It's early (actually it's not, but who cares anyways) and my titles always suck so please just glance at the atrociousness that is the title, grimace a bit, and then move on.
So, yeah. I'm living at Raintree this school year. Before I even set foot in the place, I was so darn excited to be living someplace that wasn't Freshman housing or ridiculously expensive. I was so sure that Raintree was the best deal ever and that I had somehow snagged it before anyone else. Even after talking to my sister Emily, who lived at Raintree a couple of years when she was going to BYU, I was so sure that there would be no problems at all.
Upon arriving at Raintree, I was still blindly optimistic. I had spent the morning cramming mine and my friend's cars full of my stuff located at my Grandma's house and had driven the 20 minutes it takes to get to Provo, parked my car, got out, sneezed probably (I'll stop being specific now), and went to the check-in, ready to get my code to my apartment and move into my new, amazing life at Raintree.
It went smoothly at first. I told them my name and they told me that I did, indeed, have a place to live. Not that I was worried. They gave me the booklet with all the rules and stuff I don't care about and sent me down to a man at the corner of the table. I go there. Give him a piece of paper I signed. He mispronounces my name but quickly corrects himself, and then asks if I want a parking permit. The following conversation ensues...
Guy at Table: Do you have a car and would you like a parking permit.
Me: I think so.
Guy at Table: You think you have a car? Or you think you would like a parking permit.
Me: Well, I maybe want the permit.
Guy at Table: But you have a car...
Me: Oh, YES! I mean, yes, I do.
Guy at Table: With the permit, it'll be $378.39
Me: Uh...well, I don't want the permit then. (I was stupidly thinking that was the price of the permit. I didn't want to fork over money, so I wisely said I didn't want one)
Guy at Table: Well, you'll need one by Wednesday.
Me: Okay, I'll have the money then.
Guy at Table: *punches some numbers into his calculator thing* Without the permit, it's $348 dollars.
Guy at Table: Is there an issue?
Me: Well, I don't have...the...
Guy at Table: You need the money before you can move in.
Me: Well, I paid $400 in April--
Guy at Table: That was for a deposit and this month's rent
Me: *confused* Ohhhhkay, well, I don't have the money right now--
Guy at Table: Well, when you do have the money, you can come back and we'll finish this. But I can't let you into your apartment without the money.
Me: *about to breakdown* okay. Uh, I'll be back I guess.
And I left. I tried calling my mom about a hundred times (It was more like 6, but for hyperbole's sake...) and she didn't answer. I was panicking. I needed money and I didn't have it and that meant I couldn't live anywhere! (that's not entirely true either. Worst case scenario was that I would live with my Grandma, which is actually a pretty sweet deal...) But then I remembered my reserve line credit that I had at my bank. I would use that for now until I got my loans and all would be alright.
Long story short (TOO LATE), I shifted some funds online and then went back about 45 minutes after I left and embarrassingly gave the guy my card, he swiped and it was all good. I could move on down to the lady with my apartment code.
From that point, it was a whole different mess of moving in and realizing I didn't have a lot of room for all my stuff and having to take things back...that'll be for a different day since this is getting long enough.
Moral of the story: There's always money in the banana stand.