A day in the life of an apartment dweller

Apartment living once was considered seedy and somewhat questionable, morally speaking. I guess apartments reminded people of hotel rooms, and we all know what goes on in hotel rooms. That is why the first apartments in New York City were designed and built like morally sound and family friendly houses. These apartments were a sight, probably still are, although it will cost you several million dollars to have a look. These places had all the conveniences and features you would find in a good home. Two-stories with separate wings for the help; oh so proper.

Today, of course, these silly notions of apartments being dens of inequity have disappeared and people now see the apartment as a useful, even necessary part of modern life. Why, in the apartment block I live in here in the city I see nothing morally questionable going on. In fact, the place is so wholesome it would make Norman Rockwell sick.

The majority of the apartments are taken up by young couples who still have no children. Well, they really aren't completely young couples. The women look to be in their mid-20s and look extremely healthy, while the men are usually older, with the signs of success showing in their satisfied bellies. But age really doesn't matter; it's love that counts. And the way these couples can't keep their hands off each other I can tell that it is true love.

Although I do worry because the women seem to have to spend a lot of time alone in the apartments waiting. Their husbands seem only to be able to spend a couple of hours at a time with them in the apartment before they have to rush off to work, but I guess that's the price of success. They way they look at each other and say their goodbyes, with the husbands promising to return in a night or two, it really is the sort of beautiful scene that can make one cry. And then they're off to their waiting BMWs.

See, nothing untoward here, just young, or half-young, couples forging a beautiful life together. I was thinking about this, the wonder of love, on my balcony 14 floors up, enjoying the view of Jakarta laid out before me. I could almost make out the building across the way through the smog which was clogging the air. Lighting a cigarette to help me get a breath of fresh air, there was a knock at the door. Ah good, maintenance was here to fix my air conditioner, which was on the fritz.

Another bonus of life in the apartment, all the people just waiting for your call to come and fix anything which could go wrong. No need to waste your time working around the house. Take that, mom. All those years living in your house, I can still hear your, "Get off your lazy butt and do some work." Well, I had my fill of painting, replacing faucets, moving furniture and doing all those other chores which prevented me from watching TV in my underwear all weekend. Now I have whole maintenance teams at my disposal, so all I have to do is put on a pair of pants and answer the door.

The air conditioner fixed and coolness reigning supreme once more in my apartment fortress, I stood in the middle of the living room, in my underwear once more, and surveyed my home. What I love most about living in an apartment is the comingling of permanence and transitoriness. My apartment has everything one finds in a house. There's a refrigerator, microwave, tables, chairs, bed, etc. All so solid, like a life was being made here, and yet none of it belongs to me. I am in no way weighed down by all these furnishings, these possessions, allowing me the freedom that apartment dwellers enjoy of being able to beat a hasty retreat in the face of unrest, anarchy, arrest warrants, paternity suits or any other catastrophe which may necessitate your fleeing the country. You just pack your clothes and go; none of the rest of this stuff is yours.

Plus, because there is no restraint of ownership, you can feel free to go wild in your apartment. Throw huge bacchanals, where every instinct for pleasure and amusement are indulged in a most destructive manner, because while the stains on the couch will never come out, it's not your couch so why should you care. Why, you can even iron your shirt on the living room rug, accidentally leaving the iron face down and burning in a permanent new iron- design on the carpet, and not think twice about it. Well, you may want to think twice because next time you do that it could end in a fiery death for you and your neighbors, but as for the carpet, forget about it. Or, you could just spring for an ironing board.

Now that I have had a taste of life in an apartment I shall never return to the hassles of a house. The freedom of the apartment, the feeling of safety of being surrounded by happy little families, and heaps of security guards, the joy of no household chores. All these thoughts run through my mind, filling me with an immense peace so unique to those who have made the wise decision and joined that special breed of urbanites: The apartment dwellers.