"Frankly, It's Unsettling...."

"Frankly, It's Unsettling...."

Jessica Cassyle Carr
3 min read
Me and another Jessica at the Cloud Gate in Millennium Park ... in Chicago . Where I live.
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I deliberated for a full 24 hours on whether or not to blog about this, and in the end decided that even if it’s cheap to post a rude e-mail someone sent you, this tidbit is too awesomely perplexing not to share. And I’ve got a vengeful heart, not content enough in its own valiant qualities to stand down and be the better man.

Here’s the story: I live in Chicago, not Albuquerque. I moved here in February. Now for various reasons I’m moving back to Albuquerque for the first half of 2007. I was apartment hunting online this week and found an appealing place on a certain online classifieds (not the
Alibi ‘s free classifieds). So I sent an inquiry, expecting a regular, "Yes, it’s available. Do you have pets?" or "I just rented it this morning" kind of response. Nay! Observe the correspondence (I’ve deleted some of the telling info as this person may still be trying to rent the place):


"Hi there, I’m very interested in your —, as I love the — and —. My boyfriend and I will be moving to Albuquerque from Chicago during the second week of January and will be there through May or June. Please let me know if your space is still available. Thanks! Jessica"


"Jessica, we’ve actually met—you looked at another property that I rent out. You work for the Alibi , so I’m not sure why the "moving from Chicago" story… Frankly, it’s unsettling. —"

Sweet Jesus! Haven’t people heard of telecommuting and the Internet? I’ve not looked for apartments in Albuquerque since last summer, and that’s obviously
not enough time to move to another city. Initially, I was pissed about the accusation. Then I realized it’s one of those situations where one can gain insight into one’s own personality via the absurd behavior of others. Sometimes I doubt my sanity and use of logic, then some wack job makes you realize that you’ve got it together.

Then that feeling goes away when you remember that time when you drank a bunch of tiki drinks in River Grove then, under the persuasion of a sassy Scottish cruise director, went to a gay bar in Boystown and drank martinis until 3:30 a.m., during which all manner of shirtless, sweaty men had taken to the dance floor, some of whom serviced one another, after which you got into a cab and slurred semi-unprompted commiserations about immigration to the Moroccan driver, and the next day felt like you’d rather hurl your alcohol-ravaged body into a volcano filled with razor blades and acid than bear the hangover. That’s when "you" really remember "you" are sane and logical …


In case you’re wondering what I wrote to the person who accused me of not living in Chicago, it’s pasted below. I have yet to receive a response.


"—, It’s funny you know so much about me when I don’t have a clue who you are. I moved to Chicago at the end of February this year with my boyfriend who is employed with The Second City. I’m sure you weren’t paying attention to the
Alibi ‘s staff block, but at that time my title at the paper changed from "staff writer" to "contributing writer" because I had to leave my position to move. To Chicago . In the future, maybe you should consider doing some research before you accuse people of lying. Jessica."

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