The apartment door opened slowly, and I was greeted by a disoriented, 30-something man wearing ankle weights and a navy blue unitard. I looked down and saw that the unitard made a distinct point of outlining his private member. I looked up, incredulous, and he smiled at me.

“Albert!” he extended his hand, but before I could shake it, he pointed out his ankle weights. “Sorry, I have been exercising tonight.” He flipped his mop of touseled, wavy long black hair.  Very Jane-Fonda-esque, I thought.  I rolled my eyes.

Exercising what? Albert’s face had a strangely familiar “weariness” to it, one that seemed sort of perverse. I began to suspect the possibility that he was a sex addict. He seemed tired and moved with a slight limp.

“I have a dance injury,” he said. “So, what do you do?”

“I’m an actress,” I said seriously, crossing my elbows, standing in one spot, observing the space. I planted my feet on the ground so that if anything happened in the next three seconds, I could dart forwards or backwards and run out of there.

I was distracted by the ringing of a tea kettle.

“I have a ton of tea for you to choose from! Come here!”

I remembered that when I read his ad about a spare room with a 28-yr old male ballet dancer, there was a terrific amount of exclamation points, just like the way he was speaking. This man, for one, was more than a few years older than 28. The ad was also supposedly posted by his former roommate, a female modern dancer who was championing what a great roommate he was and nice apartment he had.

The apartment was nice. Albert was offering two spaces in his prime Williamsburg place, but it was a “railroad” situation, which means the rooms are not separated by a common space, but require a person to walk through other people’s rooms to walking to gain access.  The lack of a separate entrance was a red flag.

Albert served green tea, and I began to observe the surroundings. Every cereal box was lined up perfectly on the shelf, candles burned, there was not a spot of dirt anywhere. It didn’t really look like anyone inhabited the place. I suddenly anticipated seeing a hidden camera. Was this a set-up? I darted a glance at Albert as he spilled his tea when he tried to sip it. Though Albert’s childlike and “open vibe” seemed strangely genuine, I could tell that beneath it all, he was a control freak.

“So, let me get this straight: it’s $775 for the one room back there. Can I just go look at that right…” I got up.

“Wait, let me just talk to you first! Please, sit. Oh, you have to take your shoes…”

“Oh.” I sat down.

“What we are really looking for is someone open. Someone who doesn’t mind sharing but is also considerate.”

“Yeah, that’s fine…I can do that.”

“But, see, people say that. ” Albert then revealed some uncomfortable things; Albert used the word “open” way too liberally, he couldn’t tell me his schedule, he had dated his past two roommates and they shared everything…including the mattress. But I didn’t have to participate in the household polyamory if I didn’t want to, but that wouldn’t be adding to the morale of the situation, I realized.

I asked Albert some pointed questions about when he would need to walk through My Space if I decided to take this.

“Wow, I feel like I’m being grilled by a detective!” he said.

“I’m…just asking.”

Now, anyone who knows me will most likely attest to the fact that I have the tendency to trust people too easily (there are eccentric people out there; it doesn’t mean they are bad people, I reason…) or ignore warning signals when in an interview situation that seems skewed. And why? Am I in it for the thrill? Do I get a kick out of meeting weirdos?

Within five minutes, I decided I didn’t want this, but I stayed for about fifteen. But I suppose the advantage of staying that long was to witness Albert’s last attempt to blur the lines and create the open situation he was looking for.

“God, this injury is really debilitating me,” Albert kneeled on the mattress in the room where he also gave hot stone massages as a side job. I stood about 10 feet away with my coat on. He began to touch his leg. “You know that thing in Thai Yoga Massage where you palm the thigh…”

“Yes,” I nodded. Albert saw that I was a thousand miles from touching him. “I’m gonna go. Bye now.” I left.

About an hour later I received a text from Albert:

“Hey Mermaid! I decided that unfortunately this situation won’t work with me and you! But best of luck…”

Blah, blah, blah. Hooray.

This past week, my life has felt like one big hunt for a space to call my own. When it comes to Craigslist, my motto has always been: sift through the muck, and you will find some gems. Over the years, that has worked. Thanks to being onsite at the right time, there have certainly been gems on which I’ve stumbled. It’s just a matter of scrutiny.