it.)
The kitchenette has a microwave, fridge and secure pantry storage.
The bed is very plain. It only adjusts for temperature and pressure.
The sofa is built into two corners of the room, with slide-out storage underneath. It also folds out into a bed. This is the second bedroom.
By Japanese standards, it is a five tatami apartment.
Out of curiosity, I looked at the lease agreement. All two hundred and forty pages.
That's what happens when legal ware duels with legal ware for three decades.
Also, I was paying one thousand times the minimum wage per hour, per month.
And I was getting a discount.
###
Needless to say, I hated it.
But it was necessary.
The next day, I had to order and have installed a safe. Even though I had a smart backpack loaded with enough ware to count as brilliant.
Smartgun plus permanent occupancy equals safe.
I built it into the cabinet under the master bathroom sink.
I don't think I ever opened it.
###
Ware is ware no matter where you go.
Then my phone rang.
You know, the one built into the apartment.
It took me six hours and two tech support engineers to disable it.
###
Modern apartments are built with D-boxes.
A D-box, or delivery box, is a secure way in which package delivery services can give you something that you can take custody of later.
The third time my D-box had something put in it that I didn't want, I locked it down entirely.
(The 21st century equivalent of spamming is unsolicited gifts. They are yours to keep, of course, but then you have to dispose of the damn things. You can return to sender unless the sender's address is obscured. That's the spamming part.)
###
So I basically had a kitchenette I couldn't use. Unless I was willing to take a capsule halfway across town to a nostalgia store and buy 'groceries' at inflated 'prices.'
I looked into postal services. The same issue as the D-box. Too much unwanted mail. And no, unlisted postal code didn't help.
Finally I figured out the solution.
Make friends with neighbor. Use shell account to order stuff to neighbor's D-box, to which they gave me the external code.
###
WIth satisfaction I put the various supplies in the living room.
I was ready to prove as part of my application that I was able and willing to live up to the responsibility.
And there would be on-site inspection, if I got that far.
###
At least I didn't have to worry about parking. I could summon a lyftaxi or walk to a capsule.
But somehow there was still a parking fee in my HOA agreement.
Two hundred forty pages.
Legal ware.
###
No laundry facility. Just hangers and drawers.
Most smartcloth washes itself quite nicely, thank you.
The occasional garment requiring special handling has to be handled through a special service.
Only a vandal would put grease and fat laden molecules into the public disposal system.
I believe they were once called soaps and detergents.
###
The center room could be used for a VR immersion facility.
This was not a desirable feature to me. But I had to use it at least once a week, to keep my smartgun license.
You see, you can only carry a gun in San San if you can actually _shoot_. And prove it, in VR.
###
I tossed and turned in the full size bed.
It was just too damn big.
I finally resorted to printing several extra large body pillows and lining the space.
###
The problem with having a medical biolab built (by building code) into your apartment, is that I am sick and tired of being lectured to by my toilet.
I drink too much iced tea, blah blah blah.
I don't work out enough, bleh bleh bleh.
I walk long distances in public instead of running on the apartment treadmill, meh meh meh.
But at least I could express a personal opinion if I held my bladder until it was done talking.
###
I don't date.
I mean, I really don't date.
Most people date, relate and mate in VR. And certain attachments delivered by D-box are much more gifted, talented and creative than anything graced upon a natural human being at birth.
I infrequently met someone and had a brief fling with them, if I were in the mood which was seldom, and if they were into meatsex, which is now considered fairly kinky.
I was fairly indifferent to appearance (any), gender (also any), their own kinks (which I would do my best to keep up with), etc.
They had to not bore me. A very low standard.
Few met it.
###
I technically had two jobs, by the low standards San San applies to such things.
Manage my fortune, which I didn't. That was what management firms were for. But managing the management firm was annoying, often, especially when they went off script with my money.
Work three four-hour shifts as a reserve peace officer. That was full time employment by San San standards. And I was asked frequently why the hell I chose to be a reservist when I put in full time hours.
###
Most people goofed off most of the time.
When they got bored, they did something productive for an hour or two.
San San was by far one of the most productive societies in human history.
People like to work. The twelve hour work week is a legal _maximum_.
###
As a trained firefighter, I participated in the complex fire drill.
By using an override code, disabling the alarm and going back to sleep.
That cost me a fine of two weeks' rent.
###
My apartment was neither conspicuous consumption nor particularly frugal. Just kind of meh.
I was aiming for a low profile.
I hadn't counted on the psychological assessment.
Which I flunked.
Badly.
###
The day after I failed, I listed the apartment for re-lease, at a deliberately too high price.
It re-listed in twelve minutes.
I shouldered my backpack and walked out six minutes later.
I still had to get to work.
###
I slid into the efficiency cube with a sense of vast relief.
It wasn't agoraphobia. It wasn't claustrophobia.
It just felt right, to be in a space where I felt like I was in control.
Not everyone is cut out to be owned by an apartment.
