You've heard the horror stories. You've seen the Tumblr of "Worst Rooms," all of which look like the scary space beneath the stairs in a falling down building AND cost upwards of $500 a month. For a room. That barely fits a futon. Folded in half.

But you told yourself that it wouldn't be that way for you. "I'm a grown-ass adult," you said. "I'm very good at responding to Craigslists ads." You didn't realize that no one who posts an ad on Craigslist ever checks their email, let alone cares about how prompt and polite your response was.

You thought you could figure out a way to get a nice, unsketchy place without a broker.

. . . . . You were wrong.

You thought you could use the money from your last security deposit, plus the thousand in your savings account, to cover new apartment costs.

. . . . . OH MY GOD WERE YOU WRONG.

You thought, in a city this big, with this many apartments in this many neighborhoods, that you wouldn't spend all your waking hours trolling StreetEasy and obsessively texting the listing agent like an ex-boyfriend.

. . . . . You were so fucking wrong.

My personal story has a happy ending -- just two days ago, I found a place, it's great, the broker with the gold chain and well-groomed K-Fed goatee was very kind when he took my $2000 in exchange for ten minutes of labor -- but hearing success stories won't make you feel better.

But you know what might? Some horror stories. I beseech you: share your own in the comments, and we'll make everyone feel a little better/worse about the entire broken process.