The process is competitive. One owner tells me that within an hour of posting about an apartment she received messages from 500 interested applicants. At a place I check out on the mid-east side of the city in the trendy Commercial Drive area, I see four people sitting on the porch, agonizing over applications. Inside, there are at least six others doing the same. I fill out a form then leave, passing another small crowd of people making their way up to the see the rental space.

Affordable housing conditions are frequently subpar. Vacancies posted more than once are suspect. Searches of these addresses take me to forums with warnings about tyrant landlords, terrible neighbours, and sometimes, bedbug registries.

During my second month on the hunt, I visit an eight-unit heritage building near Granville Island. The owner repeats the word “charming ” as he shows me and another interested applicant the old gas stove, rusty fixtures, and a claw-foot bathtub. The other applicant asks if there’s any asbestos in the building, and I smirk at the ridiculous query. But the landlord replies earnestly: “Around the pipes in the laundry room.” I watch amazed as the woman continues to snap photos and fills out an application.

Some landlords have even pitted potential renters against each other in bidding wars, stating a reasonable rent quote as a “starting point” and awarding the property to whomever is willing to dole out the most. This is supply-and-demand at its most ruthless. When we are reduced to dollars and nickels, we stop being people in the eyes of those that hold any kind of power over us. It’s unethical and downright heartless.