Observer

The Perils of Living in Luxury!

If Oscar Wilde were just an ordinary witty American homeowner in the 21^st century, he might have said that the only thing worse than trying to find a reasonably priced plumber is not finding a reasonably priced plumber.

Something like that.

After selling off some plasma and a spare kidney the other day to pay for issues involving a misbehaving lateral sewer line, I decided that the only thing better than living in a charming century-old home with century-old infrastructure is not living in a charming century-old home with century-old infrastructure.

So I started making inquiries into new living quarters where the plumbing and electricity are younger than the prospective residents and where the words “lateral sewer line” are heard only as a possible answer in the Jeopardy category known as “Unbelievably Stupid Things That Owners Of Single-Family Homes Have To Worry About.”

Friends who have friends in the real estate business have informed me that residents of domiciles commonly referred to as “apartments” or “condominiums” often are spared the indignities of sloshing through sewage in their basements. This sounded appealing. I reached for the Yellow Pages to find a real estate agent but then remembered that the only yellow pages in my house anymore are the old newspapers the dog uses as an emergency urinal.

I persisted all the same and eventually made telephone contact with a perky-sounding real estate agent who said she understood my situation and had many options for my wife and I to consider.

“Based on your disinterest in performing even the most-mundane chores, including the installation of what is commonly referred to as a ‘light bulb,’ I would recommend a luxurious unit in an exclusive development called ‘The Apartments at Keepoff Mylawn,’” she said. “It comes with many luxurious amenities, like a perpetually flowing wine fountain in the luxurious courtyard, luxurious golf carts that can whisk you 50 feet from the luxurious lobby to our luxurious pickleball courts, and, if you wish to add on a premium luxury, we can offer an exclusive computer chip installed in your brain that will allow you to turn on any of our luxurious appliances by simply thinking about it. Imagine that kind of luxury!”

I wasn’t quite ready for such an eager sales pitch and muttered something negative about the exclusive brain chip. This did not deter her.

“Oh, sir, I totally understand,” she said. “Many prospective clients are reluctant to install the chip, especially when they learn that it can be activated only by thinking.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “To be honest, sir, many residents say they stopped thinking years ago, when they discovered Fox News.”

I then confessed that I wasn’t all that interested in luxury. My first apartment in Manhattan in 1988 advertised itself as “luxurious.” It was a 450-square-foot studio on Third Avenue. I later learned that by “luxurious,” the characteristically affable and deeply humane landlord meant “look, the place has running water most of the time, which is more than can be said of people living in huts in faraway countries, so, yeah, it’s luxurious.”

My landlord was hardly the first and by no means the last to realize that by slapping the words “luxurious” or “exclusive” on even the meanest bit of brick and mortar, they could attract all manner of suckers desperate to tell friends back home that they were indeed living in luxury in New York.

Builders took notice of the ease with which landlords emptied the wallets of well-heeled hayseeds, and now it appears as though every new residential construction site within 100 miles of midtown Manhattan advertises itself as a “luxury” property with “exclusive” amenities. A digital ad near a bus stop on East Seventy Ninth Street recently announced that a new building uptown will ensure that “luxury is coming to Harlem.” How nice for those already living there in something less than luxurious circumstances.

The real estate agent did not seem particularly happy with my skepticism about those who build, peddle and maintain so-called “luxury” housing. “Sir,” she said, unable to hide her impatience, “you must know that we are living in a new Golden Age in America. Every patriot should want to be part of it. And how better to enjoy the new Golden Age than by living in luxury and having access to exclusive amenities?”

I explained that I was looking for a simple apartment where I no longer had to worry about lateral sewer lines.

“Oh, sir,” she said. “Then you’re in the right place. Our lateral sewer lines come with luxurious amenities. They connect directly to the luxurious toilet in your exclusive bathroom complex.”

I thanked her and ended the conversation. Just as I did, a light bulb in my home office went out. I called an electrician to get it fixed. He said he only works on luxurious light fixtures.