My turn for center-stage fridge-time

The heart signature is obnoxious, I know. 

In three weeks, I move across the country. Our lease runs until October 1, so I have to sublet the last month of the lease or I'm on the hook for September rent. 

I'm a yoga teacher. 

I've been under the poverty line for five years straight.

I need to find a sub-leaser immediately. 

So, according to the older sister's instructions, I posted an ad on Craigslist which yielded several options. All of whom needed to meet the sisters' approval. I teach class until late at night but the other roommates are gone during the day. 

I made the executive (see above, RE: "poverty line") decision to do a trial showing of the apartment first, and then set up appointments with interested candidates to meet everyone else at once. Of the five people I met, only the one mentioned in the Post-It wanted to come back to meet everyone else. Why? 

Two reasons:

1. The sisters decided that since I set up these appointments, I would be in charge of showing the people around. And greeting them. And talking to them at all. To the extent that every time someone came to the door, the older sister would say, "Oh, Kate will be right with you. She's the one showing the apartment." And then she would walk away and leave the girl in the doorway. 

2. The last girl to see the place had the unfortunate luck to show up in the middle of a screaming match between the sisters. This is not an unusual occurrence. More like a monthly event wherein one gets mad at the other for something trivial that explodes into a multi-floored, multi-lung-capacity level fight. They were probably due. For two hours I hid in my room, hoping it would end before the girl came to the door. It did not.

I was excited that even one girl wanted to come back. So I texted everyone about availability. I picked a time that worked for everyone but me, and supplemented any missing information about the girl and her contact info with this mega-Post-It on the fridge.

I did not get a response from either of the sisters. No text, no comment, no return Post-It. I came home to a silent house and a cleaned-off fridge.

Lesson? My Post-Its don't count.