“So what brings you clear out here to Golden?” he asked, eying the Massachusetts plate on the front of my Tempest with an expression of mild suspicion. He turned the key in the front door and motioned me in.
“Well, I’m actually a Colorado native,” I replied. “I just finished my engineering degree at MIT, but I’m going to be starting my masters at the School of Mines this fall.” I noted that this seemed to satisfy him, but didn’t pay it too much mind. I was too busy checking out the “furnished two-bedroom house” the stooped old man was showing me.
The word “house” might have been a bit grandiose for this particular dwelling. It was in the old part of town and was more of a cottage in actuality, but it appeared to be nicely maintained on the outside and the stoop had a decent view of the huge monogrammed “M” up on Mount Zion.
The interior was a mixed bag. Most prospective renters would have wanted the more modern wall-to-wall carpeting, but I loved the old, worn oak floors. The living room featured a fireplace and sturdy built-in bookshelves that filled an entire wall, a great feature for a bookworm like me. The bathroom had been recently remodeled with neutral colors and the tub/shower unit had sliding glass doors. There was even a massaging showerhead, likely left by a previous renter.
On the other hand, it was obvious that the kitchen hadn’t been updated in a quarter century. By this time, in the summer of 1985, even Avocado Green and Harvest Gold had mostly been replaced by Almond and White, but these particular appliances still soldiered on in 50’s vintage turquoise.
One of the bedrooms was laughably small, useful as an office at best, but the living room and other bedroom were reasonably large. The furniture was about what you would expect in a rental, but didn’t look too bad. All things considered, the cottage met my specifications just fine.
Except for one thing.
He probably caught my frown. “I guess you noticed that there aren’t any beds,” he said, perhaps a bit defensively.
“Well, yeah. The ad did say ‘furnished’.”
“Well, over the years I’ve found that beds get trashed more often than the rest of the furniture. It was costing me a lot of money. I don’t supply beds anymore, but I lowered the rent some to make up for it.”
I decided that it was just as well. I’d had a run-in with bedbugs back east and it might be a good thing to be able to pick out my own sleep surface this time.
“I guess I could get my own,” I allowed.
He nodded slowly. “I usually try to rent to mature folks. You sounded older over the phone. You’re not the kind of kid that throws wild parties are you?”
I could tell by the look in his eye that he’d be a hard one to fool. It was a reasonable question though. During my undergrad da